Maybe the bus would crash. Karl could only hope for a quick ending. He removed
the get-well card from the inside pocket of his sport coat and shook his head,
such hope was wasted on him. He read the inscription not the meaningless
preprinted drivel: Angels will cloak you with their wings, protecting you, if you will
let them. He pressed on the curling scotch tape that bound the worn fold. No
angels yet, but he’d promised Misty he’d look for them.
“Be careful stepping down, Mister Karl.”
Hector wasn’t the regular bus driver for the free Metro Shuttle that carted the
elderly and the lame.
Karl gripped the stainless steel post and stood near the stairs. “When’s Misty
back?” He used both hands to balance. Blackness tried to close in on him.
“I’m not supposed to tell anyone,” Hector whispered, “she got fired.”
Hector’s pink, studded tongue flashed a silver orb, and his pierced eyebrows
each raised a zipper of tiny dumbbells. Micro exercises, Karl thought. He leaned
against the post as the darkness squeezed his vision even tighter, creating a
tunnel for his sight.
He felt Misty’s card press against his ribs. The darkness retreated, opened. “You
seem like a nice fellow, Hector, so I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble for telling
me why she was sacked.”
Hector pondered then leaned close. “Too much time. She spent too much time
with the clients, Mister Karl. Cranky folks get all in knots when we run off
schedule.”
The other passengers seemed content, in no hurry.
“Mister Karl. Mis—“
Karl looked at Hector.
“Sir, I’ll be back in three hours. Don’t miss me. Okay? I’m the last bus.”
He nodded and turned towards the door. Warm air rushed in, as he took careful
steps down to the sidewalk that led to the Cancer Center.
***
“Mister Klassen, was the bus late again?”
Karl wondered if it were Ms Extra-Shots-Extra-Hot-Nonfat-Latte nurse who had
complained to the bus company about her patients not being on time. She looked
peeved, but seemed careful not to wrinkle her skin with emotion. “No, I had to
rest along the way.”
“But, you’re looking stronger.”
Karl turned to see who Ms Extra-Hot was looking at. He knew better.
She tugged on his coat sleeve and said, “You, Sweetheart. I’m talking about
you.” She tilted her head like a puppy and offered a pouty lip, risking a possible
wrinkle on her chin. Slipping her arm under his, she led him to the treatment
room.
***
Ms Extra-Hot’s breath fogged the inside of the clear-plastic face shield. She
snapped on gloves and split the foil of an alcohol swab. A latex finger probed for
a vein that was up to the task.
“Only four more treatments and you’ll be all done.”
Done for was more like it, Karl thought. The astrocytoma’s web has a deadly
passion for covering and snaring the brain.
She slipped the tiny IV needle into the blue-green vein. A red rivulet back-flowed
into an angel-hair thin line, looped around the curves, and ran the length to the
syringe. She stopped pulling on the plunger when his blood dissipated in the
jaundice-colored liquid. With the air removed from the line, Ms Extra-Hot began
the painstakingly slow chemo push.
“Too bad about those Chargers.” She glanced at him, as if he might share her
disappointment in losing a meaningless football game.
Ocean breezes, sunrises, and sunsets were reasons enough for Karl to want to
live. “Slept right through the game, actually.” He’d lost her, deep in her own
thoughts, probably tormented by today’s equivalent of “Sophie’s Choice”—BMW
or Lexus?
***
Ms Extra-Hot removed the splash shield. “All done and just in time to catch the
last bus.”
She seemed pleased that she’d injected enough venom in him to kill a herd of
rats.
“Have a great weekend now, Karl.”
“Right.” He wondered if there were lessons in her personal training manual on
disingenuous concern. “Go Chargers. Who they play this week?” Karl offered.
“The season’s over, Mister Klassen. They lost the Super Bowl.”
“Oh, sure.” He’d known this but had forgotten.
She bounced off to the next patient, a small girl eight or nine years old who wore
a floral scarf, hiding her bald head. She swung her short legs though, whether
from fear or delight at receiving the nurse’s attention Karl couldn’t tell. He didn’t
blame Ms Extra-Hot. The sensitive types wouldn’t last, poisoning people to make
them better. He knew he wouldn’t last.
Once outside, Karl had to rest. Every step used scarce fumes of energy. He
heard the bus arrive and heard the bus leave. Misty would have come looking for
him. He sat alone, took the card Misty had given him, spread its fragile fold, and
pressed the tape too hard. The card split into haves.
He removed the dangling tape, rolled it into a ball, and put it in his pocket. With
one half in each hand, he joined them and read: Angels will cloak you with their
wings, protecting you, if you will let them. He’d hoped for a miracle. Perhaps
someone younger was more worthy protection.
He closed the halves of his card together and put them in his jacket pocket. On
empty, Karl borrowed energy and walked towards the bus stop, maybe Hector
would come back for him. He sat and waited.
The marine layer crept over the rise soon its moist chill would cloak him, hardly
the wings of angels. Reddish-brown and yellow leaves skipped across the street.
He didn’t have to look; they from a liquid-amber tree. Funny name, Karl mused,
as he wrapped his jacket tighter. The wind insisted he bend forward.
“Karl!”
It was the Ms Extra-Hot. She already had a BMW; maybe she was bored with it
and wanted a Lexus. She got out and trotted around the front of the car, dressed
in colorful gym clothes, a pink, stretchy top molded around her breasts and red
painted-on shorts that were so tight he felt embarrassed to look.
“Karl, you missed the bus.”
Her hands rested on her slender waist, accusing him, as if it were his fault. She
knelt in front of him. She wore perfume, strong and provocative.
“I had to rest.”
She checked her watch. “You’re coming with me.” She flexed her powerful thighs,
stood, and offered her naked hand.
He wondered if she meant that she would take him to the gym. “No, that’s okay.
The bus will come back for me.”
“Nonsense. Where do you live?”
“Ocean Beach, with my daughter.”
“That far? Why doesn’t she drive you?”
“We don’t have a car, and now she lost her job.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him. “You poor
thing, you’re chilled.” She left one arm around him and led him to the car. “From
now on, I’ll take you home.”
Karl felt her hand press against his Misty’s card.
“What did your daughter do for work?”
“Misty drove the bus.”
The End
The End
Angels Will Cloak You
(2007) (Unpublished)
A Short Story by Russell Traughber
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