Afterwards - 2. Death of a Pretty Cool Dude

Death of a Pretty Cool Dude

‘Shawn Christopher Adams is dead.’

This thought kept racing through Anthony’s mind over and over in a torturous, continuous loop, not once letting up for a moment so that his mind could process the situation. The drive to St. Martin’s was as dangerous as if he had been driving with his ass, blindfolded.

'One Hour Earlier…'

Anthony was working as usual. He was busily typing up something…in an email…to some chick in Cancun. How he wished to be there, if not with her, then because of the preferable weather they seemed to be experiencing at the moment. He looked out his window. Raining. And at forty degrees. Not something someone like him likes to look at during work, or any time for that matter. Whatever. He was sure that he would be able to get away with another hour or so doing absolutely nothing of consequence before the boss would make his usual sweep of the floor, checking in on employees to make sure they’re doing their work. By now, all the employees knew when these “sweepings” were conducted, and so would goof off when they knew that they could get away with it. As long as they got their work done on time, the boss would be happy, and they continued to keep their jobs. Everybody wins.

One of his coworkers, Ken, walks up to him.

“’Sup, dude?” Anthony asked, rhetorically. “Hosting another party?”

Ken smiled, but Anthony could tell that something was off.

“I wish, man. Somebody just called for you. Some old lady. Said to tell you that some guy named Shawn was in a car accident.”

‘Some guy named Shawn was in a car accident.’

‘Some guy named Shawn was in a car accident.’

The smile and warmth that was on Anthony’s face disappeared in an instant. He visibly turned white. The seemingly oblivious yet ominous phrase kept playing in his head. Anthony swore that he felt on the verge of vomiting right then and there.

“Hello? Anyone in there?” Ken asked, getting rather frightened by his coworker’s sudden lack of humanity. “Dude, what’s wrong? Who’s Shawn? Is that, like, your brother or something?”

Anthony looked up at him. No, of course he didn’t know. No one did. Not here, anyway.

“I…is he…?”

Anthony’s tone practically bled with pleading. He was virtually begging Ken to tell him that everything was alright.

“I don’t know, man,” replied Ken, grateful for a conversation to be happening again. “She told me that they took him to St. Martin’s…”

“I need to go, dude,” Anthony interrupted, pushing himself away from his desk and standing up.

Without any regard to the email that was still in the process of being completed, nor any of the actual work-related windows he had up at the time, he manually shut off his computer, gathered his papers and stuffed them carelessly into a folder, and gathered his things as he put on his coat. A rather stuffy coat that he didn’t really like, except for on rainy days, as it covered his clothes from getting wet. Shawn bought it for him.

“Whoa, bro!” said Ken. “I understand that you’re upset, but you can’t just walk out mid-shift. Mr. Jones will have your head.”

Anthony kept walking at a quick pace.

“Fuck you, and fuck Mr. Jones.”

Deep inside, he secretly hoped that Ken would do damage control for him, hopefully enough so that he didn’t get fired. But that wasn’t very important right now. Shawn could have been horribly mangled in the car wreck. He could’ve been forcibly removed from his car by the ambulance using the Jaws of Life. He could’ve been pronounced dead at the scene! The more Anthony thought, the sicker he became. As he sat down in his car, once he made his way into the garage complex, he lowered his head onto the steering wheel, willing himself not to cry.

‘He’d never let me hear the end of it if I did,’ he thought to himself.

He stayed like this for a few more minutes. He sniffed, his willpower fading as he felt the tears beginning to form. His breathing became more labored. Finally, he managed to recompose himself. Though he feared the worst, the tiniest part of his brain that housed his common sense said that there was no confirmation on Shawn’s status as of yet, so he may still be alive. He held on to that belief, started his car, and began to drive.

The gloomy weather matched his mood. He felt like he was in some kind of movie. The whole scenery was just perfect for what just went down. He hated it. While at the light, he suddenly came up with an idea. It rode on whether Shawn was conscious, or even breathing, or not, but he decided to go along with it anyway, firmly believing with all his might that his boyfriend was okay. Of course, Anthony didn’t actually think the word “boyfriend” in his head. He still had a ways to go. But still, ‘it’s like being worried about the well-being of a very close friend, or roommate.’

One that he happened to have sex with on a regular basis.

He shook the mental image out of his head. No time to be thinking about that. Gotta stay focused. He made a turn at the light, derailing himself from the direction of the hospital. He soon arrived at a store. Getting out of the car, he hurried in so that he didn’t get soaked. He roamed the store until he found what he was looking for. A few minutes later, he exited the store, taking great care not to get too wet.

Once he got back on the road, his thoughts started to wander again.

‘If he were REALLY okay, he would’ve called me by now. Or his mom would have. Or his sister. Why hasn’t anyone called me yet?! What do they know that I don’t?! Are they hiding something from me? Can they not bear to tell me the awful news? Is Shawn dead? Oh God, Shawn’s dead. Shawn Christopher Adams is dead.’

The thought kept running itself over and over in his mind. He swore the rain started pouring even harder. The skies seemed darker. He knew, deep down, that he should be driving more carefully, but he didn’t care. The dude that he cared about most was dying, and he seemed powerless to help. The drive to St. Martin’s seemed endless, like he was attempting to drive cross-country in a day.

Memories of their more happier times started flooding his head. They mostly consisted of hot, spontaneous sex, but other, non-sexual moments made it in there as well. The first night they slept together in their apartment. Nights when they would go out to eat, bickering over who paid for dinner, never agreeing on going Dutch. Going to see a movie together. That one time Shawn found a great deal online and managed to get them both to go to an amusement park for relatively cheap. Arguing over who was going to pay for BOTH their tickets for said amusement park. Agreeing, for once, to go Dutch. Making fun of the Gay Pride Parade on TV. Making fun of Jon and Kate Gosselin.

Anthony nearly broke down again while at the wheel. He, fortunately, realized how fatal that mistake would be, and managed to control himself a little while longer. He, after what seemed like forever, eventually made it to the hospital. Grabbing his stuff, he made his way into the front entrance and went up to the receptionist.

“May I help you?” she asked, kindly.

“I’m here to see a friend,” he replied without skipping a beat, having grown accustomed to using his most frequently used term when referring to Shawn.

“Visiting hours are closed at the moment…”

“I don’t even know if he’s alive or not!” Anthony interrupted to yell.

“Sir, I need to ask you to calm down.”

Anthony was far from calming down.

“Unless you are on the list of people designated to be notified of emergencies, I’m going to have to ask you to come back during visiting hours.”

“I’m Anthony Heinmann, and I’m here to see Shawn Adams!” he blasted at the poor secretary.

Feeling sorry for the poor man, and wondering why he seemed so upset over someone who was clearly not related to him (the last names tipped that off), the secretary started typing on her computer. She found the patient’s name easily enough. After going through his records, though, she was surprised that…

“It seems like you are, in fact, on that list. He’s being held in Room 313.”

Anthony felt an immense relief, glad that the ordeal was over with, and quickly thanked the secretary and sprinted down the halls for the elevator. He jammed the “Up” button, growing increasingly frustrated with the slowness of the elevator. He went across the hall and jammed the other elevator’s “Up” button, trying to increase his odds of getting in one RIGHT NOW. As soon as he did, he heard the “DING” of the first elevator as it opened up. Who knew that an elevator in a four-story building could be so slow?

He entered the elevator and jammed the “3” button. This behavior was obviously not good for the elevator’s health. He scanned the other buttons, looking for the “Door close” button, but couldn’t find one. He started tapping his foot, waiting the agonizing five seconds for the doors to finally close. After what seemed like an entirely different, but similar feeling, forever, the elevator made its way up to the third floor. Before the doors could fully open, Anthony was already halfway down the halls, desperately searching for Room 313. He found Room 309, and then Room 311.

Anthony suddenly stopped. He didn’t know whether to walk the few extra feet to Shawn’s room. He didn’t know what to expect. Was he alive? Was he awake? Was he wrapped up so thoroughly that he could pass for someone trying too hard for a Halloween mummy costume? Would he be connected to so many tubes like that one dude in that confusing-as-hell Matrix movie? This wasn’t like the last time he saw Shawn in the hospital, so many years ago. Now he meant more to him. Now there was a reasonable doubt as to Shawn’s well-being. He almost couldn’t do it. Almost. But he had to know. He wouldn’t be able to rest if he didn’t know Shawn’s condition. Forcing himself to take those few extra steps, he barged into Shawn’s room.

“’Bout time, you dumb jock,” came a familiar and most welcomed voice.

Anthony nearly tore up. There was Shawn, lying in bed with a smock on, his right arm exposed with an IV in it, and his left arm was propped up on a ledge, wrapping up in a cast. That’s it. No further bandages. No further tubes. No signs of blood. He seemed (almost) perfectly okay.

“Dude, what happened?” Anthony asked.

“Some asshole ran a stop sign and hit my side of the car. At first I thought it was you, probably as a way to get out of cooking tonight, but the make of the car was different. Luckily, I was at an intersection where the speed limit is twenty-five, so the damage wasn’t that great.”

Anthony could barely make out a word Shawn was saying, as his mind was too busy processing the fact that his dude was okay.

“Dude, somebody called my work and said you were in a car accident. Ken made it sound like you were in a thirty car pileup. Said some old woman called.”

“Some old woman? Well, I did call my mom after they put me up here. She probably called.”

“Yeah, I guess that would make sense. Oh, and I somehow was put on a list of people who could see you in the hospital?”

Shawn gave him a look that said “Are you really that dense?”

“Yeah…I put you on that list years ago, remember?”

Anthony’s look told him that he most certainly did not. Shawn’s face went to one more of frustration at a certain jock’s stupidity, which meant that it returned to normal.

“I said that I was registering you for a particular form, in the case that I should be hospitalized, allowing you authority to see me practically at any time? I told you to do the same?”

Anthony’s look was as vacant as a haunted house.

“You know what? Forget it. I knew I should’ve stuck a Post-It note on your forehead that day. One would think that after about ten years after you stopped playing football, you’d stop thinking like a jock as well as acting like one.”

Shawn went on for a few more minutes, berating Anthony for merely existing. It all ultimately proved to Anthony that he really was straight and was just dating a really tomboyish, androgynous-looking girl. Of course, he couldn’t say that in front of Shawn, or else he’d be denied sex indefinitely, and he was pretty sure Shawn could hold out longer than him. He had in the past, after all. Finally, Shawn noticed the bag that Anthony was carrying.

“What’s in the bag?”

“Whatever it is, dude, I don’t think you should be getting it now. After all, you pretty much spent the past ten minutes bitching at me like some chick with PMS.”

He chucked the bag into the nearby trashcan. He hoped this would work.

Shawn stared at the trashcan, completely silent. Anthony started being less hopeful. This was a sure sign that Shawn was thinking things through, putting pieces together at an astounding pace. He might even figure out what was in the bag.

“Well for one thing,” he started. “Bitching at you is the only way to get you to listen. Secondly, based on what I heard, nothing incredibly fragile was in that bag, or else I would’ve heard something shattering. So it’s not something made of glass, or something you would think would break from that impact.”

‘Dammit,’ thought Anthony.

“I’ll give you props for using an unidentifiable bag, and there’s still so many things it could be. It’d be impossible to narrow it down to any one thing. Of course, I could just wait until you leave and hobble over and get it out of the trashcan myself, completely defeating whatever purpose you had of chucking it in there in the first place.”

Anthony tried to hide his dejected look, but knew that Shawn was a master at reading his face, so he, of course, saw it anyway.

“But,” Shawn continued. “You did somehow manage to weasel your way out of work just for me, though I suspect that some conflict was involved, so I’ll bite and ask what’s in the bag.”

“No, dude. You still haven’t apologized for ripping me a new one just because you felt like it.”

“Do I need an excuse to rip you a new one? I thought it was established that it was always justified.”

Seeing as he would have to employ some new tactics, Anthony turned around to leave.

“Whatever, dude. Call me when you get out. I’m sure you mom will insist on driving you home.”

Shawn, seeing that he MAY HAVE crossed a line just now, begrudgingly relented.

“Alright, fine. I’m sorry I proved once again that one time through the educational system wasn’t enough for you.”

Anthony knew that this was Shawn’s way of apologizing. He, too, had a hard time directly admitting fault, so he knew where Shawn was coming from. He turned around.

“So you’re saying that I’m SO SMART, that I seem to have a thirst for knowledge?”

“Sure, we’ll go with that.”

Anthony smiled. He could live with that apology. He went over and fished out the bag. Of course, nothing inside was broken. Shawn’s too smart for his own good, sometimes. Kinda like with Keith. He walked over to Shawn’s bed. First he pulled out a crossword booklet.

“I gotcha this, dude. I know how much you love doing these damn things, and noticed that you were almost done with your last booklet, so I went ahead and bought you this. I know it’s not one you’ve already done before. I managed to smuggle in a pencil from the car, too. I’m sure the nurses won’t mind it.”

Shawn was about to comment on Anthony’s use of the word “smuggle,” but declined, in fear of inciting another emo streak in Anthony. He was, however, quite surprised at Anthony’s knowledge of how far along he was in his crossword puzzles, as he usually did them when Anthony wasn’t home. Anthony pulled something else out of the bag.

“I gotcha this, too, dude.”

He set down the Mountain Dew Voltage and Black Licorice Twizzlers. Again Shawn’s eyes slightly widened. How did he…?

“I’m not as stupid as you think I am, dude. If you had the choice, you would totally swap out whatever it is they have in that IV bag with this soda. And I notice the occasional Twizzlers wrappers either when I take out the garbage or borrow your car. I figured, well, if you were going to be here for awhile, then you might as well eat and do your favorite things, dude.”

‘Just who the hell IS this guy?’ thought Shawn, completely bewildered.

It wasn’t like Anthony to notice things. It wasn’t like him to go out of his way to buy these things for him. Hell, it wasn’t like him to even CARE so much as to do this for him. Was it sex? Was that it? Make him happy so that when he gets out of here, he’ll be pleased with Anthony’s generosity and submit to his sexual wiles? As likely as that sounds, it just didn’t seem like the reason behind all this…this time.

“Dude? You’re spacing out on me here. Earth to Shawn, dude.”

‘Quick, think of something witty! Something to cover up your delays!’

“I’m that easy to read, huh?”

‘What?! No! That’s not what you were supposed to say!’

“In regards to that, yeah. Who knows what else I know about you.”

“Obviously I’m going to have to cut down on our already abysmally low communication time so you can’t learn anything else. Oh, and lock you in the closet so you can’t snoop around the garbage as well.”

“Dude, that’s harsh.”

“It’s the only way, Anthony.”

Anthony let out another “dude,” then walked over and mussed Shawn’s hair, a motion he knew Shawn hated. Though Shawn was unconcerned with how his hair looked, he still felt like it was messed up if somebody put their hand through it.

“Stop that,” Shawn predictably said.

“I’m glad you’re safe,” replied Anthony. “I really don’t know what I would’ve done if you had been seriously hurt, or worse.”

“I imagine a drawn out ‘no’ and proclamations of ‘it should have been me.’ Oh, and going on a murderous rampage, looking for the idiot that rammed into me in the first place, preferably with a chainsaw.”

“Dude, this isn’t Evil Dead. But yeah, that’s probably what I would do.”

Both laughed. Then they were silent for a minute.

“Thanks for coming to see me, and bringing me these very cheap gifts.”

“It’s the least I could do, dude.”

Anthony then looked over his shoulder, seeing if anyone was close enough to see them. Shawn knew what this meant. After being satisfied with his surroundings, Anthony leaned down and the two shared a brief kiss.

“You should get back to work,” said Shawn. “You may be able to escape your boss’s wrath in time.”

“Maybe. Hopefully he hasn’t made his sweeps yet. You’ll let me know when you get out?”

“Of course. You’d be completely paranoid until I do. Now that I think about it…” Shawn drew out, placing an index finger on his chin, feigning a faraway look.

“Dude, don’t. I need this job. Who’s gonna hire an ex-jock with only a degree in business these days?”

“McDonald’s?”

“Probably not even them.”

“Oh fine then, you big baby. I promise to call you when I get out. My mom will probably get here soon and cry over my utterly destroyed body until they give us the release papers, which may not be until tomorrow anyway.”

“Yeah, your body does look totally mangled, dude.”

“I may never be able to play the piano again.”

“Dude, you CAN’T play the piano to begin with!”

“You see?! The horrible accident has already affected my memory!”

Anthony chuckled. He did need to leave soon, though. Ken’s magic words only held so much power.

“So I expect to hear from you tomorrow, then?” he asked.

“Yeah. Get out of here. Make us some bread money so that I can blow it all on a steak dinner.”

Anthony smiled.

“I’ll see you when you get out.”

“See ya.”

Anthony left the room, feeling much better than when he had entered it. He took the long way around to get out of the hospital, fearing an encounter with Shawn’s mom. Once he made his way outside, he noticed that the rain had stopped. It was still cloudy and cold out, but no longer as miserable as before. He smiled, getting into his car and turning it on. He pulled out of the hospital, praying that he could make it back before his boss noticed he was gone, thankful that at least this crisis had turned out so well.