Free Travelin' Man by Tom Mendicino Page A

shot?”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œYou telling me the truth or do I have to go back and look at your record?”
    â€œIt’s the truth.”
    â€œYou have a script for an antibiotic?”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œYou call anyone to come pick you up?”
    â€œNo,” KC says, nervously. “I don’t live around here.”
    â€œWhere are you headed?”
    â€œSacramento,” KC says, unable to think of any other answer. “My family is in Sacramento.”
    â€œLet me walk you to your car. I just clocked out.”
    â€œNo, that’s okay. I gotta get going.”
    The nurse is too broad, too tall, for KC to push past him.
    â€œRicky, I’m gonna ask you a question.”
    He knows the Six Million Dollar Man smells fear dripping from his sweat glands.
    â€œYou have a place to sleep tonight?”
    â€œMy car. I’m gonna sleep in my car.”
    â€œSo, where’s your car again?
    â€œIn the parking lot,” he says, unnerved by the man’s persistence. Maybe he’s heard a stolen car’s just been towed off the premises and he’s suspicious. Maybe he’s stalling, detaining KC until the cop can rush back to the hospital.
    â€œSo is mine. Let’s walk out together.”
    â€œI gotta go to the bathroom first. You go ahead. Don’t wait for me,” KC insists.
    â€œRicky, why don’t you tell me the truth? There’s no car and you don’t have a place to sleep tonight.”
    KC’s eyes well up with tears. He’s embarrassed by losing control and acting like a frightened baby. It pisses him off that he cries so easily lately, like a little boy or, even worse, a girl. He reaches for his dirty handkerchief but the nurse intercepts him before he can blow his nose.
    â€œWhoa. Whoa. We don’t want you to start bleeding again. Stop worrying Ricky,” he says wrapping his arm around KC’s shoulder and leading him back into the treatment area. “You’re not gonna run on me, are you?” he asks. “Christine, keep an eye on our young friend here and call me if he tries to disappear,” he says to a young nurse. “I’ll be back in a minute. Just sit tight.”
    None of the staff—doctors, nurses, orderlies, young women carrying baskets of syringes and empty vials, all wearing the same blue scrubs—are particularly interested in the young man seated at the nurse’s station, clutching a duffel in his arms. KC starts to relax, allowing himself to trust his new friend. He suspects the nurse is calling home, warning his wife or girlfriend or roommate, maybe a roommate, another guy, that he’s bringing an unexpected guest home tonight.
    Don’t worry. It’s just for one night. Make up the couch. He looks like he could use something to eat. Why don’t you order a pizza?
    The nurse might be Christian, following the example of the Good Samaritan, but Christians always find some way to work Jesus into the conversation and he never once mentioned God or the Lord. He could be a gay guy. He did call KC handsome, not once, but twice. Maybe he’ll let KC stay a few days while he figures things out. He’ll think it’s a riot when KC tells him he looks like the Six Million Dollar Man and asks if he has bionic powers. Maybe there is no roommate or boyfriend and he’ll invite KC to sleep in his bed.
    â€œRicky, this is Mrs. Sutcliffe,” the nurse says when he returns with a tired-looking middle-aged woman. “She’s gonna help us find a place for you to stay.”
    Her ID badge says she’s a social worker though KC doesn’t know exactly what a social worker does. She tries to appear friendly, but acts like she’s being imposed upon and wants to move on to more urgent matters.
    â€œHow old are you Ricky?” she asks.
    â€œTwenty.”
    â€œWell, the bruises make you look younger. I’d believe you were an abused kid. Tonight