Some Are Sicker Than Others (6 page)

The rest of his routine went along without too much difficulty. He always felt better after his morning throw-up.

After he got dressed, he staggered downstairs into the kitchen and went right for the coffee maker, which, thankfully, had a fresh pot. His wife, Cheryl, was standing barefoot at the sink, hand-washing dishes and loading them into the machine for another unnecessary run.

“Good morning,” she said, turning towards him, holding a handful of soapy silverware.

“Morning,” Dave groaned as he opened the cupboard and pulled down his favorite #1 Dad coffee mug.

“How’d you sleep?”

“Fine.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet you did.”

Dave rolled his eyes as he grabbed the coffee decanter and emptied it out until there was nothing left but sludge at the bottom. He knew that Cheryl was just trying to pick a fight with him and that really wasn’t what he needed, at least not until he had his morning cup of joe. He set the decanter back on the burner then went to the refrigerator and pulled out a bagel and some cream cheese. He put the bagel on a plate and grabbed a knife and napkin then took everything back with him to the kitchen table. His son, Larry, was sitting there at the table, happily coloring in his Blue’s Clues coloring book. His tongue was out and his head was turned sideways, and he was making a noise that sounded like a high-powered motorboat.

“Hey daddy,” the kid said, looking up at him, little drops of drool glistening the corners of his cheeks.

“Hey kiddo,” Dave said, as he sat down at the table then set down his coffee, bagel, and cream cheese. “Watch ya working on?”

The kid set down his crayon and held up the coloring book, proudly displaying his current masterpiece.

“Wow,” Dave said, without really looking at it, concentrating more on smearing his cream cheese. “What is it?”

“Ith uh twee bwanch.”

“A tree branch? Really? Wow, that’s…super.”

“Yeah, I know.” The kid placed the book back down on the table then grabbed his crayon and went back to scribbling.

Dave let out a long sigh and put his elbows on the table then started rubbing his forehead in long, counterclockwise circles. The pain in his neck was unbearable. It felt like someone was taking an aluminum bat to his vertebrae. He glanced at the clock on the kitchen microwave. It was only six-thirty. Damn, he still had another hour. His dealer told him to never call before seven-thirty. Bastard. What was he doing, still sleeping? Didn’t he know people actually had to work for a living? He had to be up at the high school in less than two hours. He had to grade Earth Science exams then pack up the school bus. His girls had a big volleyball match tonight up in Estes Park. How was he supposed to coach if he was feeling this shitty? How could even drive a school bus if he was coming down this bad?

He lifted his mug and took a long slurp of coffee, feeling as the caffeine diffused into his blood. Ahh…that felt good. Just what he needed. A couple more sips and maybe he’d be ready to go.

As he set down the mug, he heard a loud crash echo from the upstairs hallway. It was the girls, Megan and Mary, probably getting ready for another day of middle school. What were they doing up there? Why were they stomping? Did they really have to be so god damn loud? It was bad enough he had a migraine the size of Connecticut. Now, he had to put up with a bunch of stomping teenagers and slamming doors? And to make matters worse, Cheryl was still banging away with the dishes. It was like she knew he had a headache and was trying to annoy him, seeing how far she could push him before going over the edge. At least Larry, the little angel, was sitting somewhat quietly beside him and not running around screaming like he usually did in the mornings. It probably had something to do with that coloring book he bought him. The kid seemed to be completely engrossed.

Dave lifted his mug and blew across the surface of the coffee, while studying the kid as he scribbled with his blue crayon. It was funny. The kid looked just like Dave, only chubbier—same curly red hair, same droopy eyelids, same freckled complexion, and same flat, two-by-four forehead. He probably even weighed about the same as Dave, even though he was only eleven. Of course, he still had the reading level of a first grader. Poor kid. The doctor said it was some kind of abnormality in his chromosomal makeup, something called Klinefelter’s syndrome or forty-seven XXY. Whatever the hell that meant. Back when he was growing up, they just called it retarded. Of course, you weren’t supposed to say that anymore. It was insensitive. Nowadays everything had to have its own politically correct terminology. Black people weren’t black, Mexicans weren’t Mexican, and retards weren’t retarded—they were mentally challenged or developmentally disabled or someone with special needs. Ha. Yeah right. Special needs. That was one way of putting it. If that meant screaming at the top of your lungs and marching around banging a wooden spoon against a metal pot on your head, then fine, he could go with that one—that was certainly a special need. He loved the little shit and would do anything for him and all of that, but sometimes it just got to be too much—too much work, too much hassle, too much struggle, too much stress. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair to Dave, it wasn’t fair to Cheryl, and it sure as hell wasn’t fair to that poor kid. Larry would probably never get to experience any of the things that normal kids experience—things like driving, dating, college, sex. Jesus—sex! The poor little bastard would probably never get to experience anything even remotely close to sex. The closest he’d come is watching monkeys at the zoo jerking off on one another. He’d always be a second rate individual, a prisoner to his own mental handicap. He’d have to go through the rest of his life wondering why God made him special and why he couldn’t do things that other people could…like why he couldn’t just hop on a plane without a legal guardian…why he couldn’t belly up to a bar and order a cold beer…why instead of having his own car and driving to work in the morning, he had to sit on a bus with all the degenerates and scum of the earth. It just wasn’t fair. Why him? Why Larry? Why not some other person’s kid?

Dave sighed as he grabbed the newspaper and flipped it to the Local Boulder page. It seemed there was a big accident last night up around Nederland—two kids drove their car out onto the ice of the Barker reservoir. Idiots. What were they thinking? Didn’t they know that ice was too thin?

He tossed the Local page aside and fished out the Sports section, checking to see if the Broncos had won. As he read through the scores, the banging of dishes seemed to be getting louder and louder, each sharp clang causing him to flinch and gnash his teeth. He set down the paper and looked up at Cheryl, examining her swollen, sweat-streaked face; from her double chin to her droopy eyelids and the wild tangle of dirty blond hair that made her look like a refugee of some viral outbreak. What happened to her? Was this the same girl he knew in college? That tall, sexy pre-law student who would ditch all her classes and drive five hours just so she could be on the sidelines, cheering for him as he finished his runs. The one with those cherry-red, sand dollar shaped nipples and an ass so tight that it made him quiver. The one he would take to the motel after the races, and squeeze and kiss and fuck all night long. No, it couldn’t be her. It couldn’t be his Cheryl. This couldn’t be the same girl he knew back then. This woman was fifteen years older and a hundred pounds heavier with a series of moles on the fat of her neck. Her butt was a beanbag and her thighs were sofa cushions and she looked like one of those mythical trolls he’d read about in Larry’s storybooks—the ones with the big elf like ears and frumpy bodies who lived under bridges and terrorized kids. How was he supposed to make love to that? How was he supposed to get an erection? And Viagra? Please. What the hell was she talking about? He didn’t need any god damn Viagra. It wasn’t his fault he couldn’t get hard. She needed to lose a couple hundred pounds first then maybe she could talk about Viagra. And what the hell was she thinking anyway? Another baby? Was she fucking crazy? Larry was more than they could handle. Hell, it took a superhuman effort just to get the little shit to school on time.

Dave sighed and glanced under the table, looking at the sorry excuse for an appendage attached to his hip. He propped his foot on the chair beside him and rolled his pant leg up to his knee. Christ, look at this thing. It was all scrawny, twisted, and contorted. It looked more like a piece of rotted driftwood than an actual human leg. There was a long, red scar running from his thigh to his shin bone from where the doctors cut him open and gave him a new knee—some damn, metal contraption they said would help relieve the inflammation, the only problem being he’d never get to run again. The most he’d be able to do is walk and climb a staircase and maybe…
maybe
take in some light biking. Bastards. What the hell was Cheryl thinking letting Larry behind the wheel of that golf cart? What was she doing thinking a mentally challenged kid could drive a four-wheeled cart? She wasn’t thinking—that was the problem. She was so caught up with her stupid little Blackberry that she couldn’t even shut up for two seconds, let alone keep an eye on the damn kid. If she would’ve just shut the thing off and watched him like she was supposed to, the kid would’ve never put that thing in drive and smashed into his hip. He’d still be able to compete for the qualifiers in January. He’d still have a shot at making the final cut for the Boston marathon. But now look at him. He was nothing…he was nobody…he could barely even make it down the stairs, let alone run a four-minute mile. Everything he’d worked for; all those meets and competitions, all that training and preparation gone; gone, because of his wife’s stupidity; gone, because she didn’t care about anyone but herself.

He shook his head and looked over at Larry, at the look of concentration in the kid’s happy, little eyes. The page of his coloring book was nearly all finished—a mad swirl of greens, blues, and magenta, none of which stayed within the solid, black lines. Oh well, at least he was staying on the page of the coloring book and not on the table or the kitchen tile.

He grabbed his knife and smeared some more cream cheese on his bagel then shoved it in his mouth and took a giant-sized bite. As he chomped it down, Cheryl flipped on the garbage disposal, which felt like an oil derrick pumping into his brain. He couldn’t put up with this. He had to say something. Anymore of this shit and he was gonna have a nervous breakdown. He put down his knife and looked up at Cheryl, pushing his plate aside.

“Do you mind?” he asked, as nicely as possible, hoping this wouldn’t turn into an all out bitch-fest.

Cheryl pretended like she didn’t hear him and continued stacking her dishes into a neat little pile.

“What’s the point of having a dishwasher if you’re just going to wash them in the sink?”

Cheryl hesitated for just a split second then turned on the faucet and started rinsing the plates.

“Fine,” Dave said, “pretend like I’m not here. All I’m asking for is a little god damn peace and quiet.”

Cheryl grabbed a handful of silverware and slammed it down into the sink. She ripped off her gloves, rolled them into a tight ball of yellow latex, and hurled them through the air right at Dave’s face. Dave flinched as an afterthought, jerked his hand forward, and the cup of coffee went flying all over Larry’s freshly colored page. The kid paused for a moment to process what was happening, then looked down at the table and then back up Dave. His lips curled up into his nostrils and his face scrunched together like the face of a puppy St. Bernard. He started to wail and beat his chubby fists against the table as the coffee dripped from the table onto the floor.

“Oh that’s just great,” Dave said, as he shot up from the table and grabbed a wad of napkins from the silver napkin holder. “Now, look what you did.”

“What I did?” Cheryl said, stepping away from the counter. “You’re the one who started it.”

Dave knelt beside Larry, put his hand on the kid’s shoulder, and started sopping up the coffee from the page of his book. “It’s alright Larry,” he said, “everything’s gonna be okay. It’s just a little coffee. It’ll come out. See?” He held up the wad of napkins to show Larry, but the kid continued to bawl his eyes out. “God damnit!” Dave slammed his fist down against the table so hard that it shook the family portrait hanging on the wall. “Can you please do something?” he said, looking up at Cheryl, the coffee from the napkin dripping onto the floor. “It’s too early for this shit. I can’t take it.”

Cheryl sighed and came out from behind the counter then went over to Larry and helped the kid up from his chair. “It’s alright, baby,” she said, as she grabbed a fresh wad of napkins and started wiping coffee from the kid’s jean shorts. “It’s going to be okay. Mommy’s here now. Mommy’s here, baby.”

Dave snarled and pushed himself up from the table then took the wet ball of napkins over to the trashcan. “And you want another one of those?” he said, motioning to Larry, who had his face buried against his mother’s belly. “Are you out of your damn mind?”

“If you’d just give me a hand once in a while, we wouldn’t have to go through this every morning. I have to do everything around here.”

Dave laughed as he opened the trashcan and tossed the dripping ball of napkins into the bag. “Oh please, don’t give me that bullshit. I do plenty around here.”

“Oh really? Then why is it that whenever I come home, Larry’s not in bed, the kitchen is a disaster, and you’re passed out in your underwear on the god damn couch?”

“I was not passed out.”

“I couldn’t even get you up last night. You were out cold.”

“I told you, Cheryl, it’s the medication. It makes me drowsy.”

“Yeah right. You expect me to believe that? You think I don’t know what you’re up to? You have a history with this shit, Dave. You’re sick. You need help. Rehab, something, anything.”

Dave laughed and took a step backward, looking at Cheryl as if she was insane. “Rehab? Are you kidding me? I don’t need rehab. I’m not some bum living under a bridge. I can quit whenever the hell I want.”

“Then why don’t you?”