Raquel's Abel (9 page)

I was trying to think of questions to ask her when I heard the squeak of the paramedics pushing a stretcher toward me. I waved goodbye to her as they wheeled me away. Luckily, without making a single comment about my weight, they helped me into the ambulance and drove me to the hospital.

I sat in the emergency room waiting for the doctor. All I could think about was whether I’d be in good enough shape to have the gastric bypass next week. No matter what kind of cast I ended up in, I was having my stomach stapled. And if I had problems with my nerves, then I’d get enough Valium to put an elephant in la-la land.

Finally, a doctor that looked young enough to be carded for a beer walked in. “Stress fracture, huh?”

“No, I fell,” I said in as deadpan of a voice as possible. As every heavy person knows, a stress fracture happens when your weight literally causes your bones to crack.

“You know why you fell, don’t you?” He gave me a one-sided smile that made him look like a leprechaun.

“Aren’t you even going to send me for a scan? Or can you do it yourself, Superman, with your x-ray vision?”

Without responding, he looked up at the clock. It was five o’clock in the morning and I’m sure he’d rather be napping than taking care of a fat person.

“The nurse will take you up.” He disappeared into the maze of counters and computer screens that made up the emergency room.

A few hours later, they’d put me in a cast with strict orders to stay off my foot for a few weeks. Owen, who had picked up on the first ring, was already on his way. One thing about being fat, you always knew who your real friends were. What would life be like after the gastric bypass?

Owen scurried around the emergency personnel and approached me with his hands up around his face. “Girl, you look like they ran you through a gauntlet.” He wrapped his arms around me. “What did they do to you?”

“I’m all right.”

“Nonsense, you’re just putting up a brave front.” He grabbed my purse and my suitcase. “Let’s get you out of here.”

“The nurse is going to help roll me out to the curb.”

He looked at me as if he were searching my face for some sort of clue. “You look like your face is about to break.”

“I’m all right.” I didn’t want Owen getting upset.

“I don’t even like these people touching you.” He flicked his fingers at them as if he were trying to spray water on them.

I held my hand up. “Please don’t, Owen, it’s all I can do to keep myself together.”

“Somebody said something to you,” he accused.

I was trying to keep my feelings from showing, but I guess I was doing a bad job.

“I knew it.” He looked around. “These people here need to go through a bad winter in an Appalachian hollow without enough firewood.”

I felt a giggle start in my belly. “Owen, you can always make me feel better.”

A nurse appeared and grabbed the back of the chair. “We’ll meet you outside, sir,” she said to Owen.

Owen held his index finger up. “You take good care of her, or you’ll have to answer to me.” Owen disappeared out the front door.

The nurse stared at him, but didn’t respond.

A few minutes later I was sitting in Owen’s pickup and we were heading toward my house. “So, what did they do to you? You look like you were tortured.”

“The doctor could have been nicer.”

He squeezed the steering wheel as if it were someone’s neck. “Sounds like they treat you as bad as they treated a little red-headed queer in the mountains.”

Owen had never told me a lot about his life, just made comments from time to time, but I guess he suffered a lot in the little southwestern Virginia town he grew up in.

“This will all be over as soon as I can get this surgery done.”

“Well, you shouldn’t let them cut you open just to please people dumber than a tick sucking on a gas can.”

Again, a tickling feeling started down in my tummy. “You can cheer me up no matter how I feel, Owen.”

“I mean it. I admit that I want you to have the surgery because I can just see us slipping and dipping and doing a sexy Tango. That will show those judges how it’s really supposed to be done, but if you’re having this surgery to make other people happy…”

“No, that’s not why. I’m really scared of developing diabetes and I’m already on the verge of having heart trouble. Every time I go to the doctor, the news gets worse and worse.”

Owen pulled into the long driveway leading to my front door. The morning light trickled through the trees and lit up Owen’s dirty dashboard.

“You go through with that operation, but only if it’s for you and not for all the people in the world that can’t tolerate someone if they’re different.” His lower lip puffed out.

“Don’t worry. I’m having this for the right reasons, but it’s starting to feel like I’ll never have this surgery. With this.” I patted my cast. “I’ll probably have to postpone it again.”

“You’ll get it, girl. If a little gay boy can survive in a hollow, then you can get this surgery and go on to become an award-winning ballroom dancer and lots of other things.”

I leaned over and gave him a kiss. “Can you be a doll and go in and have Maria Elena bring out Grandmother’s old wheelchair?”

He smiled, hesitated, then got out of the truck.

I knew he was about to ask if the wheelchair would be big enough for me. Owen, however, wasn’t the type to be so crass, even if he had grown up without running water. Imagine. Owen had tons of class even if he was born with nothing. And that doctor at the hospital probably had his diapers changed in a solid gold bassinette.

Maria Elena came running so fast I thought that ancient wheelchair would fall apart as she dragged it down the steps, clunking it onto the driveway. “Señorita Raquel, what happening to you?”

“A fall.” I sidled over and squeezed into the wheelchair trying to ignore the pinching pain as I sat sideways. When would this hell be over with? Owen wheeled me down to the handicapped entrance and then into the living room.

“I making breakfast.” Maria Elena disappeared into the kitchen.

“Thank you.” I never imagined Maria Elena having to take care of me.

Owen helped me hop over to an ample-sized chair, then sat down on mother’s settee and began to move his head around, taking in each corner of the room. “So, where is he?”

I felt myself smile. I wanted to see him too. I shrugged and looked around since I never knew when he was going to appear.

“Not here, huh?” Owen let his shoulders droop in disappointment.

I shook my head, then I saw a shadow in the doorway.

“What has happened to you?” Abel was wearing a pair of my father’s silk pajamas. He ran to me and knelt down beside the chair. “Are you all right?” His cheeks caved in and his chocolate eyes searched me for other signs of injury.

“I’m fine,” I replied.

Owen had been sitting back on the settee. He pushed himself forward and clasped his hands together. “Is he here?”

I nodded.

“That scroundrel. Did he do this to you?” He eyed Owen as if he’d like to flick him away like an annoying mosquito.

“Of course not, Abel, I fell.”

“Then it was his fault. He should have taken better care of you.” He turned and faced Owen, folded his arms, and tapped his bare foot.

“I was alone when I slipped,” I said, but Abel didn’t appear to be listening to me.

Owen jumped up. “Where is he, Raquel?” On my mother’s oriental carpet, he pivoted on his dancer’s feet. “I want to meet him.”

I pointed to where Abel was standing, which was right beside me.

Owen walked toward Abel sticking his hand out. “Mr. Ghost, I’m so pleased to meet you.”

Abel glared at him.

“His name is Abel Rollins, Owen.”

“Mr. Abel Rollins, nice to meet you.” Owen looked like a wind up doll as he turned around trying to shake hands with something he couldn’t see.

Abel’s lips narrowed in anger. “If he hadn’t been so busy mucking about like a soused butterfly, you probably wouldn’t have hurt himself.”

“No, it wasn’t like that all,” I pleaded.

“What he needs is to face the enemy. To be on the wrong end of a gun.”

“He’s just trying to be nice. I’ve told him about you, and he just wants to meet you.”

“I tell you, he needs the barrel of a gun pointed at him, and he needs to know what it’s like to have mortar shells going off all around him.”

Owen was still holding his hand out. “Raquel, is he here? I don’t feel anything.”

Abel took Owen’s hand in his.

Owen gasped. “I feel it,” he squealed.

Abel’s left hand grabbed Owen’s elbow and pushed him to the ground.

“Abel,” I cried. “Why did you do something like that?”

Owen immediately jumped to his feet. “Okay, buddy, I’ll give you some o’ this.” He jumped around like a boxer ready to strike. “Tell me where that son of a bitch is.”

“Abel, how could you do that? He’s my friend.”

Owen punched at the air, artfully hopping around.

I struggled to my one foot and held on to the back of the chair.

Abel stepped toward me. “No, don’t stand up, you’ll…”

One of Owen’s swings slammed Abel on the side of his head.

Abel fell to his knees.

Owen began to howl, “I got him. I got that ghostly motherfucker.”