Bernard: Diary of a 46-yr-old Bellhop - 2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: The Morning After

Nancy called Bernard’s mother. She tried to break the news gently and professionally at the same time. She had to hold the phone away from her ear when the woman reacted. The woman on the other end hung up and ran over to the hospital as quickly as she could.

Her name was Molly. She was 66-years-old and a career waitress. Her hair was dyed bright pink to match her lips and nails. Her face housed ice blue eyes that matched her son’s. They were accented by powder blue eyeshadow and mascara, but were so covered with wrinkles both from years of worry and smoking; it detracted from the beauty of them. Her body was rail thin and light as a feather. She sat down next to her son and took his hand.

“Dammit, Bernard Joseph! How much more of this do you think I can take? That phone call scared me to death!” She said loudly in her raspy tone.

“Sorry, Mom.” He whined.

She shook a pointy finger at him. “Sorry isn’t gonna help you, son. You need help!”

Bernard grumbled under his breath. “I’ve had help, Mom. It didn’t work! Don’t you understand? I’m not worth saving!”

Molly sat close to him and put her spiny fingers on his fat face. “Now you listen here, boy. You better start prayin’ to the man upstairs to thank Him for savin’ your hide! I can hardly take this anymore! This is four times, baby! Four!” She burst into tears and turned away.

Bernard reached for her hand. “Mom, Mom?” He clutched her hand tighter. “I’m sorry.”

She looked back at him and wiped her face. “I know you’re not happy, baby. I’ve always known that. I did what I could, you know that!” she whispered.

“I know. I’m not blaming you.”

She leaned over to hug him. He wrapped his hefty arms around her and held her tight. She sat back for a moment and reached for her pink luggage-sized purse.

“I brought you this.” She unearthed a journaling book, roughly the size of a notebook. Bernard cursed under his breath.

“Why did you even bring it? It doesn’t help me. All it does is give me a place to write down everything that’s gone wrong so I can read it over and over again.”

“You need to write it down, baby. For the doctors and for yourself. Please, Bernard. Just do it for me?”

He picked up the accursed notebook and flipped through the pages. He stroked his whisker-laded chin. “Fine. I’ll write in it again. I might even start some fiction, you know, good stuff. That way my life won’t seem as awful as it is in reality.”

Molly shot him a glare just as Nancy walked in.

“Ma’am? I got to change his bandages now. You can wait in the hallway or lounge if you’d like.”

Bernard interrupted. “Nancy, this is my mom, Molly.”

“Nice to meet you, Ma’am.” The nurse replied.

“Thank you, likewise. I’ll wait in the lounge, honey. How long?”

“Give us about 10 minutes. I’ll come get you.”

“Thank you. You be good for her, Bernard!”

Bernard rolled his eyes. “Yes, Mom!” He laughed as she left. He looked up at Nancy. “Mothers sure are a trip, aren’t they?”

“They sure are.” She saw the journal left on his bed. “What’s this?”

“Nothing important. Could you just put it on my nightstand?”

“Sure thing. Let’s get those bandages changed.”

A moment later, Dr. Jack walked in. “Well, how’s the patient today?”

“Good as can be expected I guess. How are you?”

“Can’t complain.” Jack looked over and saw the book. “What’s this?”

“It’s my diary. Mom calls it my journal, though my life is hardly interesting enough to warrant the word.”

“Do you still write in it?”

“Sometimes. The last entry was three days before all this happened.”

Jack ran his fingers over the worn pages. “Are you going to write in it again?”

Bernard shrugged. “I dunno. Maybe.”

Jack cocked his head and looked at his patient. “You’ve said you’ve had counseling, correct?”

“All kinds. It doesn’t change other people though. How they react to me and treat me.”

“No, but it can help how you react to them—”

“Doc, I’ve tried all that ‘powerful self’ garbage. The point is I’m still a pathetic loser who’s old, fat, gray and has a dead-end job. I’ve got no future, no partner, and no hopes or dreams anymore. Hell, maybe I deserve the criticisms.”

Nancy gasped. “No you don’t! You seem like a good person to me; you’ve just been dealt a rough hand.”

Bernard forced a smile. “Thank you.” He looked at up the doctor. “Hey, how’s the ticker?”

Jack checked his notes. “Getting better. The pills caused the fibrillation. Do you remember anything about that night?”

Bernard shrugged. “Just flashbacks really. I think I remember the butcher knife and downing the pills, that’s about it.”

“Nothing leading up to it?”

Bernard looked away. “No. Not yet.”

Jack pursed his lips and tried to capture the man’s gaze. “Bern—”

The man turned away. “Leave me be, Doc. Tired.”

Jack sighed. “Very well. Get some rest.” He left the room.

Nancy finished up her treatment. “Do you want me to get your mom again?”

“No, please tell her I’m really tired. I think I’ve had enough for today.”

“Okay, but at least say goodbye.”

“I will.”

Molly came back into the room and kissed her son goodbye. “You take care of yourself, baby. Don’t drive this girl nuts, you hear?”

“I hear, Mom. See you later.”

“I love you so much, baby.” She hugged him tight and kissed him again.

“Bye, Mom. Love you, too.”