Jex Blackwell Saves the World Page 9

  “No,” Q protests loudly.

  Jex waves her off and continues. “It is,” Jex insists. “I’m just a fraud.”

  No,” Q insists right back.

  “Yeah,” Jex shoots back. “It’s kind of like, back when I was a kid, my family rented a house in Calabasas for a couple years, in this fancy neighborhood. I was probably seven or eight. There was this kid that lived next to me, probably about my age now, fifteen, sixteen. Something like that. Anyways, he was in a band, like a crappy band. Crappy cover band. So, they used to practice in his garage, like Blink 182 and Green Day covers, shit like that.”

  Q laughs. “That’s awesome.”

  “Yeah,” Jex nods in agreement. “Really awesome. My bedroom was on that side of the house, so I would hear them sometimes when I was in there hanging out. And I would always grab this little toy saxophone that I had. Just a little piece of shit, I don’t even know where I got it from, I guess my dad or maybe my uncle. I don’t know. Anyways, it was shitty but it worked, you know? Just enough to make a really horrid noise.”

  Q laughs aloud and nods. “I know exactly what you mean. That’s hilarity.”

  “Yeah,” Jex says with smile. “I really made a racket. But, hell, they weren’t that much better without me, you know,” she continues with a chuckle. “What could it really hurt? But this one day, I am in my bedroom, reading a comic book. It was Captain America, I totally remember it. And I hear them starting to play. They were making a go of Buddy Holly,” she laughs. “You know, by Weezer?”

  “Yeah,” Q affirms. “Totally.”

  “And so I grab my little toy saxophone and run out there. I mean, How could they do that song justice without some horns, right?”

  Q is laughing so hard she has to hold her belly, like maybe she will puke or something.

  “But the thing is, I get halfway across the yard, and my neighbor’s little brother Kevin, who is probably eleven or twelve I don’t know, stops me like he’s the gestapo. He tells me the band is practicing for a Battle of the Bands thing and it’s really important and I’m a distraction and I should just turn around and go home. They were rehearsing, and the band didn’t want me there.”

  “Oh, shit,” Q exclaims in a low tone, her grin melting into a grimace. “Harsh.”

  “Yeah,” Jex shrugs. “I guess so. I was crushed, of course.”

  “Yeah,” Q concurs. “No shit. I would be, too.”

  “Totally crushed,” Jex emphasizes. “And, I totally remember it, too. Kevin goes running back to watch the band play Weezer, and I am standing there with my little toy saxophone in my hand, completely broken. I ran back to my room and cried into my pillow for an hour. I never played that stupid thing again.” She pauses. “I would put on my headphones every time I heard the band play after that. They sucked anyways.”

  “For sure,” Q agrees supportively.

  “They were right, though. I mean, that I was just a distraction. I didn’t do anything but squawk and howl out of tune and melody. I was just a stupid kid for sure, and they were, too. They had every right to play their shitty cover songs in their garage without some silly eight year old nipping at their ankles and blowing a goofy little toy saxophone.”

  “Fuck those guys,” Q states defensively. “I bet they’re all in Imagine Dragons or some bullshit like that now.”

  Jex laughs heartily at that. “You’re probably right, Q. But, still. They have every right to be all the Imagine Dragons they want to be without me bothering them. And a few days ago, as I’m coming out of it, you know, just being sick and getting through it, and I’m starting to feel better. Like my head is getting clear, you know?”

  Q nods her head and doesn’t have to say a word. Jex knows that she knows exactly what Jex means.

  “Yeah, so I’m just getting into that clear feeling, and it’s feeling good,” Jex says earnestly. “And I start thinking about the hospital and Molly and everything I have done, and that feeling came back. The feeling I had when that little shit Kevin kicked me out of the band practice. Like I was just a kid with a little toy saxophone, making a horrible racket to entertain myself. But not actually doing anything but making other people’s shit harder. You know?”

  “Dude, whatever. You saved Molly’s life, for sure.”

  “No way, Q,” Jex retorts. “I just got in the way. I almost killed her. I really am just a dumb kid and I have to stop taking myself so seriously. I mean, it’s OK. I’m sixteen years old. It’s not a shock that I don’t know so much, but I know just a little bit and it’s enough to, I don’t know, make me dangerous.”

  No way,” Q insists. “All the doctors said it. If it weren’t for you, Molly would be dead. Now she is out of the coma and out of the hospital and doing OK. And you know what, I know I’m not supposed to say it or put pressure on your or anything, but she really wants to see you. A lot of people do. I mean, it’s just bullshit to think you’re not smart, I wish you would just see . . .”

  Q stops her words in their tracks. She knows she has gone too far. Jex smiles a hard grin. All she needs to say is in that look. Q is instantly flush with regret. “Jex, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to interfere. I just …”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Jex interrupts. “It’s cool. It’s just stuff I’m thinking. I don’t mean to sound down on myself. I’m really not. I am just . . . sorting things out. I probably should have waited a few days before calling you. I just, I don’t know. I just missed you.”

  As Jex speaks, it dawns on her that she is about to cry, and she finds herself choking back her tears. Q jumps up and practically tackles her in a hug. The two embrace for a long time, with Jex not quite crying but also not quite in control of her emotions. Q is much shorter than Jex but she still manages to get her in a pretty strong bear grip.

  After some time passes, Jex gives Q a stronger hug and then pulls away. Q’s senses are good and she lets her go. That’s the only hugging that Jex needs, at least for the moment. “Hey come on, Jex,” Q says. It’s dark now. Let’s go downtown and do some tagging. It’s gonna be a nice night and I know a couple good places that would be fun to hit.”

  Jex smiles and touches Q’s arm. “Thanks, Q. I’m going to stay in tonight. I have a couple things I have to do, and I’m kind of tired. And hungry. I’m gonna scarf down a couple frozen pizzas and crash.”

  “You sure, boo?” Q asks with a sense of concern. “You OK?”

  “Yes,” Jex promises. “I’m cool. Stop by tomorrow and we can hang out. Maybe we can take a dip in the pool.” She smiles and maybe it’s somewhat of a forced smile. Sometimes a forced smile is better than no smile at all.

  Ok,” Q nods and picks up her bag. “Well you know I’m around if you need me.” She kicks at her skateboard and picks it up by its front wheel axle. “I’m always around.”

  The two high five and Q finds the door. They exchange one more hug and then Q is gone. Jex turns around to face the emptiness of her house. She is glad she cleaned the place up; she is glad she showered. She walks over to the kitchen and picks her iPhone up off the counter. She punches the keys and sends out a text, before heading to the fridge and pulling a frozen pizza out of the freezer. She scratches her face as she walks to the oven. Maybe two minutes after her text, her phone rings. She walks over and reads the text, which brings a crooked smile to her face. On the other side of the text, Dr. Johnson seems happy to hear from her, and is available for a coffee the next day. Jex pecks at the iPhone some more to get some music into the room. She dances to Martha as the frozen pizza cooks. She will smoke outside tonight, not inside. It is going to be a long evening.

  * * *

  Jex didn’t sleep much last night. Headaches and body pain, sick to the stomach, nightmares drenched in sweat. Tossing and turning, groaning and moaning. Crying. Tears. A hundred hours stuck in six hours. She waited and waited for real sleep to come. It never did. The rise of the sun comes early today, but Jex rose even earlier. She sits on the small terrace off the master bedroom, sips coffee she
made herself in an ancient French press she’s had forever. Coffee is good. It seeps through her blood, jolting her as it flows through her veins. The jolt is good. She picks the sleep out of her eyes.

  It is not quite ten a.m. when Jex finally makes it to the County hospital downtown. She is slow getting out of her car, perhaps dreading her visit. She sits in the car, listening to music, maybe a thousand thoughts flying through her head; maybe none at all. Though lo-fi folk punk is her typical music, today she is listening to FM radio. At the moment, “Obsession” by Animotion is playing. The words don’t mean anything to her necessarily, but she bops her head up and down to the beat. A little bit of fluff can go a long way.

  The cruel hand of the clock gets the better of Jex and, after as much procrastination as she can reasonably muster, she drags her body out of the car. She shuffles haltingly through the sliding glass doors entering the hospital. She doesn’t bother to stop at reception. She knows exactly where she is headed.

  Down the sterile hallway, into the elevator – crowded with patients and doctors and visitors – and hesitantly gets out at the third floor. She looks left and right but not like she doesn’t know where she’s going. It is something different, almost like someone might be following her. She is uncertain, nervous. Her gait is reluctant. After an initial hesitation, she proceeds down the hallway. She stops in front of a door, and hesitates again. Again, it is not like she doesn’t know where she is. Rather, she knows precisely where she is but she maybe doesn’t want to be there. After that stutter of a stop, she knocks on the door. Her knuckles sound like a whisper on the wood, almost like she wishes she wouldn’t be heard at all. No such luck.

  “Come in,” came the voice of a woman from behind the door, confident and strong.

  Jex hesitates one more time, takes a deep breath and then opens the door. “Hi, Dr. Stephens,” Jex says as she walks in the door. Her face is flush. Her skin is cold and clammy. They have not seen each other for weeks.

  “Jex,” Dr. Stephens says. “It’s good to see you.” Her voice seems genuine. Her eyes glimmer. Her face glows.

  The conversation is warm, real. The two talk on and on like they are friends in grade school. Dr. Stephens tells stories about when she was in medical school, how she would cram the last few days and eat nothing but pizza and coffee and never sleep. Jex tells a story about how she would always wait until the last day to study for chemistry exams in high school, fourteen years old, and always ace it. Reminiscing. They talk about a George Clooney movie that the Doctor saw. Jex says that she will make sure to see it. They talk about everything. Everything but the last six weeks. There isn’t anything to say about that.

  “Hey,” Dr. Stephens says after about twenty minutes of chit-chat. “I’ve got a patient at eleven. Want to get a quick coffee before that?”

  “Sure,” Jex says with a grin. “I’m always up for some hospital coffee.”

  “Not as good as Starbucks,” Dr. Stephens chuckles. “But it gets the job done.”

  “Oh, I will take hospital coffee over Starbucks every day of the week,” Jex gushes, her voice fuller and more confident than it was twenty minutes earlier. “I refuse to drink Starbucks corporate crap.”

  “Perfect then,” Dr. Stephens responds with a smile. “Hospital coffee will be just what the doctor ordered then. Government subsidized crap.” The two stand up and leave the room, walk down the hallway. As they walk, Dr. Stephens rubs Jex’s back. “I don’t want to talk about everything if you don’t want to, but it would be not such a bad thing to gain some weight.”

  “Well,” Jex shoots quickly back. “Maybe we could have coffee and chocolate cake, then,” she says with a smile.

  “Coffee and chocolate cake it is,” says Dr. Stephens and they walk down the hallway. There is a skip to Jex’s step as they walk. Dr. Stephens doesn’t notice, or maybe she just pretends she doesn’t notice. The two make it to the café, and as promised, Dr. Stephens orders coffee and chocolate cake (with strawberry frosting) for each of them.

  The two share good conversation. Dr. Stephens talks about a patient she is seeing. Jex listens rapturously, kneading each word in her head like so many pieces of wet clay. The patient is a middle-aged woman, presenting with obesity and depression. She had fallen and broken her ankle about a year earlier, but she was not caring for it and the healing was slow going. Jex nods her head as Dr. Stephens gets into details.

  “So, then,” Jex asks, “is she showing any signs of aggravated knee pathology on the injured knee?” Dr. Stephens can’t help but smile at Jex’s intuitive question.

  “Exactly,” she confirms.

  “Secondary to the ankle?”

  “Exactly,” Dr. Stephens repeats. “And now she is experiencing pain in the cruciate ligament … on the leg that wasn’t injured.”

  “A tear on the non-injured knee?” Jex queries. “Because she is relying on it too much?”

  Dr. Stephens smiles and repeats one more time. “Exactly.”

  Jex looks pensively up above, seeming to be crafting her next question in her head. “Well,” she says. “What about …”

  “Hello, Ms. Blackwell,” a deep voice with an upper class accent interrupts her. Jex looks up and sees Dr. Cohen, somewhat looming largely over her, glaring at her down his nose. She looks up at him and her eyes can’t help but bulge a little bit in nervous surprise, despite Jex’s best efforts to show no reaction. After just a moment of a deer-in-the-headlights expression, Jex looks down at her plate and takes a bite of chocolate cake with her fork. “Hi, Dr. Cohen,” she says quietly, almost in a whisper.

  “Good morning, Dr. Stephens,” Dr. Cohen sniffs, turning his attention to his colleague.

  “Good morning back, Dr. Cohen. What brings you slumming all the way from Cedars-Sinai?”

  “I,” Dr. Cohen retorts, extending his “I” in a manner that can only be described as pretentious, “am tending to a patient that is not able to travel to my hospital at the moment. So I, quite cordially, am spending the afternoon in this fine establishment.”

  “Well, bully for you,” says Dr. Stephens. Jex can’t help but giggle a little bit at her tone.

  “Indeed,” Dr. Cohen sneers. “Well, I won’t interrupt your chatting any longer. Good day, Dr. Stephens.”

  “Good day, Dr. Cohen,” Dr. Stephens sneers right back.

  Dr. Cohen quickly turns his attention from Dr. Stephens to Jex. “And you, Ms. Blackwell.” Jex gulps and looks up at Dr. Cohen. Despite her best efforts, she can’t help but be filled with something resembling dread as she waits in stilted anticipation for the sharpness of Dr. Cohen’s impending barb at her.

  “I trust you won’t be away from us for so long any time soon?”

  Jex gulps again and doesn’t even seem to notice this time how her eyes bulge at Dr. Cohen’s unexpected words. “I won’t.”

  “Well,” Dr. Cohen says in a snooty way that masks the sudden kindness in his eyes. “I certainly hope not.” He pauses and then lowers his tall frame just slightly, his voice lowering to a whisper. “It is good to have you around again.”

  Jex smiles awkwardly, and swallows before saying, “Thanks. It’s good to be here.”

  “Very good,” Dr. Cohen snaps and pulls his body quickly up and rigidly stands at attention. “Good day to you both.” He turns on one heel and disappears out of the café without waiting for any kind of response.

  Jex looks over at Dr. Stephens, her eyes wide and her face slightly flushed. “Yikes,” Jex says hoarsely. “That’s not what I expected.”

  “Meh,” Dr. Stephens harumphs and waves. “He’s a crusty old S.O.B., but he’s one of the good ones.” She scrunches down a bit, her elbows on the table. “He was worried about you. We both were.”

  “I know,” Jex says meekly. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry,” Dr. Stephens states firmly. “It’s in the past.”

  “Yes,” Jex says, just as firmly. “It’s in the past.” Her words are a little wobbly, but the sincerity of them i
s unmistakable.

  Dr. Stephens pulls out her phone and checks the time. “Jex, I need to be getting back.”

  “Ok,” Jex responds instantly, not wanting to be a burden.

  “But, here’s the thing, Jex. I mentioned that particular patient for a reason. I’m the head of surgery in this hospital. I don’t typically see patients with broken ankles.”

  “Yeah,” Jex says. “That was actually what I was thinking.”

  “And,” Dr. Stephens continues, “it doesn’t really matter why I took the interest, other than to say that I think she needs a little more personalized treatment, and I’ve taken a liking to her and her husband.”

  “Ok,” Jex says, not knowing what else to say.

  “And, well, I think it’s important that, after your break, that you get right back into it, Jex. Two months ago, you were seeing patients with me, shadowing me. And, Dr. Cohen. I’ve spoken to the patient. And her husband. She has agreed to provide consent for you to participate in my examination of her today. I would like to invite you to come with me. I think it would be good for the both of you.”

  Jex pulls her head back in surprise. “Me?” she says with a start. “Why me? What could I do that is unique or personalized?”

  Dr. Stephens smiles slyly. “Well, sometimes patients can benefit from a different perspective.”

  Jex’s eyebrows rise at the thought, and she almost feels a shudder down her spine. “I don’t know,” she says, rubbing her hands through her hair and grabbing at the ponytail that dangles down her neck. She looks down at her plain gray sweatshirt, jeans and Chucks. “I don’t think I’m dressed right.”

  Dr. Stephens smiles again. “You’re fine, Jex. Don’t worry.”

  Jex shrugs and says, “Well, at least there aren’t any holes in these jeans,” inspecting herself.

  Yes,” Dr. Stephens says with a grin, “at least we have that,” winking at Jex.

  Jex shrugs and tips her head. She rubs her face and then, with a practice hand, puts two fingers on her septum ring and shoves it up and into her nostrils. It disappears easily.