"Holy shit!", she exclaimed. "What happened to you?"
I limped closer. "Long and painful story."
She grabbed my arm. "How did you get here?" She pulled me through some automatic doors and pushed me into a cubicle.
I climbed onto an exam table. My ribs hurt and my ass was killing me, and my broken nose was throbbing. "I think I need a doctor." I lay back, but ended up sitting back up when my ass started bugging me even worse.
The nurse had decided I wasn't dying in the next few seconds, so she grabbed a clipboard and started the hospital routine of asking my name, rank, and serial number - the standard hospital crap. All I could grab when I ran out was my pants, but fortunately I had my wallet in my back pocket and my keys in a front pocket. I pulled out my wallet and gave the nurse my health insurance card, and then lay back down in the most pain free position I could manage. She left me and stepped out of the cubicle.
About five minutes later, two more people came in. One was a young fellow in surgical scrubs with a stethoscope around his neck who was obviously the doctor. The other fellow was a few years older, and was wearing the uniform of the Maryland State Police. I guess I shouldn't have been surprised. GBMC is the major trauma center for the northern portion of Baltimore County, and they are always getting accident or fight victims into the Emergency Room. It's not as bad as Johns Hopkins down in the city, known to one and all as the 'Baltimore Knife and Gun Club', but it was bad enough that you could usually find a cop nearby.
The cop stayed with me as the doctor started examining me. I tried to get him to drop his little investigation, but he wanted to know what was happening. Meanwhile the doctor and the nurse, a different one than before, started cleaning the blood off me and stripped my jeans off, leaving me in a hospital gown. They had the worst of the blood off my face, and the doctor was getting ready to bandage up my nose when my parents came barging in. Things were just going from bad to worse!
"What are you guys doing here?", I asked.
"You're still our son and still a minor. The hospital called us.", explained Dad. "What happened?"
"Carling, what happened to you!?", cried Mom when she saw me. Okay, the maternal instincts could kick in when needed, but I knew I'd never hear the end of this.
"I keep asking that myself.", commented the trooper.
"Were you in an accident?", asked Dad, eyeing both me and the policeman.
"No."
"Well?", asked both Dad and the trooper. Even the doctor and nurse stopped what they were doing to listen in.
I just groaned. "Okay, I'm just going to say that this is nothing that the police can do anything about, and I won't be pressing charges, no matter what. My girlfriend's parents came home a lot earlier than we expected. Okay?"
It took everybody a few seconds to visualize what had happened, and then the babble started up again. Mom was 'extremely disappointed' in me. The nurse and doctor just rolled their eyes. Dad tried to stifle a grin and a laugh.
The trooper didn't even try to not laugh. He folded up his notebook and stuffed it back in his pocket. "And you don't want to press charges?"
"No way, no how!", I answered.
He shrugged. "It could have been worse, you know."
"How?"
"It could have been your girlfriend's husband." That got him a number of groans, and he laughed and left the room. I've known a lot of cops over the years and I knew I was going to be the topic of conversation back at the barracks that night.
Mom continued to lecture me while I was worked on, and Dad didn't try to stop her. After my nose was taped up, I was laid face down on the table while the injuries to my backside were examined. The large bruise above my left ribs was poked and prodded and I was told X-rays would be taken. "What caused that?", asked Dad.
"Mrs. Colosimo hit me with her sterling silver tea pot, I think."
Dad grunted at that. Then they started poking and prodding my butt, and Mom kept scolding me. Forceps were used to draw several wooden slivers from my ass, and then I was bandaged up. I explained these were from a coffee table, and I got a tetanus shot along with some penicillin. The cut on the bottom of my left foot was worse. They dug a shard of what appeared to be a tea cup out of that, and I needed four stitches to close it up. I was in almost as much pain when I left as when I got there! I was given a prescription for pain killers, sent off for X-rays, and finally escaped somewhere around midnight.
It was actually a good thing that my parents were there. I was in no shape to drive. Mom drove my car (Dad threw a blanket over the blood stains on the seat) and Dad drove me in his car. I had thrown away the bloody torn jeans and was dressed in hospital scrubs and slippers. We stopped at an all night pharmacy and got some pills, and then I went home. My parents followed me inside.
They watched as I went into the kitchen. I popped open the pain killers and read the directions. One every four hours. Screw that. I took two. Next I opened up my liquor cabinet and pulled out a bottle of Canadian Mist. I grabbed a few glasses. "Anybody want a snort before I go to bed?", I asked.
Mom was dumbfounded by my possession of liquor, my father, not so much. "You shouldn't be doing that with those pills.", he told me.
"Carling! What are you doing?"
I was pushing my luck, but I just didn't care anymore. I poured about a shot's worth into one of the glasses and pushed it across the counter to my father, and then poured a second for myself. I raised an eyebrow to Mom, but she was in a state of high dudgeon and didn't answer. I shrugged. I turned back to Dad. "Mud in your eye!"
"Same to you." We both lifted our glasses and downed the whiskey in a single swallow.
"You two are both disgusting!", said Mom.
"Shirley, let it alone.", Dad said in a tired voice.
"Carl, I hope you've learned your lesson!"
What lesson would that be, Mom? Not to have a girlfriend who blabs about getting laid to her family? Or not to let her screw you in the living room? Or to run faster when being pursued by a homicidal father? I was too tired to argue. "Good night, Mom. Thanks for bringing me home. I really do appreciate it. Good night, Dad."
"Well, I never...", she continued, but Dad took her by the elbow and led her out.
I had another shot and went to bed.
I woke up the next afternoon, after sleeping around 14 hours straight. My telephone was ringing, and I grabbed it rather than wait for it to go to record. Unfortunately it was my mother, and not Jeana. Mom wanted to know why I hadn't answered her earlier calls ("Because I was asleep, Mom.") and whether I should move home until I was feeling better ("No thank you.") I'd rather move in with Mr. and Mrs. Colosimo than that!
I rolled out of bed and put my feet to the floor, only to be really woken up by a stabbing sensation in my left foot. I had forgotten my stitches. I gingerly hobbled into the bathroom. I looked about as good as I felt - like a week old sack of shit. Mr. Colosimo must have really tagged me with that roundhouse right, because in addition to my busted nose, I had a pair of black eyes, a contusion on my cheek, and a split lower lip. My ribs hurt like hell, and I was going to be limping for a couple of days. Being a black belt in aikido didn't seem to count for much against a really pissed off father.
I brushed my teeth carefully, which still managed to cause my split lip to open up a bit, so I swallowed another pain pill. I had been warned against showering for a few days, and simply grabbed my robe and wandered out into the front half of the apartment. The answering machine was lit up, but the only thing on it were five calls from my mother. Nothing from Jeana.