BLUE IN THE FACE
By
JACOB GRAYSOL
(Jay
Siegel)
“Cleared for landing,”
Meg said
as the elevator reached the hospital lobby. She turned to the man beside the
control panel. “Wasn’t that smooth?”
He shrugged, held the door, and
gestured for the nurse to wheel Meg out first.
“Oh, thank you!”
Meg waved her
left arm, heavy with a fresh cast. As Nurse Debbie wheeled her down the
corridor, Meg said, “Even on the elevator, you make friends here.”
“Glad you’re feeling
happy, Meg.
And unbothered that he told you he didn’t speak English. Twice.”
“Ooh! I’m like an
ambassador,
then.”
They reached a large glass door,
Patient Discharge, with a black Malibu parked outside. Meg grinned. “Charlie’s
here to pick me up!”
“Of course. We sent him
ahead to
get the car.” The door slid open, and they continued out.
Meg yelled, “Hey, sweetie.
I’m
going to be a diplomat!”
After Charlie helped Meg with
her seat belt, he asked Debbie, “How long is she going to be so loopy and
friendly?”
“Don’t worry, it’s
temporary.
Morphine does this to some people.” She gazed at Meg, “Do what your husband says
for the next few hours, OK? No major life decisions, however many pet adoption
ads you see.”
“Puppies!” Meg squealed.
Debbie waved papers at Charlie
and added them to a plastic bag. “Post-op instructions. She won’t remember them
well.” She laid the bag at Meg’s feet. “No more ladders, Meg.”
“I thought I could stretch—”
“You’ve told me.
That’s how
accidents happen. Just listen to your husband today, and keep that arm elevated.”
“I love you, Nurse Debbie.”
After they drove a few blocks,
Meg giggled. “You’re the sexiest ambulance driver.”
He sighed. “Yes, Meg.”
“Hey, why are you stopping
at
the red light?”
He tapped the dashboard. “Not
a real
ambulance, remember?”
“I’ll just show the
cops this.” She
swung her cast, then squinted and brought it to her face, studying each swollen
finger. “Ew! Sausages!”
An alarm shrilled to their
right, Hestia Bank. A Mustang zipped past against the light.
“Geez!” Charlie said.
“That idiot
could’ve—”
A man in a ski mask yanked open
the
driver’s door. He shoved a gun in Charlie’s face.
“Get out!” He unfastened
Charlie’s seat belt and grabbed his shirt; Charlie’s knuckles turned white clenching
the steering wheel.
“My wife’s coming
from the
hospital!”
Meg held out her cast, “I
need to
elevate my arm.”
The intruder bashed Charlie’s
fingers with the butt of his pistol and threw him to the pavement.
Charlie yelled, “Get out,
Meg!”
as the gunman jumped into the rolling car.
Meg contorted her arm to poke
numb fingers at the seat belt release. The gunman pulled his door closed and
peeled out through the intersection.
Meg turned toward her abductor.
He was dressed in black from head
to
toe, but covered in fluorescent dye. She chuckled. “Are you blue?”
“Quiet!”
She crooned, “Speeding
in a ski
mask, not blending in—”
He glanced over, furious. “Shut
up!”
She stopped singing, stunned
by
his angry eyes. As he turned back to the road, he blinked, completing the blue
canvas, even his eyelids tinted. “Doesn’t that sting?”
“Damn bank teller snuck
me
Jacksons with a dye pack.”
“Do you need a doctor?”
She raised
her arm. “Doctor Beal makes you feel real good.” She chortled. “Doctor Beal can
heal your teal.”
He took his gun hand off the
wheel and pointed the muzzle at her. “Snap out of it and shut up!”
“OK, OK.” Meg pinched
her lips. It
was hard to remember to keep silent, to watch the buildings float past as the
car sped along.
He shot across Route 215, then
turned
onto Wood Avenue. “Where’s your phone?”
She picked up the plastic bag.
“See
the hearts? Nurse Debbie gave me this pretty bag for my things.”
“Call 911. Tell them you
were
carjacked outside Hestia Bank and that you’re heading toward Springfield on Route
215.”
“Didn’t we pass the
highway?”
He waved the gun. “Just
do it.”
She tried switching the bag to
her left hand and dropped it. “Whoops.” She grabbed the bag again, held it between
her legs, then fished inside. “Yay! Charlie bought me a cold Dr. Pepper.”
The robber slammed on the brakes.
The car jerked to a stop, blocking the driveway of a Dunkin’ Donuts.
“We’re getting Munchkins?”
He slapped the can out of her
hand, dumped the bag onto her lap, and thrust the phone toward her. “Heading
toward Springfield on Route 215. And tell them we switched cars. Say you’re in
a black Chevrolet.”
She giggled. “This is
a
black Chevy.”
“Then a yellow Ford!”
“Like a cab? We switched
into a
cab?”
“A blue Toyota!”
She pointed at him and laughed.
“Blue … blue!” She clasped her hand over her mouth. “I think I peed.”
He threw the phone down. “Get
out!”
She opened the door, then raised
her immobilized arm over the seatbelt latch. “I’m still strapped in.”
He brushed her cast aside and
poked
the release. The seat belt retracted across her body, under her right arm. “Why
didn’t you just use your good hand?”
“I hadn’t thought
of that.”
She pushed the door open, swiveled her legs out, and scooped for her phone.
“Uh-uh.” He shoved
her shoulder.
“Leave that.”
Meg scrambled to get her footing,
the flailing cast almost shattering the window. She took a step to clear the
door, tugged right by the overextended seat belt looped around her arm. As she
shook it free, she elbowed the door closed, catching three feet of belt
outside.
As the robber sped off, sparks
flew from the seat belt buckle clanking against asphalt, and her captive phone
pinged cell towers every few seconds.
Blue Man wasn’t getting
far.
END
