71
Wednesday, March 24, 2021, 5PM Central Standard Time
A muffled groan from the bed woke Mike up in his chair in the local hospital. He looked over at the bed and saw Pete, with eyes still closed, stirring with a look of pain on his face.
“You awake?” he whispered through the mask he had been given on entry.
Pete said something he didn’t quite catch, either in response or simply in his sleep.
“You say something?” Mike whispered again, getting to his feet.
“I said, ‘Italian foreplay,’” Pete said to him groggily.
“What?” Mike said, wondering if Pete was simply babbling. He looked at the display to see if Pete’s vital signs were out of whack, but nothing seemed abnormal.
“You said, ‘You awake?’ and I said ‘Italian foreplay,’” Pete said in a half-whisper. “I can say that joke because I’m half dago, you mick. Look at you. The Masked Mick.”
Mike expelled some air and sat back down.
“You know, you’ve got a lot of people worried,” Mike said.
“Well that’s nice,” Pete said.
“Where’s your wife?”
“Sharon? I don’t know,” Pete said. “She left me a few weeks ago.”
“What?” Mike said. “Jesus, I’m sorry.”
“Why should you be? She’s not,” Pete said.
“Jesus,” Mike said again.
“Yes,” Pete said. “Jesus indeed.”
“What happened?” Mike asked.
“Well, we’re just about bankrupt, and she didn’t like that much, I guess.”
“What? Bankrupt? How?”
“Business has been kind of off since the lockdown last year,” Pete said. “Then I was in the hospital a few weeks ago, and a few days ago she saw the bills come in the mail while I was at work. Turns out our insurance had lapsed, and now we are, as you would say, ‘effed.’”
Mike looked on silently, a look of grief on his face.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“That’s not what we strong silent types do,” Pete half-whispered. “We take our lumps, don’t bother our friends with this shit.”
“But you’re Italian. Italians are communicative.”
“Other half’s Norwegian,” Pete said. “Norskys are pretty quiet. Besides, my Italian half comes from stoic silent mountain people. We’re not all loudmouths from Napoli.”
Mike sat stunned.
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Hey, I finally shut the Irishman up! And just in time for St. Paddy’s Day.”
“How long you been out? St. Paddy’s Day was a week ago. Business is not going well?”
“No. I don’t know why. News says everything’s going good with the economy now after ‘the Virus Hiccup.’”
“You mean Wolf News?”
“Is there any other kind?” Mike sighed.
“Well, if you want any dispatches from Reality Land, you should come to me. The Fake News is in trouble, but they occasionally turn up some facts that don’t make it onto the Ian Flannelly Show.”
“So, what have you been hearing out there in Liberal-Biased Land?”
“Well, you’re not alone. Bankruptcies are up, business is down, there seem to be indications that the virus is making a comeback, and the employment and economic growth numbers seem to be not as reliable as they used to be.”
“Wives aren’t either.”
“Shit, man, I am truly sorry.”
“Ah, don’t be.” Pete shifted in the bed as if he were uncomfortable. “This makes me a two-time loser. I got divorced when I was in the service too, when I was like 12.”
“Fuck.”
“Hey. Watch your language. There’s a young nurse here I might want to audition for Wife Number Three. She’s easily shocked.”
“Faaaaahhck.”
“Now don’t get all weepy on me. You’re supposed to be my rock, my elitist liberal baby-killing rock. Talk to me about politics.”
“Come on. This is not the time to talk about that crap.”
“Maybe it is. I used to be on Okomocare. Apparently, it disappeared thanks to the guy I voted for. It wasn’t that great, the deductibles were killing us, but it was better than losing my house. Or my wife.”
“You can’t believe I would hold that over you at this moment.”
“If I were in your place, I would.”
“No,” Mike said, with perfect sincerity. “You wouldn’t.”
“Sure I would. ‘I told you life was about personal responsibility, not handouts. Now you come to me when your messiah has failed?’”
“Well, Okomo did fail. If he hadn’t, if he’d figured out how to sell real universal health care to America, you would not be in this fix.”
“I don’t think that would have been possible, just between us. I don’t think Mr. and Mrs. America were ready to be sold universal health care by a black liberal Democrat. Even less by a half-black liberal Democrat. He was a walking reminder that some white women can be attracted to black guys. I actually think that is scarier to white guys than a 100% black guy would have been.”
“Okay, this is the sedative talking now. I’m giving you a free pass on everything you’re saying here.”
“It’s your funeral,” Pete croaked. “Your atheist, secular, humanist funeral.”
“So, do they have any idea what’s wrong with you?”
“Someone called me an asshole and my blood pressure and sweat glands went kablooey,” Pete said.
“No, seriously.”
“No, seriously,” Pete said. “Seriously… I don’t know. Could be complications from the bug I had a few weeks ago. They said they are getting a lot of cases of people going down for the second time from the virus. But my heart and lungs aren’t great either. They were talking about blood clots too. Basically, I’m old and falling apart. How’s your kid, by the way?”
“He’s… I don’t know, to be honest. Off in Washington, I guess. But he’s been traveling around, out west. What about yours?”
“They’re fine, I think. My son’s in California. Engineer. My daughter is married down in Georgia. A couple of kids each. The American dream.”
“You don’t talk about them much.”
“I don’t talk to them much. Taciturn Norsky side. Now don’t you get any ideas about calling them. I think the wife’s down in Georgia with the daughter. There might be some voicemails on my phone that I have not bothered to open in the past few weeks.”
“Shit,” Mike said.
“Please, my virgin ears,” Pete croaked.
“I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say nothin’. You’re here. Tell everyone this is nothing and I’ll be home before they’ll be able to visit.”
“That’s a lie.”
“But a lie I want you to tell.”
“If you insist,” Mike said. “But Janet is pretty concerned.”
“How’d she find out?”
“Homero told us. I left Taco Wednesday to come here.”
“Taco Lunch Wednesday,” Pete said. “I hope you saved mine.”
“I’m sure they can make more,” Mike said.
“I’m tired now,” Pete said. “I think I’m going to take a nap. You go home. Anything happens, I’ll be in touch.”
“I doubt it,” Mike said. “But I’ll go. One thing,” he said.
“What?”
“When you get out of here, if you need a place to crash, what with the stupid fucking bankruptcy laws and all…”
“Stupid EFFING bankruptcy laws, please.”
“If you need a place to crash, you know you can stay with me. We’ll Odd-Couple it for a while.”
“Jesus. That’s all I need.”
“I’ll be Oscar, though.”
“You were born a Felix and you will die a Felix.”
“Okay, I’m going.”
“Vaya con huevos.”
“I’ll be back tomorrow.”
“Okay, Blanche.”
Mike shook hands with Pete after cleansing his hands, then washed them again, and walked out and down the hall to the elevator.
Shit is getting real, he thought. We’ve been too lucky for too long.
© 2020 Nolan O’Brian