Angels And Bad Men

By: David H
(© 2011 by the author)
Editor: Ken King

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

 Chapter 1
“Missing Time” 

The last thing I remember was returning home from a night at “The Bar.”

I was far too drunk to drive my own car home, so my friend Brian offered me a lift.  Because Brian had been an object of my obsession for the entire time since my cousin had introduced us, I took him up on his offer.  We left the bar peacefully, made it to my complex without any problem, and then turned into the group of buildings that housed the condo I’d purchased before my first semester as a graduate student at the University of Alabama.  We talked for a moment, and then I climbed out of his car after unsuccessfully offering to let him spend the night in my apartment.  As he was leaving, though, Brian and I waved at one another.

The next couple of hours are almost completely blank.  Rather than waking up with a horrid hangover the next morning, I found myself waking beneath a bright white light.  My body was riddled with pain; my left eye was swollen shut; there was a stinging feeling above my right eye.  I realized quickly I was in a hospital and that all around me were machines and people hoping that I wouldn’t slip into a world that was more than likely bleaker than what I could have imagined.

One of my paternal cousins, Noelle, was there, along with her boyfriend, Efran.  One of my maternal cousins, Armando, stood just inside the door with his hands placed firmly on the shoulders of his beloved, Carmen.

At first, I didn’t understand the range of emotions behind their stares and their actions.  They looked at me at first as if they’d seen a ghost or something.  Their gazes, though, each became mixed with relief as I came to my senses little by little.

At one point I asked what had happened, and they all looked around as if they were unable to answer.

“It appears,” Noelle finally started, “that you’ve been attacked.”

“Attacked?” I asked in disbelief.

“Yeah,” she said, becoming more emotional as every single moment passed.

“Why would anyone attack me?” I inquired, still in shock at my cousin’s revelation.

“We don’t know,” Armando answered.  I could tell he wasn’t telling me everything, but I honestly was not in the mood to push it.  Time would reveal all that I needed to know.

A while later, a doctor came in to tell me some things about the scale of my injuries.  I was shocked to learn that in addition to the gash above my eye, I had tiny micro-fractures running throughout the left side of my head, in both my skull and jaw.  She explained that my injuries were most likely the result of something striking my head … hard. 

The doctor gave further details concerning what would have to happen to close up the gash and ‘make me better.’  I silently went along with it all.  I’m sure my reaction was partly because of the meds and partly because the full weight of the situation hadn’t yet come down upon me.

The doctor left for a few minutes, and I had a few moments to gauge what was going on around me.  Noelle was hurting, I could tell.  She and I had basically grown up together since we were only six months apart in age.  Armando, whom I’d also grown up with from a distance, was angry, but not at me.  My cousins both wanted only to find out what had happened and what could be done to make me better.  I would have felt the same way had it been either of them in my situation.  Efran and Carmen were as much a part of my family as the other two in the room were, and both of them had their own things going on in their minds about the whole situation.

“Llamamos a Titi,” Armando stated in Spanish.  Everyone in the room was bilingual, either by nature or by training, so it was normal to hear us speaking in either Spanish, English, or both.  One of my exes used to complain about it, but we didn’t give a shit about what he thought.  This was who we were, are, and will be forever.

“What did she say?” I asked, in response to his comment about calling my parents.

“We talked to Justin,” Noelle answered.

“He woke Tito,” Armando responded, referring to the name by which my maternal cousins called my father.

“They’re on their way,” Noelle went on.

“OK…” I managed to muster before losing myself in the pain meds for a moment.

I was brought back into the world as Dr. Abney came in with a tray of things that she said were going to be used to put the stitches in my face.  She asked everyone to leave for a moment, but I insisted that Noelle, at least, be allowed to stay.

In a moment, she began working on installing the stitches.  There was a first row that was placed on the inside of the gash; a second row was placed on the outside.  The second set, she advised, would have to be removed later; the first set would dissolve on their own.

Throughout the ordeal, she had me talking.  We talked about the fact that I was studying creative writing at Alabama.  We talked about Puerto Rico, and how she should take her husband there on their next vacation.  I thought the whole exercise was futile at that point, but I didn’t argue.  Her husband, my nurse, Scott, came in a couple of times and talked with me about the same things that Dr. Abney made conversation about.  It wasn’t until later that I realized that she was having me talk about such things so that I would remain calm as she put the stitches inside my head.

Within a half hour of completing the procedure, Scott wheeled me from my room to the dismissal area.  As I sat there, I felt like the whole world was staring at me.  It was an irrational fear, I realized even then, but it was something that seemed to be a part of my being in that moment.

We left the hospital and went to the police station.  They seemed to ask a thousand questions.  Some of them I could answer, but there were others that remained a blur for me.  For a half hour, I felt like they paraded me around as if I were a prize bull up for auction.  They took pictures of my injuries, my swollen left eye, and  the fresh stitches that had been placed above my right eye.  Throughout the whole ordeal, Noelle and Armando were right there, holding my hand or placing a hand on my shoulder.  Whatever they felt I needed, they provided in that moment.

As we left the police station, the five of us were greeted by Kristina, a friend of mine from the Department of Creative Writing.  Kristina was a powerful person, but in that moment she seemed to let her walls down for a second for me.  She walked over and hugged me so tightly.  I must admit that I wasn’t really keen on touching anyone, but hugging her felt so very good, like there was someone outside my family that was similarly concerned for my well-being.

The six of us talked for a little while; Kristina wanted details.  For her, knowledge was power.  The more she knew about a situation, the better she could understand it; the better she could understand it, the better she could provide solutions.  It was her nature, a nature that I didn’t truly begin to appreciate until that moment.

Kristina and Carmen went to get my car from the bar as we left; Armando, Noelle, Efran, and I went back to my condo.  As we pulled in, the only available space was in front of the third building.  With Armando and Efran’s help, I climbed from the vehicle.  At some point between the police station and my apartment, my body became stiff.

We walked a few feet, and I came face to face with the place where everything had apparently happened.  There was a puddle of dried blood beneath the light of the sun.  It had to be at least a meter across at its widest point.

“Why don’t we go inside?” Noelle quickly suggested as I stood there in awe and in shock of what was before me.

“This is where…” I started, but I couldn’t finish the statement.

To my right, someone walked toward us.  I looked, but it took me a moment to realize that it was my neighbor, Matt.

“Hey man,” he said as he walked up to me.  Matt was a masculine man, a guy’s guy of sorts.  He loved football and big breasted, young, Italian women.  He couldn’t get enough of either.  This man often joked about how he was glad that the latter’s off season was only one week a month. That morning, though, he walked up, wrapped his arms around me, and hugged me tightly.

I thought to myself that the world must be on its end, since all the non-huggy people were embracing me.  Matt apologized for not going with us to the hospital.  I must have looked at him oddly because he recounted the story of finding me lying in the parking lot, bleeding, and well out of it.

I began to feel guilty, though, as I didn’t remember any of his assistance.  Despite those guilty feelings, however, I thanked him and gave him another hug.  The five of us then walked into my ground level apartment.  It was the first time since everything happened that they’d been inside.

There was blood all over the entryway.  It was on the floor; it was smeared on the wall; it was on the carpet leading into the living room and through that room all the way to my bathroom.  The sight of the blood made me dizzy and sick to my stomach.  It all started to be too much.

“Let me fix you some coffee,” Noelle stated as Armando helped me to the sofa in my living room.  I sat there for a while, but it was so uncomfortable.  I was so tired by that point that I could make sense of little around me.

Noelle soon brought me a mug filled with coffee as I sat there.  Normally, I would have ravenously enjoyed that mug filled with black nectar, but in that moment it smelled almost foul.  It seemed to aggravate feelings of nausea and began to cause my stomach to swirl.  Despite that, though, I took a sip.  It tasted horrible.  The taste of the coffee mixed with blood that had dried in my mouth.  It was a nasty metallic blend that I could feel as it went down wasn’t going to settle well on my stomach.  The second and subsequent sips tasted like liquid stool as I tried to enjoy the beverage that I usually could be found to consume at any hour of the day.

It was in that moment the world suddenly began to spin all around me.  I was dizzy, yes, but it was so much more than that.  It was a wooziness, coupled with discoloration of everything around me.  I could hear Efran and Armando talking to me, but I couldn’t make any sense out of what they were saying.  I didn’t know what was happening; I was scared.  I wondered if this was what it felt like to die.

Efran jumped up from the sofa and started pulling on me; Armando came to his assistance as the two men carried me to the bathroom.  Being that I’m six-foot-four and two hundred twenty-five pounds, however, I know that they had to strain to get me there. 

As they guided me, I was still aware of some of my feelings.  I could feel the muscles in my abdomen contracting as they tried to expel the evil demons from my body.  Before I could lower myself in front of the toilet, though, I began puking.  I blew a mix of blood, rum, coffee, and whatever else was in my stomach across the room.  It seemed like it landed everywhere.  With the guys’ help, though, I got to my knees.  I scooted myself to the bowl before the next stream of whatever flew from within me.  The smell was almost bad enough to keep me sick to my stomach.  It was a cross between rotten eggs and dead animals.

As I vomited, the front door opened.  Noelle went up to my parents and hugged them both.  ‘Titi,’ as she was called by all her nieces and nephews on both sides, could barely speak English at that moment.  That’s the way the little Puerto Rican woman became when she was stressed about something.  ‘Tommy,’ as my paternal family called my father, was distraught as well, but his way of showing it was by not showing it at all.

I could hear my mother screaming as the final gushes of vomit flowed into the porcelain bowl.  I stayed there for a second, though, just in case.  I could somehow feel that she was there with Efran and Armando, watching and wondering what it was that had happened to me.

“No puedo…” I heard her say as she walked off.  It wasn’t that she didn’t want to jump into the floor to help me, but rather that she didn’t know how to even begin to help me.  As I finally leaned away from the toilet and against the fiberglass bathtub, I asked Efran and Armando to give me a moment of peace in the coolness of the carpetless room.

I closed my eyes and tried to remember any part of what had happened, but it was no use.  I couldn’t remember anything.  As I sat there, my little brother Justin came into the bathroom with me.  The entire scene must have appeared weird to him, because he simply stood there, looking, for a few seconds.  I mean, I was a tall man, generally strong of body and character, and I was half lying there like a waif put into society’s trash bin for disposal.

“I’m sorry,” I felt moved to express.

“For what?” Justin asked.

“For all of this.  You shouldn’t have to see me this way,” I explained.  I opened my one good eye to see Justin smiling.

“Do you remember a couple of years ago, when I had that nasty dismount off the high bar?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“Well.  Who were the two people that were there for me more than anyone else?”

“I dunno,” I answered meekly.

“Parker… and you!” Justin responded as he bent down, placing the weight of his body on the balls of his feet.  He reached into the cabinet below my sink and grabbed a plain, white wash cloth.  He leaned up far enough to put a bit of water on it and then wrung the cloth of any excess liquid.

I expected him to hand it to me so that I might take care of myself, but he didn’t.  Instead, he began to gently wipe blood from my knees and then my hands.  He gently placed the cloth on my face and dabbed away the blood that had dried on my olive-colored skin.

“Thank you,” I said softly as I started to cry.

“No worries,” he came back, a comforting smile on his face.  “Would you like some water or something?”

“That would be amazing,” I answered. He washed the cloth out and handed it back to me to put on the parts of my face that were too tender for him to touch or were otherwise held together by the sutures now decorating my forehead.

In a flash, Justin returned with the water, and I took a sip.  Whereas the coffee was so unsatisfying that it made me sick, the taste of the water was cleansing and pure.  It not only cleaned, however, it helped bring my body temperature back under control, or at least that’s what I felt like happened.

In a bit of a calmer moment, Justin helped me stand.  Unlike before, I was still dizzy, but I no longer felt that death was imminent.  With his support, we walked into my single bedroom, and I lay down on the bed.  The bed felt so good in that moment.  It was soft, yet firm and cool.  Justin arranged the covers on top of me, and for the first time that morning, I felt good.  I was comfortable, despite the pain and stiffness in my body.

“I feel like I should say I’m sorry again,” I whispered to Justin as he arranged the covers over my body.

“For what?”

“You just shouldn’t have seen me this way,” I answered as I lay there.

“Dude.  What’s the difference in me seeing you now and a few hours from now or next week?  You’re still my brother,” Justin commented comfortingly.  It was nice to know that I still had him (and probably Parker) on my side.  “Now.  Just rest for a few minutes... you need it.”

“Okay,” I relented.  At first, it was hard to fall asleep.  Part of me didn’t want to give myself up to unconsciousness, but another part of me knew that my body couldn’t take much more awake-time.  Sleep eventually won, though, and I lay there in restless peace.

As I slept, everyone else outside my bedroom began the arduous process of trying to understand the situation.  The initial shock and adrenaline started to wear off for all of us.  Efran, Dad, and Armando went outside, as the cloud of negative energy inside the condo began to be a little much for them.  Mom stayed inside with Noelle, Kristina, and Carmen.  After they took pictures of all the blood on the walls, Mom set about putting things in order in the condo.  Cleaning and cooking were the things she did when she needed to settle her nerves.  Justin was the only person to leave, having been sent by my father to have my prescriptions filled and to grab breakfast for everyone while he was out.

At around one p.m., after having teetered between sleep and consciousness for several hours, I finally pulled myself out of bed.  I took a couple of pills for pain and nausea and sat in the living room as the effects of the medications began to kick in.  After I was sufficiently settled, arrangements were made to cover the classes I taught that semester as part of my assistantship.   It was also arranged for me to go away for a while to my parents’ house so I could start the recovery process in relative peace.

As we left Tuscaloosa later that afternoon, I felt defeated.  That town I’d loved so much up until that time had put me through the wringer, and it had handily won.  As Dad pulled onto the interstate, I could not help but wonder if I would ever return to Tuscaloosa.  Suddenly there seemed to be little left for me anymore in that town.  All of my family and friends that were there would soon be leaving; Justin was driving my car to my parents’ house.

As I gazed out of the car window I realized that around me there was now a great deal of uncertainty.  I wasn’t clear about the world, about my future, about how this single event might change not only my life but also the lives of those around me.  The only thing I knew for sure was that the old Ryan was gone and a new one was emerging from the shell of the former. 

To be continued...

Posted: 11/11/11