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“Aly, are you serious? What are you doing if he is messing around with opioids? That isn’t an addiction an athlete on the way to Olympics has. You shouldn’t get wrapped up in his problems.” Bambi is angry, and justified in her concern, but I have worse problems to think about and getting Lad help.
“Please, Bambi, help him.” The fear comes back; the tension between my shoulders makes me feel cornered and weak.
“There are other drugs he could take to help wean him off the pain pills. Like Methadone or Suboxone. I’m looking it up and finding the closest clinic. They might help with his symptoms. I’m sorry, Alyeska. You shouldn’t have to see this again.” Bambi relays the information I need, and I try my best to recover from her words.
I hang up the phone when she says he needs a prescription. I find the pill bottle again and see the number for the pharmacy and his doctor’s name.
“Lad, I think we have to take you to a clinic or call your doctor. Bambi says it will help.” Lad doesn’t reply; he continues to roll around in pain.
“No clinics.” He grumbles, not wanting anyone to know he is going through this.
“Can you think about anything else besides your reputation right now? We are trying to save your life.” I grab him a sweater and a hat. But I think he might actually want to die before ever showing weakness as an idol.
I’m scared, I don’t want him to die. But all I keep doing is flicking my eyes over to Lad as I drive to the doctor’s office. I scream at the secretary when she doesn’t take this seriously. I tell her he is dying, and I don’t know if it is truth or a lie. But it gets the job done, even if she told me several times to take him to the emergency room.
When we finally reach the exam room, Lad is bending over the garbage can. I rub his back and stare at the door, hoping someone comes into save him.
Finally, the doctor comes in and is kind enough to calm me down. I lie and tell her I am Lad’s girlfriend, Lad waves off her concerns about speaking about personal information.
“How long have you been sick, Aladden?” She tries to check his heart rate, but he throws up again.
“Um, half a day maybe. He seemed a little off when we went to bed.” I go to the sink and wet a paper towel. Gently dabbing his forehead as he lays back on the table.
“Yeah, that’s about right.” He groans and holds his stomach.
I don’t hear the other questions; Lad does his best to answer. But I keep holding his hand, worried this might be the last minutes. I’ve seen illnesses take people. Watched first account experiences on the how screwed up a person can become when they need to survive on other substances.
When the doctor tells me to keep him hydrated, she tells me it is something Lad will have to wait out. She says she will call in the prescription and I thank her and help Lad back to the truck.
“Are you okay?” I pull up his arm and help him to sit down.
“Fuck, I’m dizzy.” His head leans back on the headrest as his eyes close. “I am in Havasu Falls, in the Grand Canyon.”
“What are you talking about?” But he shakes his head, not wanting to comment.
I drive us to the pharmacy on the corner and watch as his chest rises and falls, each time a blessing.
“Stay here, I’ll go get everything.” I can remember those small oyster crackers made me feel better when I was little. My mom would set ten in a line like a marching army on their way to make me feel better.
Lad is sleeping when I get back behind the driver’s seat. I take us home and help him down the stairs, just in time to throw up in the sink. He grips the counter before slumping down and lays on the floor.
I go back out to grab the prescription and other stuff I bought, hoping it will cure his ailment.
“Hey, take these.” I sit under the towel rack and he cracks open an eye. I read the directions and put the two pills in his mouth when he opens, I open a bottle of water and pour his mouth full.
“Thanks, Aly.” He swallows as he crawls over to me and puts his head on my lap. I grab one small oyster cracker and press it against his lips; he accepts one and only one.
“You’re welcome, Lad.” I run my fingers through his hair, finally relaxing, hoping the worse has passed and I won’t find him comatose tomorrow.
“Sorry you have to see me like this.” He utters it as; his body starts to calm against our makeshift rehab on the floor of his bathroom. “But I am glad I have you.”
I dwell on Lad’s words, how he apologized for his current state. I think he has himself on a higher pedestal than what everyone else does. We sit there for a while, letting him rest. Then when he has enough energy, we transport him back to the bed, where he continues to sweat the rest of the night.
My eyes refuse to close. Lad is quiet now, the sun is coming up, and I stretch out my legs to go to the bathroom. When I head upstairs to get something to eat, Lad’s dad is there.
“Hello?”
I nearly scream.
