Page 24 of Disciplinary Action
Cal forced his lids open. “What?” he mumbled.
A plump elderly black woman in leopard print glasses, and a long black dress and coat frowned at him. “What’d you take, sugar? Meth? Oxy?” She put her hand on his head, and he whimpered, leaning into her touch. “Child. You are burning up. Why do you babies do this to yourselves? How’d you even get this far from home in this fancy uniform? Can I call somebody for you?”
“Nobody cares,” he whispered, heart shredding as he acknowledged the truth of his words, blinking tears from his eyes.
There had never really been a time in his life when somebody had loved him, when they’d cared whether he lived or died. He was nobody’s favorite person. Nobody had ever been truly happy to see him. Not really. If he died on the streets, would anybody even notice he was gone? Had anybody noticed at all? How long had he even been gone? He didn’t know. Everything was just bleeding together like some muddy mess.
“Oh, now, that can’t be true. A handsome boy like you. I bet your parents are very proud of you.”
A giggle erupted from somewhere before quickly turning into a sob. “They’re dead. They are all dead.”
It wasn’t true, but it wasn’t a lie either. His mother and grandparents were dead, and his father would never see the outside of a prison cell. Nobody else even knew of his existence.
He slid down the pole and pulled his legs to his chest, close enough to the street to feel the heat and stench of the passing car’s exhaust. He leaned his head back, eyes falling closed. “You can’t stay there, sugar. It’s not safe.”
“Melba, leave that boy alone. Look at him bleeding all over himself. You can’t help every damn junkie you find on the street, especially one that looks like he can take care of his own self,” a man’s voice boomed.
The woman gave a sigh and pressed something into his hand. “Bless you, child. Take care of yourself. I’ll pray for you.”
“Don’t bother,” he said, slipping into darkness.
A car horn brought Cal awake with a start, eyes flying open only to have a bright white light burning his retinas. He held up his hand, head swimming. He peeled his tongue from the roof of his mouth as he tried to get his bearings. It was dark out. He sat in a pool of light from the streetlamp overhead. He shivered, realizing his jacket was gone…and his shoes and socks. He looked frantically for his bag, realizing that it sat open against the brick wall of the building just two feet away. He lurched himself towards it, still too dizzy to stand.
His laptop was gone. His tablet, too. So were the chargers. His crappy burner phone was still there though. He gave a hollow laugh, slipping it into his pocket and untucking his shirt to protect it.
He managed to pull himself to his feet but could only lean against the building. His eyes weren’t working right. Nothing was working. Maybe his blood sugar was high? Or low?
Panic ripped through him as he realized what else was no longer in his backpack, dropping him to the ground like a stone to dig through the ripped up remains. His insulin. His insulin was gone. His test kit. Gone. He had nothing. He had literally nothing. No money. No medication. No friends. No help. No shoes or clothes. He was a type one diabetic. Insulin wasn’t optional. His body didn’t naturally produce it. Insulin kept him alive. When had he last dosed? What time was it? Where even was he?
“Where am I?” he managed to ask a group of people walking by. They snickered but didn’t otherwise answer. Cal didn’t blame them. How many times had he walked across the street to avoid homeless people? Some would say this was karma. Maybe it was. He let his eyes fall closed, just resting them for a moment or two, trying to give his brain time to catch up, time to think, to form some kind of cohesive thought.
When he opened his eyes once more, a set of golden eyes stared at him, close enough for Cal to yelp. It was a dog. A great big black pit bull with huge white scars across its face. Cal narrowed his eyes at the stocky beast. A hellhound? Cerberus? The great beast was surely a harbinger of death, sent from the beyond to ferry him across the river Styx. Cal giggled. The dog tilted its head and whined, seeming as lost and confused as Cal.
“Are you real?” Cal whispered before erupting in another giggle.
Jesus. He really had lost it. The dog whined again, pushing its nose against Cal’s cheek. He held up a hand, letting the dog bump his head under it for a scratch. “Did nobody want you either?”
The dog dropped down beside Cal, resting his square head on Cal’s knee. He leaned his head back against the brick wall, letting his eyes fall shut as he stroked the dog behind the ears. At least he wouldn’t die alone. It wasn’t like there was anything left for anybody to steal.
He didn’t think he’d fallen asleep, but suddenly, there was a flashlight in his eyes and a boot kicking at his bare foot. “Hey, kid. You can’t sleep here, and you need to put that dog on a leash or animal control’s gonna take him.”
“Where’s here?” Cal croaked, his head lolling to his shoulder to avoid the harsh light. When the flashlight lowered, Cal saw a man in a policeman’s uniform and a rain slicker. It was only then he realized it was raining and he and the dog were sopping wet. He should have been freezing, but somehow, he felt like his skin was on fire.
“The mall,” the man said, like Cal was crazy.
“What day is it?” Cal asked, feeling crazy.
The officer crouched beside him, eyeing the dog warily. “Wednesday,” he answered, sounding preoccupied. “Hey, kid. Can you tell me what year it is?”
Cal frowned. “I’m not crazy,” he said, voice uncertain as he searched for the answer buried under the cobwebs in his brain. “Twenty nineteen?”
The officer’s ambivalent noise sent a cold chill through Cal. “Can you tell me who’s president?”
Cal tried to think of the name. It was so close, right on the tip of his tongue, but still too far away. “I know it. Just give me a second. I didn’t take my meds today. It makes me…foggy.”
The cop scoffed. “What kind of meds, kid? Antipsychotics? Antidepressants? Benzos? Did you go off your bipolar meds or something?”
“Insulin,” Cal said. “I need insulin.” So grateful to at least be able to say that much.
