Isolation for One
by Brian Brestovac
Part 1 appears in this issue.
conclusion
I walked up to him, slowly but slightly quicker than before. He slumped more than sat against the fence. His legs straight out in front looked almost as if they were pinned to the ground. His body was hunched, his head rolled slightly to the right towards me and facing down.
I stopped and stood near him. A few seconds went by before he lifted his head and looked at me. There was blood dripping down from a gash on his forehead, and a small trickle of blood came from his nose. Examining him up and down, I noticed there was some vomit on the left side of his shirt. If someone attacked him, there would be no way he could defend himself.
The thought of attacking him did cross my mind. An exhilarating thought. The sight, the fact that he was all but incapacitated, the darkness and the thrill of the situation had a calming effect on me. It felt good to be in control and powerful.
He spent a little time looking up at me, as if to determine whether I was going to harm or help him. I viewed his face for the first time and, despite the blood and vomit — there was a bit of vomit that had dried on the left side of his chin — he looked incredible to me. I wondered if the grotesqueness of the vision was the appeal?
“Help, help, please,” was the first thing he said.
I was more curious about what had happened and how he got into this situation than interested in actually doing anything. “What happened to you?” I asked, ignoring his pleas for help.
He just moved his head slowly from side to side and moaned. His face contorted a little. “Oh, God! I just need some help, please. Call an ambulance, please,” he said in what was a surprisingly clear voice.
“OK, I’ll get you some water and a cloth for the bleeding. My car is just there, but you have to tell me what happened.”
I ran to the car before he could answer. He was in no position to argue. He’d tell me. I returned and threw the cloth at him. It landed in his lap, and he slowly picked it up and wiped the blood from his nose.
“No, don’t worry about the nose. The blood there has stopped flowing. Put it on your head. You’re still bleeding there,” I advised.
He shifted the cloth to his head.
“Put pressure on it.” I moved a bit closer and threw the water bottle on to his lap, then moved a step back. He picked it up with his left hand, opened the bottle with his teeth, and drank a mouthful of water. This must have irritated his throat, or he just drank too quickly, because he immediately vomited.
It was a comical sight, him holding the bottle up and spewing over his left trouser leg. I enjoyed watching the sickening scene. When he finished vomiting, he washed some of the watery puke from his mouth and chin. Then he took another drink. This time it stayed down. His breathing seemed laboured, but otherwise he seemed more comfortable. I could see the cloth on his head turn red at it absorbed the blood. However, the flow was reduced.
“So, what happened?” I asked again, this time with a more assertive voice.
“What’s it to you?”
“That’s my business, but I’ll tell what it is to you. You tell me and I’ll get help for you. Don’t tell me and you’re on your own. So, don’t get smart with me. I’d just as well leave you here and save myself the trouble.”
He looked up at me again in a vulnerable way. He knew he had no choice. I felt great! There was a moment of silence between us as we stared at each other. I never felt so connected with anyone else before. He was no threat, and I was in control. I thought about how I would explain this to my psychologist. Perhaps I wouldn’t tell her. Perhaps I would tell her but change a few details so that she wouldn’t be so appalled by my behaviour. I wasn’t sure, but I could figure that out later; right now, I wanted his story. He looked resigned to his fate; he knew he was going to talk.
“What do you want me to say? Where do you want me to start?”
“Well, why did your friends run off and leave you? Did they beat you up? Did you get into an argument? I saw you guys near the pub before, and you all seemed pretty happy and friendly. What happened?”
“They’re not my friends; I just met them tonight at the pub. I was supposed to meet up with a girl, but she stood me up and didn’t show.”
As he spoke of another female, a shudder of jealously came over me. I was glad that she stood him up. I did not want another woman in his life.
He continued. “OK, so, I was feeling pretty down and I thought I’d just have a few drinks and go home. Those guys were sitting next to me at the bar when I heard them talk about some cocaine. I thought, what the hell, so I asked if they had any for me to buy. They said they were going to get some at the nightclub and so I went with them.
“There was another man there, and we all went to the toilet to do the deal. It all went smoothly, but a few minutes after snorting it, I started feeling sick. I guess the stuff must have been cut with something. I don’t know but I had a bad reaction to it.
“They took me out and walked me over to where we are now, and I threw up and fell. That’s probably when I hit my head, I’m not sure, but I was in a bad way when I flopped down. One of the guys sat me up here, and I could hear them talk about what to do with me. I think they were worried about me dobbing them into the police. That’s when you came and they ran. I think they were new at this and just panicked.”
“So you’re a filthy, sick druggy.”
“No! I haven’t touched the stuff in years. It’s just that I was in a bad place; the girl that was supposed to meet me, well, we were trying to get over some stuff. I wanted to get together and when she didn’t turn up, I was pissed off. My head was not in a good place. I just wanted to forget.”
He coughed and some more spew came out of his mouth. As he wiped it off with the bloodied cloth, I moved back further from him, a different sort of fear entered me.
“You haven’t got COVID, have you?” I asked.
“I don’t think so. It’s probably all this vomit and stuff that’s making me cough.”
We just stared at each other for about a minute. Neither of us knew what was going to happen next. The tension mixed with the attraction I felt made this one of the most exhilarating nights of my life. I felt less nervous or anxious, but at the same time, the butterflies were in full flight in my stomach. Not nervous or anxious: excited! I felt strong!
I wondered if I should call an ambulance now. After all, he had fulfilled his part of the bargain. He did tell me how he came to this situation, but I was in control and could decide to do whatever I wanted. Besides I felt that he appeared a bit better: there seemed like a bit more colour in his face, and the bleeding had stopped, so it could not have been that bad. Then again, I did feel some sympathy for him, sitting there with blood and vomit all over himself, not being able to help himself and completely at my mercy.
“Well, I’m going to stay a bit further back, you know, social distancing.” I was happy to blame COVID, when the reality was that I had started to feel a little uncomfortable being close to another human. It was social anxiety, not social distancing, that was the issue. I don’t know why it came over me at that particular point in time. It just did. I am not in control of what comes into my head.
He turned his head away and smiled. A smile of contempt. “You stay back then, what the hell do I care. Just call an ambulance or get some help!”
I understood that he was aware of my uniqueness, my quirkiness, and he probably thought I was a crazy person. However, he was playing me. I felt a little hurt and a little angry. “I’ll get help when I’m ready.”
“Look, I told you what happened. There’s nothing more I can say. All you have to do is call an ambulance and walk away. I’m not going to say anything about you, I promise I won’t. What more can I do? Please, just call,” he begged.
“Did you love her?”
“What?”
“You heard.”
“Yeah, but what does that have anything to do with what’s happening now?” There was a pause, there was silence, there was capitulation before he continued. “Well, maybe I did, and maybe I didn’t. I don’t know. We’d gone out just a few times. I mean, I liked her, and I think there could have been something more. But it got nipped in the bud when we had the argument.” Another pause.
“You know the rest.”
I wasn’t satisfied. and I wanted to ask about the argument, but I thought I had better let the topic go. He was rid of her, and that was the main thing.
“I guess it wasn’t meant to be,” I said rather pathetically.
“Maybe not.” He slumped down a little lower, kind of slid down, which made him look more hunched over. I didn’t know whether it was due to the memories of the failed relationship, or he was just getting sicker.
“OK, now will you get help?” he asked in a voice that was feebler and less assertive.
He now seemed to be getting worse. By default, my power seemed comparatively greater. I was enjoying this. It seemed that he might die. I kept on alternating between compassion for a person in a bad situation and the desire to continue talking. This was the first real conversation with someone apart from my analyst, and I did not want to stop. For a very long time, I hadn’t felt this comfortable talking to another person. I deserve to feel good.
To balance the two competing feelings, I decided to compromise. “Let’s look at that cut on the head,” I said with a caring type of tone in my voice. I moved close to him and gently took the blood-soaked cloth from his head.
“Yes, it’s stopped bleeding. It doesn’t look that bad,” I lied. The flow had slowed but not stopped; it was still oozing out, and the cut did look bad. I held onto the cloth; I wanted to keep it. I also grabbed the now empty water bottle.
He looked up at me. “Of all the people that could have come by, it had to be you.”
“What do you mean?” I said in indignation, “I’m helping, so stop being so ungrateful.”
“If you want to help, then please call an ambulance.”
“Alright, alright. Let me put these away in my car and I’ll call.”
I walked the few paces to the car, put the cloth and empty water bottle on the passenger seat, got in and drove away. I never called the ambulance or for any help at all. I knew he was in a bad situation, but he never considered me at all. I knew he figured out that I was different, so I thought he could’ve shown a bit more understanding.
As I drove away, I felt pleased with myself. I had walked up and down that beachfront near shops, pubs and a nightclub. I had a conversation with someone. I had been close to a person. It was the best night of my life.
* * *
When I spoke to my psychologist about the night, she was very pleased, as well. I didn’t tell her about the drugs or how bad the situation was for this guy, I just said he was a little drunk and vomited but was alright.
I told her I was quite near to him, keeping up the social distancing because of COVID, and how we were in conversation for quite a while. I said that I was anxious walking past people when I first came across the person but, as we talked, the anxiety lessened.
When she heard this, she became excited and blurted out, “Great progress!”
I never found out what happened to him. Maybe someone else called an ambulance, and he made it. Maybe he died, maybe his friends came back. I sometime wonder about how he fared and if he’s alive. I hope he thinks of me from time to time.
Copyright © 2024 by Brian Brestovac
