Part II
POV: Brian
First of all, I have to clarify one thing: I hate going to doctors!
Not because I'm afraid of syringes, or because they tend to bring very intimate things into the open here, no, it's only because of the staff.
Doctor's assistants, receptionists, nurses, prostitutes or whatever the fuck you call these non-stop smiling Barbie dolls behind the counter. They’re all from the same batch, and in Dr. Brows medical office, this fact is very obvious. See, the good doc has seven employees. All female, all blond and three of them are called Candy. The rest wears name tags, saying, 'Betty', 'Bobby', 'Carry' and 'Macy'. And no, not for the first time, I seriously wondered if there was any secret inclusion rite for this club, where you have to change your tit size to double D and your name to something with a Y at the end.
"Hello, Mister Kinney, do you have an appointment?" Candy number two batted her extended eyelashes at me, smiling brightly over the counter with her heavily bleached teeth.
Irritated I stepped back. "No. My... partner has a appointment at 2 pm."
"Ah yes, of course." She looked around, searching, completely ignoring the sniffling Justin behind my back, and eventually handed me a pink clipboard. "You have to answer the questionnaire for your wife. Carry will call you in as soon as the doctor has time for you."
I looked at her blankly before lifting my 'Please come again' eyebrow. "My wife?"
Her megawatt grin grew a little bigger. "But absolutely, Mister Kinney. You can sit down in the waiting room." Again, she batted her painted eyelids at me, and in my jacket pocket, my nervous hand already closed around my $81 Cerruti darts-ball-pen, eager to throw a 100 points bulls-eye... But then the blond boy behind me gurgled something about 'have to puke' and 'bathroom' and I pulled the fucking clipboard board out of her hands, grabbed the kid (probably a little roughly) by the arm and, cursing, dragged him away.
Fifteen minutes later, Justin had thrown up three times, (once in front of and twice into the toilette) and now slumped beside me on the ramshackle plastic chair in the waiting area, groaning quietly and blowing his nose every three seconds. What was really nerve-wrecking when you had the strict order to fill out a '13 questions about your wife' questionnaire . Hhh. I sighed and tried to focus on question number one.
Patients name and address:
Okay, this one was relatively easy. Justin Taylor. 6 Tremont Street, Pittsburgh, PA 15275. Hmm. The pen wrote this information, quasi all by itself on the paper, and I stared for a moment slightly startled at the end result. Then I cleared my throat, ignored the obvious connection to my own address and went on with question #2.
Are you taking any medications?
An image of my well filled medicine cabinet appeared immediately in front of my inner eye and I began to list the contents in high concentration. Cetrizin, Cromohexal, Dispacromil, Loratadin, Oculosan, Aspirin - I tipped the pen against my lip and furrowed my brows, while trying to remember any more pill cups with a marking 'Sunshine' sticker. I couldn’t think of anything else, so I went to question #3.
Do you have a history of cardiovascular disease?
I peeked beside me to the sniffling brat with the tissue on his red nose. No, actually his heart worked really well... exactly like every other muscle in his body.
Do you suffer from frequently nosebleed, or bruising without injury, resp. after light touches?
Ahh... naughty pictures of a blond boy in handcuffs, with the red marks of my five fingers on his pale ass rushed through my head and I shifted on my seat and made a vague cross for no on the list.
His blood coagulation seemed alright, if you asked me.
Are you allergic, or do you react hypersensitively to lidocaine, pain killers, narcotics, foods, medications, band-aids or latex?
Pfft. I snorted seriously amused. If Candy over there thought I would know such unimportant information about my 'partner' by heart, then she was fucking wrong. Really.
I coughed inconspicuously in my fist, reached in the left pocket of my jacket and took my wallet out. In the second panel behind my Amex gold card was a folded piece of paper with a few small notes, I’ve made over the last few weeks.
Things that could be important someday. Jennifer Taylor's cell phone number, the brand of Justin's favorite shower gel, his clothing size and yes... a few hints to medications and food that could be dangerous for the little twat in some way. I mean, come on, Craig Taylor really was an asshole and I had better things to do with my time than to fight with his homophobic lawyers, should I accidentally kill his son with an overdose of cat fur.
Right, I started to write down all my notes one by one on the questionnaire and only looked up when Justin pointed weakly with his index finger at the paper.
"I'm nod allergig to lategs." he snorkeled and then cuddled with my jacket sleeve.
"Don’t say." I answered him dryly, but automatically kissed his sweaty hair and scribbled a no for latex.
Over the next ten minutes, I worked through most of the questions, guiltily wrote a little cross by yes at the question Do you smoke? and made a mental note to myself to slap the brat's fingers, the next time he grabbed for his usual after-sex cigarette. After all, there was nothing amusing about dying on pulmonary cancer, at the age of 22.
I sighed, went over to the last question, and horrified, pulled my pen back.
13. Could you be pregnant?
I blinked, felt my stomach turn unpleasantly and looked disgusted beside me, where the brat dosed, with half closed eyes, against my arm. I peered at his tummy, shuddered, and made a thick cross with three exclamation marks at the word No!!!
I signed this statement hastily with my full name, shoved Justin from my side and stood up to return the clipboard to Betty-Bobby-Carry.
When I came back into the waiting area, my chair was taken. By a woman.
A pregnant woman. A pregnant woman, who obviously already was a mother, because she constantly nagged at a little fat boy, who kicked rhythmically against the shin of a 90 year old patient.
"Gunther!" she shouted and was completely ignored. "Gunter, that isn't nice!", she tried once again. "The nice grandpa has a bad boo-boo on his leg!"
At this point, I felt the urgent need to enlarge Justin's puddle in front of the toilette.
"Gunther stop it!" She raised her voice and her finger. "Behave, or you will not get any ice-cream afterwards!"
"Hhh. Yeah exactly." I shook my head at this masterfully educative performance which earned an accusing look from Mrs. Supermommy.
"You really shouldn't interfere, Mister, as long as you don't have children of your own."
I'm sure she felt really self-important by making this statement, but I only looked at her blankly. After all, my boy was very well-educated and extremely well-behaved. And just to illustrate this obvious fact, I went over to the chair where Justin sat (or rather drooped pathetically) and snapped my finger in front of his green nose.
"Get up Sonny Boy, or do you think I’d like to stand here all day."
He looked at me briefly and stood up immediately, without a single comment. And I ruffled through his hair affectionately, sat down and patted my left thigh, invitingly.
Without hesitation he sat down on my lap, with a limp arm around my shoulder and his head snuggled against my neck. "Thangs Bria 'hn."
"Hmm." I patted his glowing cheek gently, slid my arm around his waist a little tighter and grabbed for a magazine with my free hand.
... while supermommy, who was sitting next to me, almost exploded with indignation. "Unbelievable!" she gasped, shook her head and turned away.
"Hmph." I smirked victoriously over the top of my magazine at little Gunther, who’d started throwing blocks at his mother, while 'little Justin' peacefully breathed in my ear with his plugged nose, wherefore I, of course, had to pet his cheek again. Good boy.
Another ten minutes later, Candy #1 trotted with her professional 'I was Miss Wal-Mart 2003' smile into the waiting room. "Mister and Misses Kinney please."
My head shot up and I fired a precise ice-stare at the point between her badly painted eyes. "It is Mister Taylor."
Candy looked irritatedly at her clipboard, and three seconds later, glanced up again, smiling broadly. "Of course. Justin Taylor. The doctor has time now."
I smacked the boy's butt and he got up a little tiredly. But marched away without opposition.
"If you want you can just wait here for your wi-" Candy gesticulated to Justin. "Ahm... your... Mister Taylor?"
"Partner." I hissed coldly and really hoped that Justin wouldn't remember this statement later, because of course, I only wanted to correct a clear misjudgment by using the ´P´ term. "He is my partner in our homosexual relationship! And no, I can't just wait here." I stood up, imitating her Barbie doll voice, before roughly grabbing Justin's arm and storming with him out of the room. I mean hello? Everybody knows, you leave your brat in the care of such a charlatan, and when you come back to pick him up, his left ear is missing or he’s circumcised or whatever!
Candy #1 was a little perplexed and needed a moment to catch up with us, passed by on her clicking stilettos and finally, a little breathless, opened a door. "Please. The doctor will be here in a minute. In the meantime Mister Taylor can get ahm... undressed." She blushed violently at this suggestion and I only lifted my eyebrow, waiting. This person hopefully wasn’t under the false impression, I would strip the kid in front of her voyeuristic eyes.
After almost twelve seconds and a strong coughing from my side, the message finally sank into Candy's poorly functioning brain and she traipsed out of the room.
She closed the door and I used the opportunity to look around a little, while Justin tried, under immense exertion of force, to climb on the paper covered medical table.
The room wasn't really large and looked cluttered with things that one could use on helpless, sniffling Twinkies, and I wasn't quite sure if I liked that.
Over Sized Q-tips, wooden tongue depressors, funnel-lamps, enemas, and hypodermic needles in every size. Ok, the chrome colored rectal-speculum, on the sterile cloth beside the kidney dish, was slightly interesting and I lifted it up to test the 'span' and to-
"Brian!" Dr. Brown entered the room, with a grandfather smile, and reached for my hand in greeting. "You haven't been here for a long time. How is your-"
"Fantastic!" I interrupted him immediately, before he could share intimate details about even more intimate parts of my body, in the presence of the B.R.A.T.
"Good, good. Glad to hear." He smiled brightly and sat down behind his desk. "And what’s the reason for your visit here today, Brian?"
"Well doc... my," I coughed into my fist and gestured toward the boy, who finally had reached the top of the Matterhorn. "Roommate is sick. He needs a certificate for school."
"Really?" Doc Brown wrinkled his forehead, while he looked at Justin from a distance. "My, my. And what symptoms have you observed?"
Symptoms? I frowned. Wasn't that obvious? He was pale and greenish. His nose didn't work properly and he seemed to have a problem with his perspiratory glands. It was disgusting. "He snots and puked in front of your toilette." I shrugged. "Maybe he has temperature."
"Hmm." The doctor stood up from his chair. "Interesting." Immediately he had a little flashlight in his hand and shone it into Justin's left eye. "When did the problems start?"
"Tonight. 3.26 am." I remembered exactly the tragic interruption of my wonderful James Dean-date.
"Hmm." He shone the light into his other eye, pulled the lid up and changed Justin's head position by moving the chin from the left to the right. "Dizziness? Loss of appetite? Problems with swallowing?"
"Thh! Definitely not." I instantly declined such ridiculous notions firmly and Justin looked nervously in my direction as the doctor began to fumble at his throat and neck.
"Okay. Please take your shirt off, Justin. I would like to take a listen. When was the last time your blood was tested?"
Justin groped a little clumsily at the bottom of his sweater. "Bria 'hn toog me lasd month with him to his HIV tesd." he gurgled and coughed. "Bria 'hn says thad id is importand."
Dr. Brown did the grandfather smile again. "Well Brian is right. But I meant a great blood count. iron-values. sugar-speculum. When was that tested the last time?" Justin had managed to pull off his sweater and the doc took his wrist between three fingers to feel his pulse.
"Not in the last seven months. But he had an allergy test on April 26th." I explained eventually, in my best business tone, and then crossed my arms defiantly in front of my chest because I wasn’t quite sure why I was remembering those facts.
The doc put his stethoscope on his ears, breathed at the round chest piece and then laid it across Justin's heart. "Good, I think we will extract a small sample to exclude an anemia."
"Hmm." I couldn't say that I was very interested in this information, but instead stretched my neck, as the good doc checked Justin's pierced nipple area a little to long. "Something interesting to hear, doc?"
Concentrating, he furrowed his brows and moved with his face closer to Justin's chest. "I'm not sure. Please take a deep breath."
Not sure my ass! I lost my casual, devil-may-care demeanor and took a protective position at the boy's right side. Justin breathed extra deep, gurgled and coughed once heavily as doc Brown’s nose almost made contact with his pink nipple, which definitely didn't fell in his area of expertise.
Doc cleared his throat, stretched his back and took the stethoscope plugs out of his ears. "Ahm, I don’t think his lungs are infected, but his air passages are a little sore. I will give you something to clear the mucus.
"Okay." the kid cheeped and blinked innocently, while Doc Brown used the intercom at his desk.
"Betty? I need a great blood count, please."
Not even ten seconds later, ominous clicking was to be heard on the other side of the door and one of the nurses entered, wearing rubber gloves and holding a kidney dish full of tubes and needles.
Right on command, Justin whimpered and I straightened to my full height and took on a very intimidating posture, while my expression reflected the patented 'One wrong blink in my brat's direction and you have an apple knife in your back, got it?' death stare.
She seemed to be unimpressed and began to spray Justin's arm with antiseptic.
Justin whimpered again and looked up to me with a panicky expression in the eyes. "Bria 'hn I hade needl’s."
I snorted condescending, mumbled something about 'pathetic', 'Irish pride' and wanted to know if he’d changed into a lesbian over night... but nevertheless, wrapped my hand inconspicuously around his fingers and laid the other on the back his neck.
Meanwhile, Betty stretched the rubber tubing around Justin's upper arm and smiled brightly. "Please make a fist and pump a few times."
I shot her a warning look for this lame flirt attempt, but Justin was a good boy, and obeyed without comment.
"Okay, now please hold completely still. You'll feel a big sting."
I watched in terror as those oversized, red plastic fingernails shoved a 2 inch needle into Justin's perfect peach skin and my grip in the boy's neck tightened automatically.
He hissed, shut his eyes, tensed and pressed his face in my chest.
And nurse Betty filled the first of four tubes with a friendly smile.
"Bria' hn..." mewled the suffering kid and I rolled my eyes, because sometimes he really was a fucking baby.
With calm fingers, I caressed the soft hairs on his neck. "Do you know what I dreamed about last night?"
He shook his head slightly.
"Guess."
"Rough Stuff nighd ad Babylon?" He snorkeled in my shirt and I frowned.
"No."
"Melanie was eat’n by a T-Regs?"
I smiled. "No."
Betty changed to the second tube and Justin winced a little. "James Dean naked’ on the hood'?"
I curled a blond hair strand around my finger and didn't know why I negated this answer. "Pff. That would be great."
He thought for a moment. "Of me?"
Hmm. Basically he wasn't wrong, even if he was a deranged squirrel in my dream. "Yeah sure. Why would I dream about you, brat?!"
He shrugged his shoulders and I laid a hand on them to keep him still.
”Whad have I done’ in your dream’?" Betty pushed the third tube in and Justin pulled his arm back.
"Hold still, Justin." I told him sternly and then kissed his hair.
"Did’ I mage dinner’ for you?" He pressed his nose deeper in my shirt.
"Hmm."
"What did I mage you’? Noodl's?"
"Hmm."
"Did you lige id?"
"Hmm."
I could feel how he weakly, but happily, smiled in my chest about this information and didn't even notice as Betty changed the last tube.
"Really? I can’ mage you noodl's when’ we're home."
"Hmm. Maybe tomorrow." I stroked his neck again as the nurse pulled the needle out of his arm.
"Ahh." Justin squirmed a little and I gave doc Brown's prostitute the evil eye. Where did this cow received her education? At the slaughterhouse?
"My god, can't you be more gentle?!"
"Sorry." she blinked sweetly with her long eyelashes and put a cotton-wool ball at Justin's arm. "I'm already done. Tomorrow you won’t see it anymore."
"Hmm." I looked sceptically at the insertion wound. Betty-Boo here better be right with her bold statement. Because I liked the kid most when he was in perfect condition.
"So! Justin." Doc Brown raised zestfully from his chair and waved a slip of paper in the air. "I have written down a few prescriptions here which you will have to get at the pharmacy and take them punctually. Also, I suggest to rest in bed for the next few days and to drink lots of liquids. You can get the result of your blood test tomorrow by calling. Bobby. We will write you a note for school."
"Okay." Justin blinked sheepishly and weakly shook the doc's hand.
"So, Brian, I can take it that you will take good care of your," he coughed in his fist. "Roommate?"
I gave him a fake smile and blindly threw the sweater against Justin's bare chest. Little twat . Did I look like Florence fucking Nightingale?! Shit...
***
Ok, now that's the actual situation: By my calculations, Justin has leaked from more than one body opening and the car seats had just been freshly shampooed. Therefore, I decided to drive the kid home first (on the shortest way and using a full roll of plastic wrap) and then do the rest of the shopping alone. Pharmacy, school, drug store, not to forget a short visit at the office and a stop at the grocery store to do something against the empty fridge. God, I really considered shooting myself. Who would’ve thought that it would be so complicated to pep up a kid of such small body size…
So. I tucked the kid back into bed, tucked the edges of the blanket tightly under his feverish body and felt his sticky forehead almost professionally. He was still disgusting.
Justin smiled tiredly. "Don'd worry, Brian 'h. I'm feelin' bedder already.
"H-hm." As if I was interested about that at the moment. More important was the question: What the hell is a cherry-pit-pac?! I frowned about the '10 tips for home care' information brochure, Candy #3 had given me, together with a 'I was very brave' sticker and a little package of jelly babies for patient Sunshine.
Stressed, I ran a hand through my hair, collected my car keys and marched back to the elevator. Maybe I should stop at Debbie's, for a little advice...
***
"And don't forget to check his temperature every ten minutes!" A threatening finger wagged against my nose. "With your lips, like I showed you! These modern thermometers are for shit!"
She kissed me again with her red lipstick on my forehead to demonstrate and by now I was probably this close to strangling her... but, I had both hands full with a pot of chicken soup, two hot-water bottles, five magazines, a self knitted scarf in rainbow colors and an ancient porcelain chamber potty which had to be an heirloom from the motherly part of her family.
I rolled my eyes. "It's okay, Deb. I got it."
"And you call me, are you listening?"
"Yes, mom." I don't know why, but every time she changed into mother mode I automatically changed into school boy mode.
"Every hour!"
My desperation rose to the top and it was moments like these when it became very clear to me why Michael was such a pro at hardcore whining.
"Even in the night?"
She answered me with a reproachful blink of her eye, and all I could do was to sigh beaten and crawl back into my car. Fucking brat. He could consider himself lucky if he wouldn't hung lifeless from the loft-ceiling by midnight, with this damned colored scarf around is neck...
My next stop was the St. James academy and here I felt in control again. With my best business look and firm steps I marched straight to the principal's office and entered the room after knocking on the door.
A burly built lady, in a disgusting flower shirt, sat at the desk and peered up to me. "May I help you?"
"Mister Kinney. We’ve talked on the phone this morning." I explained without showing the least bit of kindness.
"Ah."
She straightened her back and put her cup of coffee down. "How's Justin?"
"Mister Taylor is to be on the mend." I took the envelope from Doc Brown's medical office out of the inner pocket of my coat. "The proof photographs are being inspected by the FBI at the moment. We'll deliver them later, together with a probe of his stool."
Her look changed from 'Huh?' to 'Really?!' and then into an angry 'Don't you dare...!' in less then 10 seconds.
I smirked triumphantly, threw the note on her desk, "I wish you a good day, Miss Meyer." and left the educational institution with quick steps... while a furious "My name is Miller!" was shouted after me.
I spent the next 65 minutes running errands. A short visit at the office to collect a few documents and at the store to purchase a few essential things, which you need when you house a sick boy: Two bottles of Sagrotan, ear-plugs, face mask, rubber gloves and a few grams of Anita's best 'seasoning mix' to relax in extreme stressful situations.
In the 66th minute, I knew every pharmacy in Pittsburgh with their exact address, knew from first hand about cherry-pit-pac’s and not even a package of aspirin would’ve fit between all the bags and boxes in my car. But I was satisfied with myself and really looked forward to getting home and testing all the new acquisitions on my roommate.
Almost happily, I balanced the eleven bags, two boxes and a pot full of cold chicken soup up the stairs, opened the door--- and dropped it all immediately, when I heard screams of pain.
"Brian'h! Briii-aaan'h!"
My heart was beating fast and I already had my cell phone at my ear to call the emergency, as I ran quickly into the bedroom.
"Justin?" More heartbreaking as in every scene of 'Gone with the wind' I bend down on my knees in front of the mattress and stretched my hand to five weak, pale fingers. "Justin, what the hell is wrong?!"
"Brain'h..." he mumbled and turned his head in my direction.
"Yes?" Maybe he would survive if I’d quickly put the cherry-pit-pac on his belly.
"My feed are so hod..."
I frowned and got closer to hear him better because all I could understand was something about hot feet and nothing about the life-threatening situation here. "What?"
"My feed..." with the last ounce of strength he lifted one foot under the blanket and waggled illustrating with it. "They're hod."
I blinked, stared at him... for a looooong moment… squeezed his hand a little to tightly while I smiled fakely at him and stood up slowly to get a cloth. After all, two liters of greasy chicken soup swam around on my Milan hard wood floor. ...once I rescued it, there would still be enough time to bring the ´strangle scarf´ into action.
***
The next three days I spent my time with giving foot baths (changing from cold to hot, because the fucking brat changed his body temperature faster then a iguana in the rutting season!), warming up fresh lemons (because Debbie ordered me to do so, at every second control call), making leg compresses ("Brian'h... my legs are tiggling... I thing I ged thromboses!"), to washing out grandmother Grassi’s chamber potty ("Brian'h id’s way to far to the bathroom!") to watching as many talk-shows as possible, sitting next to a whining, sticky and terrible suffering little twat, who was sure he could only sit comfortably on the couch, if I sat in the exact right angle beside him.
To make it short, I was two millimeters away from employing an assassin, who would wipe my little blond problem from the face of earth!
But... just as I wanted to grab the phone to verify if Billy the fish still worked for the mafia, it happened. Directly in my bedroom: It tooted, sniffled, snorted and I blinked disgustedly at the blond creature on my bed, which cleared his nose with a over-sized hankie, wiggled his nose in testing, took a deep breath and finally smiled over his whole face.
"Brian! I can smell again!"
I took a hesitant step closer. "Really?"
"Yes!" Demonstrating, he held his snot rag up. "I even can breath properly again!"
Actually he really snorkeled 95% less than before. "Hmm." I felt his forehead before I looked him in the eyes. "And what's with your head?"
"Doesn't hurt anymore."
"Your tummy?"
He laid his hand on his stomach. "A little empty. Do we have some more soup?"
I ignored him and ordered him to open his mouth, so that I could look into his ever so entertaining throat. "What's with your throat?"
"Fperfec." he tried to convince me and I released his jaw.
"What's with your feet? Do you want to put them into cold water?"
He waggled his toes and then smiled brightly. "Nope. They feel fantastic."
"So you're healthy again?" I held my euphoria at bay.
He looked down on himself and then shrugged his shoulders. "Yeah, I feel better."
I fixated him for another moment with a stern look, "Good." grabbed my car keys, my platinum membership card for the local baths and gave Justin a peck on his forehead. "Don't stay up too long. Tomorrow is school."
"Where are you going?"
"I desperately need some relaxation. I'm terribly stiff." With a roll of my shoulders, I left my beloved loft, headed in the direction of the lust grotto and 45 minutes later was really surprised that I couldn't enjoy Pedro’s professional skills as much as usual. Somehow, I really felt a little stiff. And my head hurt. And my nose was-
"Hey!" Pedro lifted his head between my thighs. "Don't you have a hankie, man?!"
With the back of my hand, I wiped my nose and tugged the white towel around my hips a little tighter. Pouting and deeply hurt. Great. Hopefully Debbie wouldn't need her chamber potty back anytime soon...
***
"I will take good care of you." My blond roommate promised half an hour later and tucked the edges of the blanket a little tighter around my feverish body. "Don't worry, Brian."
I didn't... and weakly grabbed for the phone. "Yes... please connect me with Billy. Billy the Fish."
-End-