But I was very scared, shaken to my very core by the incident. I could die from this, I kept thinking. I could be bleeding to death right now. But the thought that kept recurring most was: THIS DIDN'T HAPPEN BEFORE! I had never been stabbed, I'd never been close to death. What did this mean? I couldn't die could I? I'd already lived to thirty-two! I couldn't die as a teenager! Hadn't the cards already been dealt?
As I was wheeled into the trauma center resuscitation room and surrounded by doctors, nurses, and various other technicians, as I had my wound poked and prodded, as I had needles jabbed into my femoral arteries to check blood gases, as I had a slimy finger shoved up my ass to check for sphincter tone and bowel perforation, the thought kept recurring over and over: THIS DIDN'T HAPPEN BEFORE! X-rays were shot of me, a catheter was rammed up my penis by a nurse who looked old enough to have assisted at the delivery of my father and still I kept thinking: THIS DIDN'T HAPPEN BEFORE!
"Billy," The doctor in charge told me. "We're going to give you some medicine that's going to make you sleepy. We need to put you out for a little bit so we can do a little check on you, to make sure you're not bleeding inside your stomach."
"A peritoneal lavage." I said numbly, making the doctor blink.
"Why yes." He nodded. "Have you had it done before?"
"No." I answered. "Never before. Never."
The doctor gave me THE LOOK for a moment and then said to a nurse, "Give him the Versed."
A minute later I began to feel very sleepy and very stoned. It did little to allay my fear. I knew that they were going to put me unconscious, install a breathing tube in me and hook me up to a ventilator. They were then going to cut open my abdomen, squirt saline into it, and then suck it back out again to see if there was any blood. If there was blood I would be taken to the operating room and sliced open where they would attempt to repair whatever damage Richie's knife had inflicted upon me. If they couldn't, I would die without ever regaining consciousness. I was quite possibly experiencing the last few moments of consciousness I'd ever have. No matter how stoned on narcotics you are, that is a scary thought.
"Let's put him out." A doctor said and an anesthesiologist put something else in my IV.
I had time for only one more thought. THIS DIDN'T HAPPEN BEFORE!
Pain. That was my first waking thought. It was coming from multiple sources. My throat was sore, as sore as the time I'd had tonsillitis. My lower abdomen was sore too, right near my belly button. My dick was burning uncomfortably, like I had to pee and couldn't. And there was a faint ache in my left side. I felt groggy, like I couldn't quite drag myself out of sleep. And someone was calling my name over and over again. What was going on? I wondered.
"Billy, can… ake up?" A broken voice, fading in and out asked. "… illy? Breathe… this."
Something was sitting on my face. It was hissing and tasted like plastic. Breathing it made my throat hurt worse. What was going on?
Finally I opened my eyes, wincing as my pupils reacted to the bright light. I was looking up at a set of fluorescent light bulbs on the ceiling. A hideous yellow curtain was drawn around the area I was in and a young, pretty face was looking down at me. She was a nurse I realized after a moment's thought.
"How are you feeling?" She asked.
"Like shit." I muttered, wincing in pain as my vocal cords rebelled at their premature usage.
"Aptly put I'm sure." She nodded. "Just keep breathing that oxygen and you'll feel better in a few minutes."
Oxygen? What was going on? Why was someone giving me oxygen? I tried to concentrate and finally remembered what had happened to me. I'd been stabbed! They'd put me out to give me a peritoneal lavage. That was why my throat hurt so badly, from the breathing tube that had been rammed through my vocal cords. Was I okay? How much time had gone past?
"How am I?" I croaked to the nurse, every word an agony, but I needed to know. "Am I going to live?"
"I think so." She smiled. "It looks like you're going to be just fine."
It took me a few minutes to come fully awake and they gave me some Demerol to take the edge off my various pains. A doctor filled me in. Apparently the knife had severed a couple of minor veins but other than that, had touched nothing important. My spleen, kidney, and lung were all fine. My large and small intestines were fine. I was, in short, very lucky, suffering little more than a flesh wound. I would be kept in the hospital overnight for observation and released the next morning. After a week or so of taking it easy, I could go back to school. He then suggested I stay away from knives.
"You're parents and your sister are outside." He told me. "But before they come in the police would like to speak with you for a few minutes."
"Okay." I told him, nodding, examining the catheter protruding from beneath the sheets with distaste. How long until they took it out?
The police officer was older. I didn't recognize him. Probably he'd retired before I made my debut on the streets of Spokane where I would, over time, get to know most of them on a first-name basis. He was wearing a uniform that would be changed in a few years and carrying a thirty-eight in his holster, a gun that would be exchanged for nine millimeters soon. He looked me up and down for a moment, his gaze telling me that he'd seen it all and heard it all. I was familiar with the gaze. I'd acquired it myself.
"So Billy," He said, opening a notebook. "Suppose you tell me what happened today?"
I knew what he was expecting. He was expecting me to say that I had no idea who had done this to me or why. That I hadn't so much as caught a glimpse of the person responsible. That I couldn't identify them in a line-up. In short, he expected me to act like a typical teenaged victim.
"Well officer Morgan," I said, reading his nametag. "I was stabbed by a kid named Richard Fairview."
"Really?" He said, looking at me.
"Really." I nodded. "He came up behind me at my locker and just as I turned around, he stuck a buck knife in my side. I fought back and managed to keep myself from getting stabbed twice. In fact, I kneed the motherfucker so hard in the balls that I think I dislocated my knee in the process."
Officer Morgan chuckled. "Well well." He said. "This is different. So tell me, why did Mr. Fairview stab you?"
"Because he's a piece of shit thug and I've been screwing with him for the last few days."
"Screwing with him?" He asked, making a notation on his pad.
"I'm sure you've got reports of his little trip to the hospital the other day." I said. "He's a shake-down artist at the high school, ripping off kids as they come in. Perhaps your department has had dealings with him before?"
"Oh yes." Morgan nodded, looking at me as if he was seeing an optical illusion. "We have quite a file on Mr. Fairview. Are you telling me you sent him to the hospital the other day? Because if you are, I think you might want to get your parents in here and have me advise you of your rights. What happened to the gentleman the other day was a felonious assault."
"He tried to rip me off." I said. "And when I refused to give him money he tried to assault me. I simply took defensive measures. Very stern defensive measures."
"I see." The cop nodded, looking at me now with something like respect. "Please go on."
"Well, after that I've been making a point to tease him every time I see him." I shrugged. "I guess I went a bit too far and he decided to take action."
"That's a delicate way of putting it." He said. "It's hard to believe a little guy like you did all of that damage to that big asshole."
"I know a little karate." I said. "Are you going to arrest me?"