scrambled for cover. His wild-eyed ophthamologist, Dr. Huld, wore a small light above his head, a tiny miner’s helmet. “I wish I had better news for you. But it’s definitely gotten worse. Much worse.” The doctor turned and looked maniacally at Remy—his bulging round eyes framed by thick black lashes, Marty Feldman after corrective surgery—and then scratched some notes on a pad. “I definitely don’t want you to fly. The change in air pressure would be bad for your retinas. Do you think driving would be too hard on your back?”
“No,” Remy said. “My back is fine.”
“Well then, if you must take this trip, I think it’s best that you drive. At least for now…until we get the pressure stabilized.”
“Okay,” Remy said. Then he would just have to drive. “Uh…Dr. Huld. Did I…by chance…Did I happen to tell you where I was going?”
Dr. Huld didn’t look up as he wrote on his pad. “Kansas City.”
“Right, Kansas City,” Remy repeated. He laughed, as if trying to pass this all off as a game, but the doctor ignored him and spoke without looking up from his pad.
“How’s the medication working out for you? Do you need another prescription?”
“I don’t know.”
The doctor looked up again, his eyes bugging. “Are you taking the pills I prescribed, Brian?”
“Honestly, I’m kind of having trouble remembering some things.There are these…gaps. They’re coming faster now…. Could that be a side effect of the medication?”
Dr. Huld removed the miner’s light. “What kind of gaps?”
“Well, sometimes—”
HIS OWN face stared back at him from the bathroom mirror: thinning brown hair, faint beard over a jutting jaw, seams of blood in his left eye, and on his lips a distant, wan smile. And of course, the whole picture was covered with flecks, like a crackling old movie. Remy looked down. He was naked. He was getting thinner, lean muscles popping at the skin. And he was half-aroused. “The good half,” he said quietly, surprised by his own raspy voice. Jesus, was he drunk again? He breathed on his hand and smelled sweet booze. Brandy? Port? He didn’t drink port. Did he drink port? He imagined the syrupy coolness and suddenly craved a glass of it. Maybe he did drink port. Or maybe he should start. Remy looked around. This wasn’t his bathroom. Okay. The floor was tiled with small alternating tiles; there was a sink, a medicine chest, and a toilet. It was very clean. Okay. Okay. There were candles draped in ribbon on the back of the toilet. Candles. This was a woman’s bathroom. Well, that was good, anyway. If he was going to be naked in a strange bathroom, better to have it be—
“Is everything okay in there?” A woman’s voice…youngish, a little tentative, maybe, but…nice.
Remy stared at the door. “Yeah. I’ll be right there.” He tried to come up with the girl’s name: Amelia? Olga? Maria? Jesus, it could be anything. Betsy? Phil? Rotunda?
He looked around wildly and then opened the medicine chest, looking for prescriptions. But there weren’t any. He opened a drawer and there were two medicine bottles. He read the names on the bottles:April Kraft. April. Kraft. April. April Kraft . Was he with this April Kraft? What if April Kraft was the girl’s roommate, not her?
“Uh…you don’t have a roommate, do you?”
She laughed on the other side of the door—a sad, distant sound that trailed off.
Remy reached to open the door when he was frozen by a troubling thought. Had they already had sex? Didn’t he usually piss after sex? He looked down at his half-erection. Was it the before kind of half-on or the after kind? If they’d already done it, and he tried again, it might not work. He might look…how exactly would that look? Valiant, for giving it an effort? Or like a jackass who can’t close the deal? And if they hadn’t had sex yet…Suddenly, he thought of the prescription bottles again. He opened the drawer. The first was for Celexa,
“No,” Remy said. “My back is fine.”
“Well then, if you must take this trip, I think it’s best that you drive. At least for now…until we get the pressure stabilized.”
“Okay,” Remy said. Then he would just have to drive. “Uh…Dr. Huld. Did I…by chance…Did I happen to tell you where I was going?”
Dr. Huld didn’t look up as he wrote on his pad. “Kansas City.”
“Right, Kansas City,” Remy repeated. He laughed, as if trying to pass this all off as a game, but the doctor ignored him and spoke without looking up from his pad.
“How’s the medication working out for you? Do you need another prescription?”
“I don’t know.”
The doctor looked up again, his eyes bugging. “Are you taking the pills I prescribed, Brian?”
“Honestly, I’m kind of having trouble remembering some things.There are these…gaps. They’re coming faster now…. Could that be a side effect of the medication?”
Dr. Huld removed the miner’s light. “What kind of gaps?”
“Well, sometimes—”
HIS OWN face stared back at him from the bathroom mirror: thinning brown hair, faint beard over a jutting jaw, seams of blood in his left eye, and on his lips a distant, wan smile. And of course, the whole picture was covered with flecks, like a crackling old movie. Remy looked down. He was naked. He was getting thinner, lean muscles popping at the skin. And he was half-aroused. “The good half,” he said quietly, surprised by his own raspy voice. Jesus, was he drunk again? He breathed on his hand and smelled sweet booze. Brandy? Port? He didn’t drink port. Did he drink port? He imagined the syrupy coolness and suddenly craved a glass of it. Maybe he did drink port. Or maybe he should start. Remy looked around. This wasn’t his bathroom. Okay. The floor was tiled with small alternating tiles; there was a sink, a medicine chest, and a toilet. It was very clean. Okay. Okay. There were candles draped in ribbon on the back of the toilet. Candles. This was a woman’s bathroom. Well, that was good, anyway. If he was going to be naked in a strange bathroom, better to have it be—
“Is everything okay in there?” A woman’s voice…youngish, a little tentative, maybe, but…nice.
Remy stared at the door. “Yeah. I’ll be right there.” He tried to come up with the girl’s name: Amelia? Olga? Maria? Jesus, it could be anything. Betsy? Phil? Rotunda?
He looked around wildly and then opened the medicine chest, looking for prescriptions. But there weren’t any. He opened a drawer and there were two medicine bottles. He read the names on the bottles:April Kraft. April. Kraft. April. April Kraft . Was he with this April Kraft? What if April Kraft was the girl’s roommate, not her?
“Uh…you don’t have a roommate, do you?”
She laughed on the other side of the door—a sad, distant sound that trailed off.
Remy reached to open the door when he was frozen by a troubling thought. Had they already had sex? Didn’t he usually piss after sex? He looked down at his half-erection. Was it the before kind of half-on or the after kind? If they’d already done it, and he tried again, it might not work. He might look…how exactly would that look? Valiant, for giving it an effort? Or like a jackass who can’t close the deal? And if they hadn’t had sex yet…Suddenly, he thought of the prescription bottles again. He opened the drawer. The first was for Celexa,
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