Christmas Eve

It had been a bad day at work. It had been a bad month. It had been a lot of bad things within a short period of time. He left work with a head full of misery and frustration. Questions with no answers and a job that did not foster the kind of brain activity that might have helped him quell that angst inside of him. It was a cold night and he walked toward the family mart and picked up four bottles of chang-ha. It was Friday night and he missed his relatives. Christmas was the only time of year his small family got together and forgot all of their problems and acted civil around each other, and not being able to be there again added to his misery and self destruction.

He finished two bottles outside family mart and added them to an already present pile of trash. He stuffed the other two bottles into his pocket and decided to catch a cab home and finish them there.

He flagged a cab and as he sat in the back something snapped. The cracks had turned into chasms and tears began pouring down his face. He finished the two bottles of chang-ha in his pocket and smoked profusely. The cab driver had no intention to tell a man in his state there was no smoking. As the cab entered the valley between the Yaksu and Oksu tunnels, he had the cab driver stop and wait. He got out and ran to an LG25 and picked up four more bottles of chang-ha. Chugging one as he paid, he left the shop in a sorry state indeed. Chugged the second one on the way back to the cab and got in; throwing the bottle onto another already present pile of trash. In broken Korean he began to try and tell the cab driver what was going on. The cab driver just nodded and he can remember a look of sincere concern on his face.

Traffic that night was slow, but finally they got to where he needed to get out. He gave the cab driver a big tip and apologized for the smell of smoke and alcohol. The cab driver was relieved to be rid of him, and drove off leaving a very drunk and broken down young man at the corner. He had composed himself enough to walk the streets looking somewhat normal. He got to his apartment and just fell to the ground in absolute despair. He was finished. He was done. He grabbed at bottles of imovane and valium and ate a whole bunch; washing them down with another bottle of chang-ha.

After about five minutes he knew he had done something wrong. He knew he had taken it too far. He knew he had to get himself to a hospital. As fucked up as he was, he packed a few more bottles of chang-ha in his pocket for the ride there. He left his apartment and his eyes closed.

He woke up at an unknown hour of the night from a deep sleep and knew he needed to vomit. Thankfully the steel guards on the side of the gurney were not up and it was easy for him to slide out and stand up. His vision was blurred and he recalled being there but not getting there. He knew he had been in and out of consciousness. He knew he had been forced to drink a thick liquid. He had given blood. They had attached things to his chest.

He moved slowly as he picked up the tube connected to his wrist off the floor and looped it a few times; using the steel pole on wheels for support as he made his way to the door with the stencil of a man on it.

He fell to his knees and began to vomit violently into the toilet. The episode caused flashes of white, black, and sparks raced past his face. He collapsed backward and let his back and head hit the tile wall. His head fell and he became motionless. His eyes opened again and he remembered the comfort of the bed. He rose once again and began to move; the floor covered in black slippery liquid. He did not notice that the tube taped to his wrist had come undone at the point it connected to the tube from the bag hanging from the steel pole on wheels. He was lucidly making his way back to the bed losing blood. He was in another world...a cloudy world. The world of too many things. He slid back onto the bed and fell asleep.

He had never been slapped awake before. He was startled, scared, thrust back into reality. A gaggle of nurses and doctors had surrounded the bed and as quickly as he had opened his eyes he closed them. Again he was jostled awake, this time not by being struck, but by the pungent smell of something in a small white tube. It made his eyes water and his head shake. “Are you awake? Can you hear me? How many fingers am I holding up?” He looked down to see a nurse removing tape from his wrist, taking out the needle, and placing cotton and some new tape onto the hole the needle had left. Again he fell asleep and again he was woken by the extreme smell. He answered the questions and a nurse placed a new needle and tube into his arm and reconnected it to the bag that was hanging from the steel pole with wheels. As he watched her he looked down to see that the floor was covered in blood and showed signs of being disturbed by frantic and constant movement. No more words. No more answers. The tube was reconnected and an absurd amount of tape had been used to secure that previously insecure section of tubing. The group around his bed had evaporated.

He lay awake for as long as he could as an older woman in a non-medical uniform came by and jabbered something Korean into his ear as she crouched down with towels to clean up the mess. A nurse walked past, looked him in the eye, and laughed like the devil.