Ozzie Fitch: Chapter 16
You know what I got?
I got no apartment. I got no green. I got the chant and the emptyspace and a circle who chant with me. I get hungry, I get lucky. Chant for green, sometimes, chant for food. Darla, she buys me food, share the spoils. I got a roof to sleep under, and if Darla ever shove me out, I got flops and couches, couches for days.
You know what I got? I got self respect.
You don’t need anything else. All smooth and slow, just respect is all you need.
Because respect get you everything else. They respect you, they want you around. They keep you around. They get you what you need.
You know what ruins everything? When someone has to make like other things are important. Not just the chant, other things. Things all mist and wispy, like justice and meaning and art and bullshit.
The chant is real. Pain is real. Justice, purpose, all made up curtains to cover the rusty pipes and leaking walls. Try to make it like you aren’t getting what you deserve.
No deserve. Only the Chant.
Ruin everything, just by talking about it. Make like there’s problems. I got problems. No one talks about them.
Why do we all hate hospitals?
Didn’t know. Still don’t. Doesn’t matter, I went to the hospital anyway.
Didn’t want to go. Still went. That’s Old Oz for you. Nice. I didn’t know if Ribber wanted me to come. Hell, I don’t know if I would want anyone to come, if I was in the hospital. Went anyway. Something to do, I guess.
Took a stick before I went. Simmering light on the train. Relaxed. Got through the smell. Feel the quivering beneath me.
On the way, I thought about what I should say. What I should tell him. Should I tell him anything? All Ribber ever cared about was getting a good roll. All he chanted for. Cared about being the big guy. Never was.
Wanted to make it worthwhile, natch. Wanted to go for a reason. Not a zoo, not spectacle. Have a Purpose. Reasonable. Make him feel better, right? Me and Ribber. What were we ever?
Now, I was on a train to see him. Downtown hospital. How’d he end up there?
Ribber’s probably sitting now. Lying in bed. Not vibrating at all. Poor kid, losing his mind, probably. Letting dust settle all over him. Gnawing at straps. Could chant with him? No. Never do that. Just me and Ribber, awkward. He’d only chant for a roll.
Maybe not even awake. People sleep in hospitals, right? I get there, what if he’s all sleeping? Pointless. Waste of a trip. What’s the point? I could never sleep in a hospital. All white and stale. Dead as dust. Get sick in hospitals, all the death and disease and rot. Sticky and crusty. Swamp like.
Thought a lot during the train. Got off a stop early. Walked the rest of the way. Found a store, bought a candy bar. Gift like. Didn’t even like the brand. He might. What you have to do, right? You give gifts when people are sick or hurt. Distract like. Doesn’t soothe the pain, but makes you forget. Sticks. Tabs. They’re gifts. A pretty girl to look at. Distractions. Keep the pain fresh when you need it, dulls the rest.
Found a train card on the ground. Picked it up and ran it through the machine, still had some money on it. Put it in my pocket, because thick paper with green on it is a powerful ingredient. Pat the pocket, don’t know why. Like pet. Like my own little secret. Cute like.
Look across the street. Why? Don’t know, but see a store I never seen before. All black and pink. Neon light. No sign on the front, but open. Never seen it before. New maybe. Never walk this street, maybe old.
No sign on front.
What the hell? Who hides their sign? You want customers, you sign. You dress it up to the nines. Catch the eyes with glit and glamour. You got to tell people, natch, else they walk on by. Thinking of themselves. Not spare a thought. Gotta tell them. Gotta show them. Swing the hips like hooks on string. Catch and reel. Never catch Old Oz with a black wall and no sign.
Like who would build a place like that?
Like a train crash. Like a dead dog. Like scab you have to pick. Have to see. Watch. Like you never seen. Way to learn. So I go over. Walk in. Door’s right there, no lock, like enticing, right? Come on in. No worries. Someone’s digs. Surf the couch. All friends here.
Place was dark. Smelled thick. Guy at the front all dressed in leather. Beard. Sharp black eye-liner looked at me, slapped his hand. Clap like. Only I didn’t do anything, right? Just standing there, looking around. Dark hallway. No windows. Single light; red.
Red.
Guy slaps his hand again. Angry like. Looks bored. Look at his hand, only nothing inside. Bare and spread, like he’s asking for something. A gift. What do I have?
Nothing. Got nothing. Live in the gutter, me. Got the chant, that’s all I need. No green. No gilt. No nothing.
Get angry, me. Angry at this guy who stands there, looking at me like I need something to pass. Why can’t I get in? You stopping me, big guy? Like you’re better than me? Nobody better than me! We all the same, and you act like I gotta prove myself to you, like you don’t see me standing here no green no gilt no nothing. Like I gotta prove myself to you. Like I don’t deserve to be in there with everyone else, whatever it is. Fuck you, big guy, and your leather poser jacket.
Don’t say it. Not stupid. Just stand there.
Guy looks at me. “First time?” he rumbles.
Is it? I don’t know. Never been here, natch, but what’s inside? A chant? Not my first chant, no sir. Everyone knows Old Oz. Don’t wanna say first if he think I know nothing. A bar? Could be. Blackout titty bar. Not my first of those either.
Guy crosses his arms. “Maybe you come back later,” he says. “When you ready.”
Got angry at that. Don’t know why. Stuck out my jaw and walked past him down the hall to the door. Going in, I was. A bar, a chant, a resteraunt, who cares. Going to find out what was so special it wasn’t for me.
Pushed open the door. Saw red.
Red.
Red everywhere. Red lights. Red carpet. Red chairs. Red and black. Red tablecloths. Red cloth hanging. Red leather. Red drinks in burning hot glasses. Red skin everywhere, glistening in the heat.
Could smell the sticks and tabs. Girls and guys everywhere. Tight leather. Skin bursting. Saw tight ropes and glittering metal. Nipples straining against the chains. On toes and knees. Collars and blank smiles. Empty eyes drifting into soft spaces. Pop of leather, crop snapping. A crop pop. Moaning. Faint like, under the talking. Just talking. Laughing. Drinks clinking and a barman…barwoman? Couldn’t see in the red. All dolled up. To the nines. Tens. Hundred truth, I never seen anything like it.
Hooks everywhere, caught in the cheek. Person spreadeagled against the wall. Tight tugging on the leash. gentle caresses with clawed nails. Guys dressed like girls and girls dressed like guys. Both. Neither. Red lips spreading wide over white teeth.
What was I looking at? Seen it before, truth, I’m no vanilla. Not my scene, but knew what it was. All the same, what was I looking at? The red light, red, was in my eyes. Couldn’t see straight. There was the smell.
She had a mask on. He? Long hair out the top. Tight body. Thick lips painted red that moaned as she knelt on her toes and fingertips. Body quivering. Master, he…she?…pushed down on her with thick pointed shoes.
She looked up. I saw her eyes. Dead eyes through the mask. Eyes without pain. Nothing but soft. Beyond the red room full of tall flat thin fat glossy matte sex chat in his own place. She looked at me, straight through me. Didn’t see me. I wasn’t there. A whole other place where pain wasn’t pain. Tied up. Collar and leash. Uncomfortable. Twisted all wrong, so it felt right. Painless. Free.
I ran out of that red room. I ran past the big guy, he didn’t say or shout anything. I just ran. Back out into the world, out of the suffocating black and red room. The smell was still in my nose. Like leather and sweat, but sour sweet like wine and bad smoke. Dizzy. Couldn’t think, like it was in my body, like in my body.
Air outside was fresh and clean. Breathed deeply, coughing a bit to get it out of my lungs. It was still in my nose hairs.
Fuckers didn’t even have a sign.
When I had my breath, I kept walking. To the hospital. Used train ticket in my pocket. Next to the candy bar.
Always hated Hospitals. All squeaky shiny white. Paper clothes. Hard and puts the teeth on edge. Door slides open and cold air, smells like nail polish remover.
I walked up to the front desk and stood there, waiting. Old girl behind the desk was writing something, looking in folders, busy like. That’s fine. I wasn’t in any hurry.
Looks odd, behind the desk. Familiar. Desk brown. White paper. Tan folders. Tabs, all colors. Red. Blue. Green. Yellow. Molded plastic translucent. Spots of kaleidoscope over plain clean cheap. Computer’s black. Always looks the same. Nothing new here. Cogs doing their job.
“Sir?” Old girl calls me sir. Hate sir. Never say it, me. So I rub my nose because it itches. There a sign, maybe, where Ribber is? I look for it, but only hallways. Signs on doors, can’t see from here. Restroom to the left, can see that.
“Sir, are you alright?” Old girl looks at me strange, like I don’t know what I’m doing. Waiting room’s empty, so I turn to her and say “friend of Ribber’s.”
“I’m sorry sir, is that a patient?”
What kind of doctor doesn’t know their patient? I rub my eyes, because they itch. I don’t like hospitals. “Got beaten up, I think.”
“What’s his name?” the old girl rested her hands on the computer keyboard. Ready to type. Mark down what I say. Words into computer bytes settling in the silicon. Carved in stone. Ribber’s his name. Don’t care what his parents called him. That’s not him. We call him Ribber. We got his real name. We know who he is. The gutter knows Ribber.
“Short,” I say. “Black hair. Brown. Flat nose. Was beat up. Day ago, maybe.”
Old girl looks at me. I don’t look back. Could throw me out if she wanted. Not let me see him. Like I was never there. Not my place, hospitals. Not the gutter. I brushed my hair a bit, and looked down the hallways again. Maybe he was in a wheelchair, being pushed around the hospital. If I could just wander a bit, maybe he’d see me.
“Are you family?”
Of course we’re family. Same circle, us. Chanters all family. My skin itches badly, like it’s going to crawl off of me. Out the door. Fresh air, without that varnish smell. She’s still looking at me, and I’m still not looking at her.
She doesn’t think we’re family. If I say “family,” she’ll think I’m lying. Not same mother or father. Not same name. Too different to be family. That’s cog thinking, that. No cog, me. He’s family. I know he is. Even though he’s bad at chanting.
“Friends,” I say, looking at my shoes. Scratch my arm because it itches.
“Why don’t you take a seat over there, and I’ll see if I can find someone who can help.”
I sit. Under a vent. Freezing. Huddle up warm like, arms wrapped around my shivering. Rock back and forth to keep warm. My arm itches so I scratch. I look like an addict. I know I do. They think I am. I’m not.
She’s not going to look for Ribber. She’s calling security right now, come and get this gutter layabout back where he belongs. Never let me see Ribber. He’ll never know I came to see him, and they threw me out. Think I just sat somewhere, sizzling. What a waste.
I pulled out the train card. I was going to give it to Ribber with the candy bar, but I need it now.
I fold. I take out the lighter, and burn a corner. I tap it on the ground. Find the rhythm. It’s a chant. Quiet like. I close my eyes and wait.
“Rodrigo,” I remember. I stand up and walk to the old girl, and say it again. “Rodrigo is his name.” I don’t know his last name.
Old girl gives a nod, points again. I sit down, holding the train card tight in my pocket. Got a charm on it now. She doesn’t want me to see him, I know, but I don’t leave. Gutter sticks together, natch.
I close my eyes.
I don’t know how long it took, I didn’t have a watch, and I didn’t look at no clock. But finally, the chant works. Old girl comes over and tells me to follow her. Tells me Ribber was hurt bad. Real work over. Staggered into the street, blood on his face. Someone brought him in. Nice like. Didn’t need surgery, but work. On major pain killers now. Lucky.
He’s in the room, on the bed, face all puffy. Cast on his arm, leg in a brace. looks awful. Never seen Ribber look so bad.
Sees me when I come in. Grins at me, waves a few fingers. “Man, you get any recently?” Mumbles.
“You alright?” I asked. Stupid. In hospital. No one’s alright in a hospital.
But he grins, same old Ribber. Mumbles through the meds. “She was beautiful. Long red hair, like proper red, glowed in sunlight. Freckles all over, like seasoned. Tasted like sweet lemon. Should have seen her, Oz.”
“What are you talking about?” I shook my head. What was he talking about? He’s in the hospital and he’s talking about a girl?"
“So beautiful,” keeps mumbling. “Neck that met the shoulders, dressed to the nines, swayed down the street like swan. Graceful, right? Curled in just the right way. Sweetest little smile. Her pillows fit right in the hand, and a voice like honey. Real ten, Oz. Felt so good. We rolled, Oz. We rolled a lot. Like ten times, Oz.”
I shook my head. “What are you talking about?”
“This girl was beautiful. We rolled ten times. Fifteen. You wouldn’t believe it, Oz.”
I didn’t believe it. “No ten going to roll with you fifteen times.”
“Still got the condoms,” his grin was medicated. “Had them in my pocket. To show you. Fifteen times, at least. They threw them out.”
“You never rolled with nobody,” I said.
“Fifteen times, at least. Didn’t know she had a boyfriend though.”
What a story! “That’s how you got beat? Middle of number fifteen boyfriend comes home?”
“Girl like that has a boyfriend,” he giggled. “Knew that. Wasn’t stupid, knew she had a boyfriend.”
“You’re a real jerk,” I said, hands in pockets. I didn’t care, really. Why he got beat, I mean. It’s the gutter, there’s any number of reasons. Someone didn’t like him. Someone wanted him to shut up. He looked the wrong way or said the wrong thing. Stood in the wrong place or took someones garbage they wanted to keep. But he had to lie about it? Say he got a roll when no girl would roll with Ribber, not with taste?
Ribber, he just shrugs as best he can with his arm in a cast. Says: “I tell you Oz, her breasts, her ass, tasted like honey.”
“What’s wrong with you?” I want to yell at him, but I don’t, because I’m nice. “All you do is chant for sex. You say you get it all the time, so you roll with a taken girl? Hell, there are girl’s who’ll do it with you for a twenty!”
“Not good ones,” Ribber shrugs. “Don’t need to pay for it. I got the chant. I get rolled all the time.”
All the goddamn lies all the time. I couldn’t take it anymore. I left. Shook my head and walked out of the room and down the hallway.
A pocket full of used rubbers. I didn’t believe it. He’d never rolled in his life. Why did he lie? Couldn’t wait to tell us about it. Seem tops, up the score. Thought it was climbing, is what it was. Status. But getting beat up for it? Like important? Not a real chanter.
Pull up short. Realize I forgot to give him the candy bar. Damn. So I look around and walk a bit until I find a nurse. Hand her the bar and say hey, give this to Ribber.
Guy looks at me and gives a nod. “Sure, okay.” Has he never had anyone ask him to do that before? What’s the problem?
“Tell him it was from me, right?” I ask, putting my hand back in my pocket and feeling the folded paper. “Tell him it was from Ozzie.”
“Yeah, I’ll tell him.” Guy looks back at his clipboard. Got a chart on it, that’s what they’re called, right? Looking at doctor’s notes.
“Remember, won’t you? Gotta tell him it was from me.”
“You sure you don’t want to give it to him yourself?”
I’m sure. I don’t want to go back into that room, hear Ribber talk about all the girls he rolled, like it makes him better. I feel the train card in my pocket.
“Here,” then I pull it out and give it to him. “This too. Tell him it’s got money on it. He’ll know what I mean.”
Nurse looks at the card for a bit and then looks at me. Not pity in his eyes, but understanding. Like he chants. Know he doesn’t. Did once, maybe, then dusted out. Or he’s humoring me, like I need it. Doesn’t matter. He want to make like he knows me? Fuck him. I walk away. Go down the hallway, try to find the exit.
It’s not true, I knew, none of it true. Ribber never had a roll. Maybe a few. Not like he says. Hundreds of times, he says. How could you roll that many times and still like it? All the faces, the torsos, the feet and hands, the kisses, all blending and melding like warm ice-cream. Black and white fade to gray.
Nothing special in that.