I want a beer. I want some weed.nextI want JC to get up off the floor and stop throwing jelly beans at Justin (which bounces off his pinto bean shaped head and hits my head).
I want Lance to stop drooling on my shoulder.
Geez, I swear we all look like shit. JC has his feet propped up on one chair with his back on the floor, jelly beans sitting on his stomach. Justin is to my right, trying to find Chris’ doctor to find out if he’s okay. Lance is on my left, sleeping on me and drooling.
Damnit, I so want a beer. I hate hospitals. I hate clean, white rooms with ugly, fat nurses walking back and forth. Being the sicko he is, JC stares up the candy stripers skirts as they walk by. I hope they drop a bed pan on his cocky mug.
We’ve been here for… checking watch… almost seven minutes and I’m about to shoot something or someone.
Another jelly bean.
Ugh! Fuck Chris! He just had to go over his limit of six cubes. I think that’s his limit. He’s such a fucked up loser that I can’t keep track anymore. Justin would know… they’re bitches. Both of ‘em. And now here comes his doctor.
Justin jumps from his chair and runs towards him, crying like always. JC stops throwing jelly beans and props himself up on his shoulders. He watches Justin before muttering something and lying back down. I think he said something about Chris being dead. I stare at him as he actually starts eating the jelly beans instead of wasting the dollar I gave him to buy those. I check back on Justin… he’s frantic now.
Something happened to Chris. Something… bad.
I push Lance off me, who falls over into some lady’s lap -- still sleeping, still drooling.
Walking up behind Justin, “What happened?” I can’t help, but cry. I don’t know why I’m crying, I don’t know why I’m starting to care. I. Don’t. Like. This.
The doctor talks about… I’m not listening anymore. I’m just crying harder and harder. He walks away, Justin helps me back to the chairs. JC looks up at Justin, sits up, grabs his belt and pulls him on the floor so that they’re lying on one another, “What’s wrong with the crack whore?”
Between sobs, Justin spits it out. Again, I’m not listening. I do nothing, but cry. JC pushes Justin off him and for once, I think he cares. “What the fuck do you mean? Chris… what?”
Justin stands up. “He’s in a fucking coma!”
“We’ve got a concert tomorrow night!”
“Our band mate is a damn vegetable and all you care about is a stupid concert?”
“I don’t care about the concert. And I’m not going to care about Pokey and his addiction because I hate him more than I hate you.” He kicked the jelly beans away from him down the hallway.
“Then why are you pissed?” I swear they sound like an old married couple.
“Because I spent the last hour with you.” JC walked away. Justin and I watched him until he turned the corner. He faced me, about to cry again.
“You care, don’t you?”
I couldn’t lie. “Yes.”
I let him hug me. I let him cry into my shoulder. I cried for Chris, and for Justin. For the pain we were feeling. And I cried for JC.