Five Boroughs 01 - Sutphin Boulevard (28 page)

I had spent the last few weeks living with a continuous low-grade sense of guilt accompanied by a thousand what-ifs, and had forgotten what real regret felt like. Now, it hit me with jarring awareness. The resounding disappointment came ashore with such totality that I was left dismayed by a flickering montage of all of the wrong moves I’d made since New Year’s.

What had I done?

I sat up and threw my legs over the side of the bed. The floor was cold beneath my feet, and I cringed but stood anyway. My head swam, causing me to stagger back and sit for a moment longer before making another attempt.

Gathering the thin hospital gown around myself, I dragged the IV stand to the door and peered out. A person was pushing a food cart around, two little kids were racing in and out of a room at the end of the hall, and a nurse stood by the station on the opposite side.

The urge to inquire about the details of my admission to the hospital, and to leave, won over human decency and fear of flashing the kids due to the skimpy gown. I dragged the IV stand with one hand, clutched the hem of the gown with the other, and shuffled along like an old man.

I was halfway down the hall when Raymond’s exasperated voice sounded behind me.

“Ven acá, pendejo. Nadie quiere ver tu culo.”

Raymond hustled me back to my room and shut the door. He tossed a bag at me and stood with his back to the door. “I got you some clothes. You were in your fucking underwear when they brought you in.”

I gripped the bag but didn’t open it. I tried to meet his gaze as he looked at everything but my face.

“Ray, I’m sorry.”

“You should be. I thought you were dead.”

I winced. “Would you mind telling me what happened? The last thing I remember is digging through a bunch of picture albums and crying into a bottle of vodka.”

“Oh, so you don’t remember the parts where you wrecked your room and then passed out in the bathroom?”

“No.”

Raymond shook his head, still refusing to look at me. “I came home and your music was blasting. I went to turn it off and found your ass unconscious on the bathroom floor. I couldn’t wake you up at all, so I freaked and called an ambulance. You were barely breathing.”

“Jesus.”

“Yeah, you fucking idiot. Maybe if I’d have stayed out or not gone to turn off your damn music, you’d have died because you’re too much of an asshole not to do the exact same shit I’d just warned you about.”

“I’m so—” I stopped myself from repeating the utterly pointless words, but he was already nodding in agreement.

“Yeah, you are sorry. You’re a sorry-ass bitch.”

His anger was so complete that it filled the bleak little room. I held up a hand to thwart any further insults.

“Okay, bear with me for a minute. What exactly was wrong with me?”

“Gee, I don’t know, bro. Maybe your point four blood alcohol level and all the benzos you’d swallowed. They had to shove a tube down your throat and give you oxygen before they even took you to the damn hospital. You had a fucking tube up your nose for half the night.”

“Why?”

“The nurse lady said it was absorbing the chemicals in your stomach or something. I have no idea, bro. I was freaked out and crying the whole time. I hate your guts.”

Even though his voice was low with fury, Raymond looked close to crying even now. I tugged him forward, and after brief resistance, he allowed me to enclose him in my arms. My eyes stung at the sound of his ragged sigh. I distantly remembered that we hadn’t hugged this way for years. Not even when our parents died. Not even when we had taken turns falling apart.

I hugged him tighter.

“I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you. I’m an asshole.” He nodded and tried to back away, but I held him in place until the tension drained from his frame. He eventually returned my embrace, and the knot in my chest unwound a bit. “I’m sorry for everything. For being so hard on you and for being so goddamned selfish. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, Ray. I really don’t.”

“You’re an alcoholic, Michael,” Raymond said, voice muffled. He sniffed and pulled away, face smoothed of emotion even though his eyes were bloodshot. “It’s not rocket science. Unless that was actually a suicide attempt and not an OD like I told them.”

“No.” I sat on the edge of the bed, pressing my hands against the thin, uncomfortable mattress. “I made this colossal fucking mistake at work and had a meltdown. I just don’t cope well.”

“You never have.”

His agreement shouldn’t have twisted my guts, but it did.

I’d always lorded it over him and my mother about how I was the one who had it together. The one who was ambitious. And I’d complained that they didn’t appreciate having one reliable family member. But Raymond had apparently known I was more fragile than I looked. Even Nunzio had subtly pointed it out over the years.

I should have listened instead of viewing my drinking as a juggling act. I’d always thought that if I became too aware of the precarious balance I maintained, everything would fall.

“I need to get out of here.”

“Nah. You gotta wait for the doctor to discharge you. And the social worker.”

“What social worker?”

“The one that’s gonna talk to you.”

“Thank you, Raymond. Can you give me a real answer now?”

“I guess.” He picked up the bag and set it on one of the turquoise chairs. “They said a social worker talks to everyone that comes in here after an overdose. To talk about rehab and whatnot.”

I blinked. “Rehab.”

“Yeah. Rehab.” Raymond unzipped the bag but didn’t take anything out. “I know I ain’t the smartest guy, but I do know a thing or two about addiction, and I’d say you could use some rehab. Nearly dying of your own stupidity is what I like to call a red flag.”

My hands fisted in the folds of the coarse white blanket. “I don’t need rehab. That’s for people who don’t realize they have a problem.”

“No, it’s for people who don’t know when to stop even when they know they have a problem.” Raymond tossed me a clean pair of boxers and a black undershirt. “Can you really tell me that if you went home now, all depressed and feeling sorry for yourself like I know you are, you wouldn’t be tempted to start popping pills and drinking again?”

“Maybe not, but I won’t end up in the damn hospital again. I’ve learned my lesson, okay? I’m a big boy, and I’ll handle it.” I stood up and yanked the boxers up beneath the gown, then shed the gown once everything imperative was contained and covered. “I have a job. I can’t just dedicate my time to some group therapy session for a bunch of drug addicts.”

“I already told your job.”

Everything came to a screeching halt.

“What?”

Raymond scrubbed his hands across his face, bouncing from foot to foot—a nervous gesture he’d inherited from my father and displayed when he was cornered with no way to lie.

“I talked to Nunzio, and he told me what to say. He said—”

“You told Nunzio what happened?
Why
?”

“Because I was freaked out and he’s the only normal person who’s like family to us!” Raymond snapped. “Should I have called Titi or Tío?”

What a laugh that would have been.

“Yeah, right. What did he say?”

“He just told me what to tell your boss. He said you’d already gotten into some shit yesterday, and I needed to cover your ass. He also said since you have tenure, you can take a medical leave of absence with no trouble. So I told your principal you got really sick last night, and that you been dealing with some major issues after the death of our parents and would be gone for a few weeks while in therapy. She got all concerned and said for you to contact her as soon as you can, and to call the DOE to handle all the paperwork.”

“Jesus Christ.”

I lay back on the bed and covered my face with my hands. The tape from the IV pulled at my skin, and I felt the tube twisting with the abrupt motion. I bit back the urge to unleash a tirade that would send Raymond storming out of the room.

“Who the hell,” I managed to grit through my hands, “gave you two the right to interfere in my life?”

“What, you wanted them to just wonder where the hell you were?”

“I’d have liked you to not make decisions for me, like implying that I tried to commit suicide or something!”

Raymond slammed his hand on top of the rickety table, sending a stack of plastic cups falling to the floor. “I didn’t imply that. I just left it open for you to say whatever you want. I was trying to help you out.”

“Helping me?” I dropped my hands. “How the hell is making a decision like that helpful to me?”

“Because if I’d left it up to you, you’d have told the woman you’d be back tomorrow!”

“And that’s my choice.”

“It shouldn’t be,” Raymond shouted. “You were so far gone last night that you couldn’t even stop yourself from shoving pills down your throat. You don’t think that’s gonna happen again? You’ve been blackout drunk multiple times a week in the past month. It’s gonna happen again, I guaran-fucking-tee it.”

I sat up and steadied myself with the bed’s railing.

“It’s my life. Do you get that? It’s my life and my decision to make.”

“You sound like a broken record.
It’s my life
,” he mimicked. “Let me tell you something, pendejo. Maybe you think I’m a piece of shit and worthless and a bum, but I’m still your brother, and you’re all I got left, and if you wanna kill yourself, I’m not going to be the one to sit around and find you dead.”

“I already told you—”

“I know what you’re telling me, but what you fail to understand is that you’re not as in control as you think you are!”

“Is everything okay in here?”

We looked at the nurse simultaneously, identical glares on our faces.

“Yes.”

“What do you want?”

“Raymond!” I shot him a dirty look before forcing an apologetic smile at the woman in the doorway. She didn’t look particularly ruffled by his reaction. “Sorry. Can you tell me when I’ll be able to sign myself out?”

“Dr. Weiss is making his rounds, and the social worker will be here to talk to you shortly.”

“Wonderful.” I speared Raymond with another lethal stare as she retreated from the room.

I grabbed the bag and disappeared into the bathroom, awkwardly dragging the IV beside me. I changed, but fresh clothing didn’t help. My skin was grimy beneath the clean clothes, but the idea of trying to shower with a needle jammed in my wrist nearly put me over the edge.

Cursing quietly, I turned to the sink and used the hard soap to wash. The inside of my mouth tasted horrible, and the cotton-filled sensation wouldn’t go away no matter how many times I rinsed. Despite my best efforts, I was still uncomfortable and wretched.

I wanted to go home.

A thought followed that one with an immediacy that gave me pause.

I wanted to go home, shower, and then kill my hangover with a drink. I wanted to do that so bad I could taste it. I could almost feel the relief, the ache in my head dissipating, and the tension in my body easing away. Rejecting the idea worked for thirty seconds before I told myself one drink wouldn’t hurt. It was just to get my head right. Just to help me relax and kick the hangover. But would one drink do the trick? My tolerance was so high it would have to be strong….

With my body flushed of toxins, well-rested for the first time in weeks, and the fluorescent light beaming down on me, I was far too clearheaded to ignore the way each thought aligned closely to Raymond’s accusations.

Fuck.

Bile rose in my throat. Whether it was the hangover or disgust with myself, I couldn’t tell, but either way the world swayed. I counted to ten, then twenty, then thirty, until I could stand up straight without the urge to puke. Not that my reflection was helpful in that matter….

The bruises under my eyes and the dull sheen in them reminded me too much of my father. Except the sickly tinge of yellow wasn’t there.

Yet.

When the hell had this metamorphosis begun? The summer? After I’d gone back to work? It must have taken longer than a few weeks to start looking this wrung-out and used-up, but I couldn’t pinpoint when things had gotten this bad.

The nausea rose again.

“You okay in there?”

“Yeah. Gimme a minute.”

Trying to avoid looking at my reflection again, I splashed water on my face one last time. I used a paper towel to dry off, and dragged my IV through the door.

Raymond was standing in the same position I’d left him in, chewing on the corner of his thumb.

“Are you really pissed at me?”

“No.”

He nodded, still gnawing on his nail.

“So does that mean you’ll give the rehab thing a shot? It’s not just me who thinks it’s a good idea, you know. Nunzio agrees.”

Resuming my sprawl on the bed, I sighed. Why did he have to keep bringing up Nunzio? The situation with my best friend was the last thing I wanted to think about now that I’d just discovered I resembled a Sutphin Boulevard derelict.

“And you think because Nunzio says it, I’ll jump to do it?”

“Yes,” Raymond said without hesitation. “I know he’s all you give a damn about. Everyone knows it. That’s how Tío and Pops started suspecting you was gay. Do you know how many times they grilled me about you two?”

I was too tired to even be surprised.

“Again, why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“There wasn’t nothing to tell. You obviously didn’t want me to know. Neither of you did.”

My brow creased. “What are you talking about? Nunzio never hid that he was gay.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about, stupid. I’ve known forever that you two wanted to fuck around.”

This time, surprise wormed its way through my weary layer of defeat. “Just because we’re gay doesn’t mean we want to screw each other.”

Raymond snorted. “Yeah, aiight.”

“What are you, a gay matchmaking psychic all of a sudden?”

His snort turned into a dry laugh.

“It don’t got nothing to do with being a psychic. When we went to Atlantic City for my twenty-first birthday, you creeps got wasted and humped each other for like fifty hours while I was trying to sleep in the next bed. It was embarrassing as fuck, but at least y’all passed out before anyone got fully naked. I thought I was going to have to camp out in the damn hallway so you could get it in.”