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November 20, 2005

Farts Like Gold: 3 -- Fort St. John

The streets were empty and I managed to get the truck to the hospital without waking Brendan. I left him in the truck, and went in and woke the on call doctor.

He did pretty much the same thing that Brendan did. Told me my hand was broken but that he'd need to x-ray it and suggested I get some sleep until the technician came in at 9. He gave me some Tylenol 3s and offered to get a nurse to help me off with my clothes. I told him not to bother.

I was pretty sure I wouldn't be able to verbally convey a decipherable message to Brendan so I tried to write him a note with my left hand.

The nurse took pity on me.

"Let me do that," she said. "What do you want to say."

"Thanks," I said. "Just write, 'Brendan, I'll be in the hospital until at least 10am. Don't bother checking on me until after that.' Oh, and 'Drink some water.' Sign it 'Kent'."

The nurse wrote it out for me and I took it out to the truck and put it on the dashboard with the keys on top of it. Then I went back inside and lay on the bed. Despite the pain, I dosed off within minutes. The drugs must have helped.

I woke up around 8:30 with the general bustle of the hospital coming back to life. I got a coffee from the machine and caught up on the world. Today was the first time I'd been out of the bush in almost two weeks. Nothing much had happened of any significance as near as I could tell. Still, all the people in the glossy magazines looked, well, glossy. They were in stark contrast with myself. If I were a photograph, I'd be matte finish, non-glossy, maybe even matte finish black and white.

They x-rayed my hand just after nine.

There was a new doctor, a ridiculously clean woman. I was mesmerised. She was as glossy as the magazines. "Well, I can tell you your hand is officially broken. That's the good news."

"What's the bad news?"

She tapped a pen on the x-ray. "See that? That's your third metacarpal. It's supposed to be one straight line, not two overlapping ones. It needs to be pinned. You need surgery and we don't have anyone who can do it here right now. You'll have to go to Prince George."

"Can't you just yank on my finger or something?"

"Why? Do you need to fart?" She shook her head. "It's too unstable to stay set. They need to stick some metal in your hand."

"Well, does it have to be Prince George? I'm not going to be able to work with this hand. Can I get it done back home in Edmonton?"

"I can't refer you to a hospital in another province. And you should get it fixed right away and Prince George is much closer."

"I hate Prince George."

"Sorry, as I said, I can't refer you to a hospital in another province."

"Well, what if I had just gone straight to Edmonton without coming here?"

"That would have been crazy. Your hand is broken."

"I really hate Prince George."

"Well, I'll splint your hand up as best I can and give you a prescription for more painkillers, but you should get your hand fixed."

After she was done I went out to the waiting room and called Brendan on his cell.

"Yo!"

"It's Kent. I'm done but I'm going to be out of action for a bit. Where are you? What are you doing?"

"I'm at the dump, chucking garbage and watching bears. I'll see you in half an hour."

"How's your head?"

"Oh fine. No worries. I wasn't totally shitfaced. Just had a bit too much to drink to drive. How's your hand?"

"Busted. Hurts like Hell. I'm going to need surgery and they can't do it here."

"Shit, dude! That sucks monkey ass. Well, I'll swing by as soon as I can."

"Thanks."

"See ya."

After Brendan hung up I went outside and watched the traffic. There was a lot more of it than Lucy and I saw from our mountaintop. The thought of heading back to the city without her depressed me. Fucking Vegas. It never brings anyone any luck.

Brendan showed up about 45 minutes later. I'd missed the morning bus to Edmonton. The next one wasn't until 8pm, so I rode around with him while he got propane and gas. We phoned the cooks about 11.

"Cassie, baby! It's Brendan. What you got for me?" I couldn't hear her side of the conversation. "Yeah, no, his hand's broke. He won't be coming back to camp today."

"Dunno. He's going back to Edmonton to get it fixed. You can talk to him in a minute. Give me the grocery order so I can shop while you talk."

While Brendan took down the grocery order, I played with my sling. I experimented with putting various things in it from my daypack - my wallet, my swiss army knife, a pen. I carefully swung my arm around a bit. Nothing seemed to fall out. For now at least, I had a little purse. Cool. Might be handy if I decided to turn to a life of crime. Good for shoplifting, or smuggling drugs and diamonds.

"Yo!" Brendan handed me the phone. "I'm done. Your turn. Catch up with me in the store."

"No problem. Thanks", I said. He scrawled some final note on his list and got out of the truck. I turned my attention to the phone. "Hi Cassie. How's it going?"

"Fine. It's raining out here. And the hot water heater packed it in again. But what about you?"

"No rain here yet. I'm cacked. Not sure when I'll be back. I'm sneaking off to Edmonton to get my hand fixed and then I guess I'll be on compo for a while."

"Sneaking... Why sneaking? And can't they fix it in Fort St. John?"

"Long story, but basically, I'd just rather get it fixed there. Can you ask Lucy to pack up my stuff if you guys move again. I'll call from the city when I know more."

"Isn't there anything you need from camp?"

"Don't think so. I grabbed my going to town clothes and my wallet. There's not much else there that's any use to me in town." I said. "Except my laundry. That's going to be scary if it stays in my tent for a couple of weeks."

"We can always burn it. It'll be fun. Next day off in camp, we'll hold a ritual and pray to pagan gods and burn the lot! Might as well do your tent too, while we're at it. Fantastic! Naked dancing under the moonlight! Dark chants! Huge bonfire! I'm looking forward to it."

"Or you could ask Lucy if she wouldn't mind doing it next time you guys go to town."

"Maybe. I like the fire idea much better though. Any message for Lucy? Aside from that you want her to do your laundry?"

"Hey, it's kind of her fault my hand's cacked! It's the least she could do."

"Whatever."

"Just tell her I'll call and leave a number once I'm in Edmonton. I'm not sure where I'll be staying yet. And I didn't really mean it's her fault about the hand."

"So you want me to tell her that you've changed your mind about it being her fault, then?"

"No! Just don't mention anything about the hand."

"Just the laundry?"

"Yes. No. Ah fuck! Yes. No. I'll talk to her directly about the laundry. Just don't burn it."

"Whatever."

"Thanks."

"Give us a call when you get a chance? Have fun in civilisation. Watch some crap tv for me."

"Will do. I'll miss you guys. Ciao."

"Ciao, Bello!"

I put Brendan's phone in my sling / purse and walked across the parking lot to the store. I helped him finish up the shopping. We loaded the truck and covered the groceries with a tarp. We were back in the truck before I remembered that I still had his phone in my sling. I pulled it out and was about to hand it to him.

"Actually, just one second. Can I leave a voice message on this thing?"

"Sure." Brendan took the phone from me, fiddled with it for a moment and handed it back. "Just hit this button, talk, then hit red button again when you're done."

"Cool. I want to leave a message for Lucy."

I got out of the truck, closed the door and leaned against it while I gathered my thoughts. I hit the button.

"Lucy, it's Kent. My superpowers have failed me. My hand's busted and I don't think I'll be planting any trees any time soon. It doesn't sound too bad, but I am going to need surgery which I can't get in town, so I'm heading down to Edmonton. Soon I'll be living the high life on worker's comp, while you poor bastards are still scratching in the dirt for pennies. Cappuccinos and pavement and flush toilets. Oh yeah! Anyway, I'll miss you. I'll call the camp once I know a bit more and leave a number. I'd be eternally grateful if you can look after my stuff until I get back to camp. And, I guess, well, I'll miss you. Bye."

I hit the button, closed the phone, and got back in the truck. I hoped to hell I'd be getting comp. Without it, I wouldn't be having many cappuccinos. I gave the phone back to Brendan.

"Right. Lunch. And then I'll have to drop you someplace. Where do you want to eat? My treat."

"Humpty's?"

"Sounds good."

After lunch, Brendan gave me $200 which I signed for and then he dropped me off in front of the cinema in time to catch the matinee showing of "Almost Famous". It was the right film at the right time. Significant portions of it took place on the tour bus of a fictional rock band. It made me almost look forward to the 10 hour greyhound trip I had ahead of me. I went to a Chinese restaurant near the cinema for dinner and then it was time for the greyhound.

I waited until almost everyone else had boarded the bus. I prefer to pick who I sit beside rather than end up with some random stranger.

I spotted someone who looked perfect. He was neatly-dressed with a Stephen King paperback and a daypack on the seat beside him.

"Hi, mind if I sit here?" I asked.

He looked a little put out, but he stood up and jammed his daypack in the luggage rack above our heads. I smiled and stuffed mine between my knees and settled back to get some sleep.

"Where you headed?" he asked.

I kept my eyes closed. "Edmonton," I said.

"What happened to your arm?"

"Quad accident," I said. "I broke my hand."

"Nasty," he said. Then he put his book away. "I know a guy who broke his hand once."

I winced, closed my eyes, and rolled slightly away from him.

The guy didn't take the hint. "He was in the circus," he continued. "Well, not when I knew him. I met him on a bus like this. His name was Alvin. Ever heard of the Cirque du Soleil? He was with them. He had his arm in a sling like you. He had a proper cast though. It had lots of cool stuff written on it. All different colour pens. Quite beautiful, actually. Why is that you don't have a cast?"

I shrugged without opening my eyes.

"I would have thought they would have put your hand in a proper cast. How am I supposed to sign that big wad of gauze?" He laughed. "Not that you necessarily have to ask me to sign it, of course. We just met. Alvin asked me to sign his cast. I drew a big black heart on it. But I suppose theatrical people are a bit more outgoing than most people. I mean like you or I. We're going to be on this bus for 9 hours and 20 minutes, assuming we arrive on time. Even by the end of that time you might feel you don't know me well enough to ask me to sign your cast."

I opened my eyes and gave him a subtle psycho look. I raised my sling. "I don't have a cast," I said.

"Cast. Gauze. Whatever. I should say that there was nothing behind the colour."

"What?"

"The colour of the heart. It didn't mean anything that it was a black heart. That was just the colour of pen I had with me. There were plenty of other colours on that cast. Purple and Orange and Cinnamon."

>> Farts Like Gold: 4

Posted by YandaMan at November 20, 2005 7:30 PM
Category: Farts Like Gold , Fiction