CW 7: Golden

I wrote this today as part of my commitment to the Clarion West Write-a-thon. A dedication means that person sponsored it by donating to CW, and then provided me a writing prompt that sparked the piece. If you would like something written especially for you, please consider sponsoring me.

Here’s all the work of the 41 days. You’ll also find these pieces cross-posted at Sterling Editing as incentive for writers to practice their editing and story-building skills.

Enjoy.

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Golden

for Angelique Corthals. Thank you for your friendship and support.

We all like Coach Adler pretty well, but he is only about three years out of some swamp college in the buttcrack of Mississippi, and he talks funny. So we all thought he was saying Today we talk about mercy. Even me. It was possible: he gets us together after practice to talk about all kinds of things he thinks will improve us, from protecting our knees to the Seven Habits of People Who Read That Book. But although I still care about lacrosse, I don’t really give a shit about being a highly effective person, because what difference does it make if some stupid germ or whatever wait what is he writing on the board…

MRSA

If some stupid germ just takes it all away.

“Mersa,” he said again. “Who knows what it is?” he said. I slumped in my seat and looked at the floor. I am not the person who knows shit like this. I’m not that smart.

“Men Resisting Sexual Advances,” Cummins said. “But no, why would anyone do that?” He’s the funny one.

“My Ride Sucks Ass,” said Molson. He’s not that funny.

Everyone looked at D-Man. Dormanski is the captain and our best midfield. Did you ever take a hose when you were a kid, turn it up full and wave it so the water comes out in a rippling rope? D-Man moves like that on the field. And he’s the smart one. But now he shrugged, and I couldn’t help it: it was stupid, but I just wanted him to notice me.

I lifted my head. “Methicillin-resistant Staphylococcus aureus,” I said.

Everyone gave me the Freak Show look. Methi-what? Did he just say cock? Dude, are you a pod person now? Except Coach Adler, who looked like he had just been given a puzzle to solve, and Dormanski, who raised an approving eyebrow. It all made me sit up a little straighter.

“Sanchez,” Coach said, “Good. What can you tell us about MRSA?”

I can’t tell you anything, I thought, but I said, “It’s this infection they can’t fix because drugs don’t work on it.”

“Good,” Coach said again. But it’s not good. It’s fucking evil. And it’s like everywhere, it’s in locker rooms and even in the hospital, you can go into the fucking hospital and get sick with this shit and they can’t fix it and they–

Oh fuck. Everyone is giving me the Defcon 1 Freak Show look. Oh fuck, I just said all that out loud. And now I feel like I can’t breathe, and I go back to looking at the floor like there’s something there that will save me.

Molson said, “Wasn’t there some kid from Cleveland High….”

But it’s Coach Adler who saves me instead. “Tragedy. Don’t let it happen to you. Sanchez is right. MRSA is everywhere. So hygiene is very important. Take showers. Wash your hands, guys. If you see any red spots anywhere…”

There are other things I know about MRSA. I know that aureus means golden. The kid from Cleveland High is Brooks Dunn, and he was effective, Coach Adler would love him, and he was golden in the game. He used to be my friend. And then we were drunk and he wanted to, and I said okay because that’s what you do for friends.

Don’t tell anyone, he said afterward.

Fine, I said.

I’m not gay, man, he said.

Fine, I said. Don’t be gay. No one cares.

Then MRSA ate his leg like it was a golden fucking drumstick, and yesterday they cut it off. He isn’t golden anymore. And I can’t talk to anyone because I swore I wouldn’t tell. Except Dormanski is looking at me, and I remember that he’s the smart one, and I’m thinking maybe I just did.