The Doorstep Diaries, Day 40

Cleared out tonight. The kid is dead asleep. Well, not dead. I wish. At least the cookies are still there, right where Nurse left them. I nearly ate the whole pan. Don’t judge. It was beef stew yesterday and banana pudding. Horrible.

I was enjoying myself—the cookies really were good—as much as you can enjoy a hospital at 2:00am sitting in an uncomfortable plastic chair, at least. Night is the best time to be at a hospital. Nothing but mechanical breaths, occasional beeps, a nurse in the corridor just in case. Peaceful almost. Not enjoyable. Peaceful. I thought I might get a cup of coffee, walk the halls a bit, digest, stretch my legs.

Then something odd happened. The boy sat up.

“Hungry?” he said. He turned the light on.

I thought he might be hallucinating. This could be it. A little dash of hallucination before he went the way of the dodo. Odd how different every person is. But this was different. It was like he was staring at me.

“Hungry?” he asked again.

I pointed to myself, bits of oatmeal cookie crumbs on my fingers. Surely this was coincidence. No one saw me. People think they see me--especially priests and politicians--but they never really do. But he was really staring, rudely, actually, though I suppose they were his cookies.

“Yes, you. I can see you.” He crossed his arms. What a rude little shit.

It was ludicrous of course. A total coincidence. Only people who have crossed could see me, and by 'cross' I mean dead. This boy was certainly not dead. If he were dead I wouldn’t be here. I would be at the strip club on fourth. Free apps on Sunday nights. “You.” I said. “You can see dead people.”

I didn’t mean to say it like such an ass. Maybe I did. I couldn’t believe I was indulging this.

“Yes.” He said. “I could see you since they took me off chemo. Nurse said I may have flat-lined a bit that last night. She said I looked dead, at least. "Do you like my mom’s cookies?”

Did I like his mom’s cookies? Who gave a shit! This child was talking to me! He could see me! He could see Death. “Yes they’re fine, thanks.” Fucking M. Night Shamalayn.

I suddenly didn’t feel too good. None of this could go well. If the boy could see me he might decide to follow me around. People get curious about my business. What if he didn’t go toward the light and just, you know, stuck around? Or what if he went up toward it and found out it was just a poorly lit waiting room? No one likes that waiting room. No magazines. Male receptionist. If people knew it would make my job hellish. It’s easier when people think it’s god beckoning, angelic trumpets and all. They’ve never heard angelic trumpets. They’re horrible.

That was still better than having him follow me around though. Children. What a miserable age. Why couldn’t Sally see me? Now there’s someone to spend eternity with.

If he wasn’t dead now at least he’d be dead soon. I suppose there was that. I felt queasy. “You’re not dead now, are you?” I asked. Please.

“Afraid not.” He said, matter-of-factly. “It’s okay. You can come out now!” he shouted, at
least as much one could with a tumor like that.

Nurse appeared. So did Sally and the father and grandpa. What the hell was going on? “Where is he?” Grandpa asked. He was looking again, like he was a dog sniffing around for a hidden snack.

“He’s right there, Grandpa. In that chair.”

“Here?” He got uncomfortably close. His breath smelled like quail eggs. “Well, what’s he look like?”

“Not too good.” The boy said.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Well you’re pretty pale. When was the last time you got any sun?” I decided that when he did die, I was going to misroute his paperwork. He’d be in purgatory for weeks. Maybe I’d kick him, too. Hard. Little brat.

“Did he eat all of them?” Sally asked. She looked nervous. She picked her fingernails.

“Most of them.”

“Did it work?”

“Did what work?” I asked.

“The poison.” The boy said. “We poisoned the cookies.”

My stomach rumbled. Poison? What an audacious little sonofabitch. You don't just go around poisoning people. It was rude. Maybe I could pull a favor in personnel and get him a few days in hell. Beezle owed me one. Poison. It might be working, too. I felt horrible. What a shit.

“Sorry.” Sally said. She looked toward me. She picked those nails. She was still wearing that wonderbra. Even now. Even with her poisoning me. Women. Lord. “Nothing personal.” What a rack. I couldn't stay mad at her. Not Sally.

“Stop oogling my mom!” the boy said.

Maybe a week in hell. Souls get misrouted all the time. Little twat.

“If it was your kid you’d understand.” It was the dad now. Sounded like he really meant it, too. He could’ve worn a nicer suit. There's a reason murderers are always well-dressed in movies. It's protocol. It's considerate. But still. It was his first time.

“Fuck him!” Grandpa said. “Things been after me for twenty years! Not to mention all those boys in ‘Nam.”

Now that just wasn’t true. I wasn’t after him. I really do have better things to do. “Look, I haven’t been after him. You tell him that. As for Vietnam, you don't blame the janitor for making the mess. I just do clean-up. You should all be apologizing to me. I didn't have a day off for nearly a decade.” God my stomach. I hope it wasn't bleach.

“He says he’s sorry, Grandpa.”

“That’s not what I said!” The world was swimming. Words came like soup. “Just doing my job.” I slurred. Here it comes, I thought. Little prick. "My job," I tried to say again. It all came out like a mumble. I was mumbling.

Sally leaned down in front me. I could see down her shirt. Everyone was quiet. It looked like she would cry. There it was, that little tear building up. What a knockout. Wonderbra.

“I wanted to live,” the boy said, “that’s all.” Shut up.

I leaned my head down on her breasts. They were beautiful fleshy globes. I was staring down a dark tunnel to the most beautiful rack I’d ever seen. Then darkness. Then death. Like your head hitting a pillow. That little shit, I thought. That little, tiny prick. Then nothing.

***

END