Fringe Magazine - Issue 12

Issue 12: October 2007.
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Home > Issue 12: October 2007 > Fiction

Needle! Now! Broken!
by Brett Allen Smith

Last September, Alex Rose woke up in his white hospital bed, exhausted from a dream involving Tibet, orca whales, and Owen Wilson, and discovered that his AIDS was gone.

YOUR QUESTION: What is the significance of Alex Rose's dream?

MY RESPONSE: I have no idea.

He felt the absence immediately upon waking, so obvious that he fell out of his bed, tearing from his arms the tubes that had only the day before been preserving him. And as he fell, he felt the tubes tugging the length of his own tubes, the organic ones inside, and for an instant he knew with stabbing certainty that he would be torn inside out.

He was. Oh. He wasn't at all, actually.

When he hit the ground, the plastic yielded to his weight and snapped, squirting streamers of blood upon release. He laughed with a blissful, forgiving kind of laugh which— oh—in retrospect—ah—seems sad (me already knowing the ending of the story).

"I'm on the floor!" he began. "I'm on the floor and I feel okay, I think. Yes—I slammed my ass, but it didn't hurt, not as bad as I thought it would," he said out loud, and not quite knowing why. And with the sudden severing of his body from his heart monitor, three nurses rushed into the room expecting to find the worst. They found him on the floor.

"He's alive," exclaimed a nurse.

"What a scare," sighed another.

"Oh! He's bleeding," cried the third, who then fled the room. The remaining two nurses stood there, by the door, as Alex looked up at them from the floor.

"What happened, Mr. Rose?" one asked.

"What? Nothing. What happened to you?"

"What? Nothing!" she responded.

"What?" he said.

"Are you all right, Mr. Rose?" the other asked.

"I think so. I mean, I should... I should be okay, shouldn't I?" He paused. "Do you know?"

"Do I ? Do I know? I don't… I don't know…" she trailed off. She didn't know. Then, tilting her head, she began staring at the ceiling, which, yes, is weird, I know. She stared for a long, long time.

The third nurse reentered the room brandishing a roll of gauze, the most splendidly soft gauze you could ever hope for.

"Who's his doctor? Go get his doctor," she said as she wiped blood from his arms, from his face, from his hands. The nurse, the one not staring at the ceiling, went to get his doctor. "Jesus, Alex, you're bleeding, you're bleeding—did you know that?"

"What am I bleeding?" he asked. His eyes were crazy.

"Blood, young man! You're bleeding blood!"

"Oh, Jesus!"

"I know."

"Christ!"

"I know!"

"Damn!"

"I know it! Shit! Shit!"

YOU KNOW: Nurses don't say Shit.

I KNOW: You are correct.

She continued wiping his body and found the pinches of skin where his IV tubes had snapped. As she applied pressure to the small tears in Alex's body, she noticed that his bleeding, despite being messy, had already stopped. But this blood, this blood was everywhere. It was all over the place. Under fingernails. In the cracks of skin. On the tile. On the bed. Her hands! It was on her hands now, this blood of his. She was afraid of this blood. She was terrified of it. And suddenly the door swung open and a man entered, and the man was Dr. Scholz. This name, Scholz, should imply terrible things.

YOU THINK: The name Scholz implies nothing.

I THINK: There is nothing worse than someone with the name Scholz . This I have learned from experience.

"What happened? What's going on?" Dr. Scholz shouted, not noticing that one of the nurses in the room was doing nothing but staring at the ceiling.

"He just fell out of bed. He's all right," said the nurse at Alex's side. "His bleeding stopped."

"It did?"

"It stopped; it stopped very suddenly."

And Alex imagined that he had turned to the nurse staring at the ceiling and had had an entire conversation with her.

HE IMAGINED HE SAID: Hey, Nurse Staring At the Ceiling, what do you see up there?

AND IMAGINED SHE REPLIED: I see rows and rows of stars, spread out evenly like a net. Do you suppose our planet is just caught in a net, a net of stars, and that's why we're here? That's why we're stuck here?

AND IMAGINED HE SAID: It would seem so.

AND THEN HE REALIZED: It really did.

"Get Rico in here and help him clean this all up," said Dr. Scholz to the other nurse. "Feeling okay today, Alex?"

"I feel like I'm going to puke," he replied.

"Please try not to."

Not listening, Alex puked.

"I regret doing that," Alex said, and promptly passed out. There was a moment of silence in the room, and then Dr. Scholz decided it would be best to run some tests

* * *

When Alex regained consciousness he found his wounds bandaged, his IV tubes replaced, his room cleaned, and his favorite nurse at his side. Alex had many nurses, but this one was his favorite, and this was why: she was the warmest person he had ever met. She was kind, though often mistaken for timid. Her name was beautiful. Megan. Say it out loud, with love. Megan.

"You're awake," she said, smiling.

"Yes, I am. I passed out after I threw up. I don't know why I did that."

"That's okay." She said this in a way that made Alex believe it was so. He liked that about her. "You should try to be more careful in your dreams, Alex. You could've torn a vein falling out of bed like that."

"I'll be more careful in my dreams."

"Good."

"You're beautiful."

"Good."

"My AIDS is gone."

"Ah."

"We could have sex, right now, right here."

"Ah."

"We could. I'm very good at sex, by the way. Just in case you were wondering."

"Okay." She smiled. "Your wife came to see you while you were passed out."

"Oh, God. Is she gone?"

"No, she's in the waiting room."

"Oh, God. Tell her I'm not here." This made Megan smile again, and Alex thought it was a great smile. It was.

"I'll go get her," she said, leaving the room. A moment later a woman in a yellow dress strode into the room, a manila envelope wedged under her arm and a purse flung over her shoulder. Her eyes were blue, possibly composed of crystal. She walked straight up to Alex's bed and, without blinking once, said, "I want a divorce."

This was not the first time Alison had said this. Alex began to explain why he felt a divorce was a step in the wrong direction for their marriage, but she stopped him.

"Alex, no," she said, already prepared for this. "No. No more. No more of this. I want a divorce; we're getting divorced." Alex didn't think a divorce was what she really wanted, that what she really wanted was for him to be cured and home with her, and so he told her this.

Alison sighed, rubbed her temples fiercely, and began to speak.

"Look. I'm sorry about, well, everything. But I can't deal with this, with all ( circular hand gestures ) this. You, the dying-in-the-bed… thing… I can't. Every day I wake up and expect you to be dead and I just… I just… I can't keep thinking about you anymore! It's too hard! Can you understand that ( tears)? It kills me knowing you're here sick, dying, and there's nothing I can do about it! I mean, do you have any idea what I've been going through?"

He said he didn't.

"Then sign this, please," she said, throwing open the manila envelope on Alex's lap.

Alex didn't even glance down. He replied simply that he'd rather not sign.

"Alex! Just sign it and get it over with!"

"No."

"Do it."

"Ah, no."

She was stumped, but only for a moment.

"Okay Alex, fine. I really didn't want to have to do this. Fine. Okay. Fine." She paused. "Okay, great. Fine." She paused again. "I cheated on you. Okay? There. I did it. I cheated on you. Do we have grounds for divorce now? Okay?"

"Oh." He paused briefly, then made a decision. Admittedly, it was an easy decision for him to make. "It's okay," Alex said calmly.

" What? It's okay?" Alison blurted.

"Sure! I forgive you!" He said it so happily! He was smiling! He really didn't care!

"No you don't!"

"I do!"

" Fuck you!"

"I love you!"

"God damnit, Alex, fuck you! This is so hard for me!" She was beginning to cry again, but Alex could only smile. Suddenly Megan entered the room carrying a series of tubes, a set of gloves, a pad of gauze, and a clean syringe.

"What's this?" Alex demanded, suddenly full of dread.

"Dr. Scholz wants to run some tests," she replied.

"No! You promised only once a week! No, no way!" he shouted.

"Alex, calm down! We just want to make sure you're doing okay after this morning."

"But I'm fine! And it isn't Wednesday! True or false: this isn't Wednesday? True—that's true."

"I'm sorry. Doctor's orders."

Alison watched quietly as this nurse managed to quiet her normally hysterical husband. Alison watched as Megan held Alex's bicep carefully, revealing a plump, blue vein on his forearm. Then, wrapping his bicep with a strip of rubber, she gently wiped a spot on his skin with an alcohol-drenched swab. The needle in her hand, she looked at Alex, whose eyes seemed filled with terror. They were.

"Are you ready?" Megan asked. The room was, for only the second time, silent.

Alex's eyes were glossy and uncertain. He turned his head the opposite direction as Megan counted to three, and then plunged the needle into his arm. Alex's face tightened and he ground his teeth. A small vial between Megan's fingers filled slowly with Alex's blood.

There was a pause. It was painful for everyone in the room.

"Does it," Alison began, quietly, "Does it really… hurt that much?"

"Oh, you know, after the one-hundredth time or so it isn't too bad," Alex replied through clenched teeth.

"He's just afraid of needles," Megan offered.

"I know," Alison replied.

"You know? What do you know?" Alex said resentfully.

"I remember," Alison said. "I remember when we went to get our malaria shots before we went to Haiti." Megan thought Alison was addressing her, but when she turned, Alison was staring off into the distance, her eyes penetrating the wall, penetrating the hospital, penetrating the whole shit situation. "God, it sounds so funny now that I think about it. I remember having the same kind of fear almost, except years ago, when I was young. I guess it's just something Alex never grew out of." And now her tone became softer, and sadder. "Alex was—he was worried that the needle would sink too deep. That it would hit his bone. That it would scrape—the needle now breaking under his skin. And the shards would be stuck there. Trapped in his body." Beat. "Forever."

And again, the room was very quiet.

Her vial filled, Megan slid the needle out of Alex's arm and stuck a bandage to his skin. Alex's face relaxed, and he sighed as Megan left with his blood. The only thing Alex could do was stare at his wife remorsefully. She could only do the same.

"She seems nice," Alison said.

"She is."

"How many times do you usually… need a needle?"

"Why? You suddenly care?"

"I was just asking."

"Well, you never asked before." Beat. Alex regretted what he said. He kept this to himself. "So. You're seeing someone these days?" he offered instead. Alison stared off into space.

"Yes," she said eventually, in a way that made it seem to Alex as though she were no longer proud of it.

ALEX WONDERED: What is he like? Is he better than me?

ALISON KNEW: He was not.

AND DESPITE THIS, ALISON DEMANDED : Alex. Please sign. Now.

Alex paused, and then, defeated, looked down at the papers in his lap. Alison walked over and offered him a pen from her pocket. She was allowed to do this because she was a notary public, and, yes, allowed to act as a witness to her own divorce. She had asked the governor. Alex knew this.

"Hold on. I'm reading," he said coldly.

Alison sighed. "There's no fine print. It's a divorce, not a contract."

"Yes, I know. And a marriage is a contract. A divorce is a surrender. A divorce means life has conquered what was once love." And now, looking up at her suddenly and snatching the pen from her hand, he said, "And now that you know this, if you can look at me and tell me that you still want me to sign, then that's what I'll do. I'll sign myself right out of your life."

And for a moment, Alex was sure she would never again tell him to sign it.

"I want you to sign it," Alison said.

"Fine, you got it," Alex said, already halfway through his signature. When he finished she took the papers and slid them into a mailing envelope that she had kept flat in her purse. It was already stamped and addressed. She asked where the mail room was, and Alex told her it was on the first floor. She did not hesitate—she simply sealed the envelope, left the room, and mailed her divorce papers the way she had been planning to do for some time.

IT WAS THEN THAT ALEX TURNED TO YOU AND SAID : Do you know how Alison and I met?

AND YOU RESPONDED: No, I don't.

AND ALEX STARTED TO TELL THE STORY, BUT THEN, SUDDENLY, IN HORROR, REALIZED: It doesn't matter how we met. We're parting ways now. In the end, we're parting ways…

Alex looked up as Alison walked back into the room, this time without the envelope. She started to say something, something comforting perhaps, but then decided it would be easier, and thus better, to stay silent. She felt she should be apologizing for something, but didn't know what. She had felt this way often.

And then, finally, Dr. Scholz entered the room. His face was grave, his skin pale. He paused in the middle of the room staring at a printout in his hands, scanning the numbers and figures one final time. And then, on the verge of tears because of the magnificence of the statement, he looked up at Alex and said:

"Your AIDS is gone."

And since Alex knew, and Alison knew this to be impossible, they didn't even react. They didn't even move. But Dr. Scholz was insistent; he presented charts and graphs illustrating Alex's miraculous and secret recovery—a recovery none of the doctors could explain.

Alex and Alison were still silent.

So then Dr. Scholz presented them with Alex's blood tests and explained to them the startling findings. He explained how Alex's cells were now free, no longer hosts; he explained that Alex's toxoplasmosis was nonexistent, that his blood had somehow cleared; he pointed out how Alex's T-cells had regenerated, had nearly tripled in count, how this was unprecedented, unreal, unexplained.

Alex and Alison, still, were silent.

Dr. Scholz went on explaining the sudden nonexistence of certain proteins in Alex's plasma, the sudden prevalence of certain healthy macrophages, the reinvigoration of Alex's entire immune system, the one that had only the day before been completely shattered. He explained that Alex's body, however unexplained and however suddenly, had vanquished a disease thought to have no cure, a disease thought to have no end, no hope, a disease thought to mean annihilation. And now Dr. Scholz, realizing he was the first person ever to have said such shimmering words, repeated them: "Your AIDS is gone."

It was.

AND STILL: Alex and Alison were silent.

Dr. Scholz stared at them.

Beat.

And finally, Alex looked up at Dr. Scholz and said, "So what happens now?"

Dr. Scholz said nothing. He had nothing to say.

"What? Say something! What!" Alex shouted, suddenly feeling as though he had been holding back this shouting for many, many years. Dr. Scholz had no answers.

"I don't know if it's that simple," was all he could say.

"No—it can be—yes—it can be very simple. I came here for treatment," he hesitated , "and now my treatment is complete. Yes, that all seems very logical to me," Alex said.

Dr. Scholz looked at Alison, who still had not moved, then back at Alex, who was becoming hysterical. "I don't know, Alex."

And Alex paused and thought about it for a long time. But then he realized:

"It doesn't matter. It happened and I don't know why. It doesn't matter." And then, suddenly, "If I really am cured, then let me go. Let me out of here. Let me out."

Alison twitched, but it might've been a shiver.

Dr. Scholz seemed unaffected. Alex repeated his request, now a demand. "Let me out." Beat. "Let me out."

And slowly, realizing what he had to do, what he had to say, Dr. Scholz walked closer to Alex and said, "I'm sorry Alex. But you can't leave."

"Yes, I can," he said tensely.

"I'm sorry, my friend. I can't let you leave."

"Yes, you CAN! I've been waiting for this day! Please! Let me go! You can! You have to!"

"No."

"YES! LET ME GO! DO IT!" Alex pounced out of his bed, and again the tubes tore from his wrists. Blood sprayed carelessly; messy, but clean. It no longer mattered.

"I can't."

"Don't say you CAN'T! You CAN!"

"Sit down."

"No! Let me go!"

"No." And in an instant Alex was upon Dr. Scholz, his hands wrapped around the doctor's neck, tightening, as electric blood flowed down his wrists and over Dr. Scholz's face. It cannot be certain if Alex's intent was to kill him, because within moments a series of nurses and hospital attendants came into the room to wrench Alex from his doctor. The attendants held Alex down as one sedated him with a needle, and this time Alex did not flinch at the pain, nor at the thought of the needle striking his bone and shattering. He did not care. He did not even realize that there was a needle at all. Alex was unconscious, and after the attendants had placed him back in his hospital bed, Dr. Scholz dismissed them. After he regained his breath, he too began to leave, but Alison stopped him.

"Why did you do that?" she blurted. Dr. Scholz turned; he had forgotten she was even there. "Why won't you let him leave?" He saw that her face was tight like a fist. He saw that her crystal eyes were about to shatter. They shattered.

"It doesn't trouble you, Ms. Rose? How his AIDS just disappeared?" he asked. She had to think about the question—its answer seemed both unobvious and critical.

"Yes. It does. I suppose it does trouble me. But it doesn't matter, does it? Does it matter? No, I don't think it does! He's—" she began, but Dr. Scholz stopped her. He told her that somewhere in Alex Rose's body was a reason for this miracle, that somewhere there must be a strain or a code, pulsing with answers, that had been overlooked thousands of times before but would now be discovered. He went on and on telling her how Alex Rose would be studied and scrutinized, how out of this work and sacrifice a cure would be developed that would benefit humanity, save a suffocating planet, prevent millions of tragedies. And even as he explained this to her, Alison couldn't help but feel that Alex Rose, whom she had prayed for and cried for and, when finally dried out and exhausted, had emancipated herself from—should be free. And then, realizing that her divorce had severed her permanently and legally from Alex, Alison rushed down to the first floor mail room in hopes of retrieving her divorce papers, only to find that they had already been sent out with the rest of the mail, and when she returned to Alex's room, she found, to her horror, it was empty, save for a single needle that had fallen on the floor and, most likely crushed under a foot, had splintered into no fewer than twenty-seven individual pieces, all sharp and suddenly terrifying. She was terrified.