"The Boy With The [Mystery Pain] In His Side"
My last hours in London, in reverse order:
Monday, 6:00pm
I am watching "No Country for Old Men" on the plane.
Monday, 3:00pm
I am watching "Iron Man" on the plane. It is making me cry.
Monday, 2:00pm
I board Virgin Atlantic Flight 45 again, exactly 24 hours after I did so previously. This time, I stay on the plane until it lands in New York.
Sunday, 11:00pm
I am watching "The Juror" in a hotel room.
Sunday, 8:00pm
I am dismissed from Hillingdon Hospital, without any particular diagnosis. I talk to my parents on the phone and they order me a hotel room near the hospital. They are great.
Sunday, 6:00pm
The porter rolls my bed from the x-ray room back into the main area. He tells me he's become obsessed with American politics, so we talk about Barack Obama for a really long time. He asks lots of questions about my job. To make things simple, I tell him I'm a "playwright." He seems really fascinated. He is from Cameroon, and has only come to London to get an accounting degree. He plans on returning to his home town as soon as possible. A southeast Asian porter comes in and says, "He's not a student! He's a terrorist!" My new friend says, "No, no - YOU'RE the terrorist!" I say, "It's okay, guys - I am too." The southeast Asian porter sweeps up and leaves, saying, "If we WERE terrorists, we wouldn't need these stupid jobs. We'd be rich." Um!
Sunday, 4:00pm
I am only just beginning to regain lucidity. The pain is gone, for real.
Sunday, 3:30pm
I am riding to the hospital in an ambulance. I am strapped to a gurney. The medic gives me a gas nozzle, which I assume is oxygen. It is not. It is nitrous oxide. I become INCREDIBLY stoned INCREDIBLY fast. The excruciating pain in my abdomen either goes away or becomes unintelligible to my brain. As I lose all sense of awareness, I hear the medic go, "It's great, right? Everyone should have their own supply."
Sunday, 3:00pm
The flight attendants roll me down the length of the airplane in a wheelchair. My face is strapped to an oxygen tank. One of the attendants walks in front of me, kicking feet and bags out of the way. I try not to make eye contact with any passengers, because I don't want to see any angry, accusatory looks. The pain is becoming so unbearable I'm afraid I might faint.
Sunday, 2:55pm
A hot gay flight attendant tells me the medics are on their way. A hot lady flight attendant is rubbing my back and my knees and telling me I'm going to be okay. She is the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. The pain is so bad I start to weep.
Sunday, 2:40pm
The flight attendants are rushing around, making phone calls, filling out paper work. I discover that the left side of my abdomen is swollen and stiff. No one can remember what side of the body the appendix is on. Everyone's making jokes, trying to make me laugh. I appreciate the gesture, but even smiling hurts.
Sunday, 2:30pm
The pilot tells us we have another 15 minutes before we're taking off. I decide this is my last chance, so I approach the flight attendants in the back of the plane, and tell them that I'm in excruciating pain. I figure they will find out if there's a doctor on board, because that's what they do in movies. Instead, they strap me to a chair and start asking me questions.
Sunday, 2:20pm
The pain is getting so much worse, and I'm starting to think it isn't gas. I worry that my appendix is about to explode.
Sunday, 2:15pm
I'm feeling this horrible pain in my side. I figure it's gas, and I start to feel like an old person. "Gas." Who gets "gas"?
Sunday, 2:00pm
I board the plane and think about how excited I am to come home.
Sunday, 11:00am
I say goodbye to Benjamin at the Green Park tube station. I start the long trip to Heathrow Airport.
Sunday, 9:00am
Benjamin and I collapse in the park outside of Buckingham Palace. He takes off his shirt and I watch an ant crawl over his chest. We talk about responsibility and capitalism. He tells me he "believes in altruism," which somehow surprises me, though he says he "probably doesn't define it the way you do." I nod, though I realize later that I don't know what that means. Benjamin says I should see "No Country For Old Men."
Sunday, 8:30am
Benjamin and I are sitting at a cafe in Victoria Train Station. It hasn't opened yet. We just needed a place to sit. I am so tired I almost start crying. Benjamin shows me how to dance with a top hat.
Sunday, 7:30am
Benjamin and I leave the hotel.
Sunday, 2:00am
The hotel clerk starts pounding at our door. I open up. He tells me Benjamin has to leave immediately. I bribe him. It works. He tells us we have to be out by 7:30 or else he'll call the police.
Sunday, 1:55am
The phone starts ringing so Benjamin rips it out of the wall.
Sunday, 1:30am
Benjamin and I check into the hotel, but the dour clerk tells me that only one person can sleep there. (I am ignorant of the ways of the world and thought one pays by the bed, not by the person.) Benjamin says, "That's okay," and shoots me a look. I say, "Okay," and pay. Benjamin tells the clerk he's going to help me bring my bags to the room. The clerk says we have 15 minutes.
Sunday, 12:30am
After chatting with Amy Lame, I walk out of the dressing room and look for Benjamin. The cutest boy in the club (besides us) grabs my ass, puts his lips to my ear and says, "He went outside." After doing a double take (triple/quadruple take), I say "THANKS" and run outside.
Sunday, 12:15am
I am dancing to "That's Not My Name" by The Ting Tings with Benjamin, Tina, Jenny, Tessa and my new friend Stella Plumes. We are all amazing dancers. The club is completely packed, and I keep accidentally hitting people. We're surrounded by friendly-faced bearded men.
Sunday, 12:00am
Stella Plumes is doing a burlesque routine as a WWII trench nurse, to the music of Judy Garland's "Get Happy." She is covered in fake blood, her nipples are covered in Red Crosses, and she obscures them with a severed leg until the big finish. The crowd goes INSANE. Tina says it's the best burlesque performance she has ever seen.
Saturday, 11:30pm
I am on stage. I show the audience the origami vagina that Benjamin made me with a dollar bill, thus justifying my presence on stage during "women performers only" month at Duckie. I point out, however, that the dollar isn't worth shit, so OH WELL. I sing "I'm Gonna Make Out With Everyone Who Philosophically Disgusts Me," "Bisexual Boy" and "Sweet Chastity."
Saturday, 7:30pm
Benjamin and I arrive at the Royal Vauxhall Tavern for DUCKIE, the coolest alternative queer club night in the universe. I used to come here when I was a student in London in the summer of 2002. I am setting up my guitar. It is a dream come true.
Saturday, 5:00pm
My dear, dear, old, old friend Benjamin meets me in Piccadilly Circus. We originally met in Maryland, when he was some sort of physicist/musician, but he is now living in Devon, England, and is working as a blacksmith. Whichever tourists weren't previously taking my picture because I'm wearing a top hat are now taking my picture because I'm kissing a boy.
Saturday, 2:00pm
I'm eating a massive lunch in Neal's Yard with Tina from Dream Bitches and Pantsuit. Tina is doing PhD work in London. I haven't been to Neal's Yard in six years. I am feeling so nostalgic, though my memories are relatively vague - just a diffuse sense of freedom and power that I never felt as an undergrad in the states.
Saturday, 1:20pm
I arrive in London from Oxford, where I was the maid of honor at Christine's wedding.
[Report on Christine's wedding forthcoming...]
Monday, 6:00pm
I am watching "No Country for Old Men" on the plane.
Monday, 3:00pm
I am watching "Iron Man" on the plane. It is making me cry.
Monday, 2:00pm
I board Virgin Atlantic Flight 45 again, exactly 24 hours after I did so previously. This time, I stay on the plane until it lands in New York.
Sunday, 11:00pm
I am watching "The Juror" in a hotel room.
Sunday, 8:00pm
I am dismissed from Hillingdon Hospital, without any particular diagnosis. I talk to my parents on the phone and they order me a hotel room near the hospital. They are great.
Sunday, 6:00pm
The porter rolls my bed from the x-ray room back into the main area. He tells me he's become obsessed with American politics, so we talk about Barack Obama for a really long time. He asks lots of questions about my job. To make things simple, I tell him I'm a "playwright." He seems really fascinated. He is from Cameroon, and has only come to London to get an accounting degree. He plans on returning to his home town as soon as possible. A southeast Asian porter comes in and says, "He's not a student! He's a terrorist!" My new friend says, "No, no - YOU'RE the terrorist!" I say, "It's okay, guys - I am too." The southeast Asian porter sweeps up and leaves, saying, "If we WERE terrorists, we wouldn't need these stupid jobs. We'd be rich." Um!
Sunday, 4:00pm
I am only just beginning to regain lucidity. The pain is gone, for real.
Sunday, 3:30pm
I am riding to the hospital in an ambulance. I am strapped to a gurney. The medic gives me a gas nozzle, which I assume is oxygen. It is not. It is nitrous oxide. I become INCREDIBLY stoned INCREDIBLY fast. The excruciating pain in my abdomen either goes away or becomes unintelligible to my brain. As I lose all sense of awareness, I hear the medic go, "It's great, right? Everyone should have their own supply."
Sunday, 3:00pm
The flight attendants roll me down the length of the airplane in a wheelchair. My face is strapped to an oxygen tank. One of the attendants walks in front of me, kicking feet and bags out of the way. I try not to make eye contact with any passengers, because I don't want to see any angry, accusatory looks. The pain is becoming so unbearable I'm afraid I might faint.
Sunday, 2:55pm
A hot gay flight attendant tells me the medics are on their way. A hot lady flight attendant is rubbing my back and my knees and telling me I'm going to be okay. She is the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. The pain is so bad I start to weep.
Sunday, 2:40pm
The flight attendants are rushing around, making phone calls, filling out paper work. I discover that the left side of my abdomen is swollen and stiff. No one can remember what side of the body the appendix is on. Everyone's making jokes, trying to make me laugh. I appreciate the gesture, but even smiling hurts.
Sunday, 2:30pm
The pilot tells us we have another 15 minutes before we're taking off. I decide this is my last chance, so I approach the flight attendants in the back of the plane, and tell them that I'm in excruciating pain. I figure they will find out if there's a doctor on board, because that's what they do in movies. Instead, they strap me to a chair and start asking me questions.
Sunday, 2:20pm
The pain is getting so much worse, and I'm starting to think it isn't gas. I worry that my appendix is about to explode.
Sunday, 2:15pm
I'm feeling this horrible pain in my side. I figure it's gas, and I start to feel like an old person. "Gas." Who gets "gas"?
Sunday, 2:00pm
I board the plane and think about how excited I am to come home.
Sunday, 11:00am
I say goodbye to Benjamin at the Green Park tube station. I start the long trip to Heathrow Airport.
Sunday, 9:00am
Benjamin and I collapse in the park outside of Buckingham Palace. He takes off his shirt and I watch an ant crawl over his chest. We talk about responsibility and capitalism. He tells me he "believes in altruism," which somehow surprises me, though he says he "probably doesn't define it the way you do." I nod, though I realize later that I don't know what that means. Benjamin says I should see "No Country For Old Men."
Sunday, 8:30am
Benjamin and I are sitting at a cafe in Victoria Train Station. It hasn't opened yet. We just needed a place to sit. I am so tired I almost start crying. Benjamin shows me how to dance with a top hat.
Sunday, 7:30am
Benjamin and I leave the hotel.
Sunday, 2:00am
The hotel clerk starts pounding at our door. I open up. He tells me Benjamin has to leave immediately. I bribe him. It works. He tells us we have to be out by 7:30 or else he'll call the police.
Sunday, 1:55am
The phone starts ringing so Benjamin rips it out of the wall.
Sunday, 1:30am
Benjamin and I check into the hotel, but the dour clerk tells me that only one person can sleep there. (I am ignorant of the ways of the world and thought one pays by the bed, not by the person.) Benjamin says, "That's okay," and shoots me a look. I say, "Okay," and pay. Benjamin tells the clerk he's going to help me bring my bags to the room. The clerk says we have 15 minutes.
Sunday, 12:30am
After chatting with Amy Lame, I walk out of the dressing room and look for Benjamin. The cutest boy in the club (besides us) grabs my ass, puts his lips to my ear and says, "He went outside." After doing a double take (triple/quadruple take), I say "THANKS" and run outside.
Sunday, 12:15am
I am dancing to "That's Not My Name" by The Ting Tings with Benjamin, Tina, Jenny, Tessa and my new friend Stella Plumes. We are all amazing dancers. The club is completely packed, and I keep accidentally hitting people. We're surrounded by friendly-faced bearded men.
Sunday, 12:00am
Stella Plumes is doing a burlesque routine as a WWII trench nurse, to the music of Judy Garland's "Get Happy." She is covered in fake blood, her nipples are covered in Red Crosses, and she obscures them with a severed leg until the big finish. The crowd goes INSANE. Tina says it's the best burlesque performance she has ever seen.
Saturday, 11:30pm
I am on stage. I show the audience the origami vagina that Benjamin made me with a dollar bill, thus justifying my presence on stage during "women performers only" month at Duckie. I point out, however, that the dollar isn't worth shit, so OH WELL. I sing "I'm Gonna Make Out With Everyone Who Philosophically Disgusts Me," "Bisexual Boy" and "Sweet Chastity."
Saturday, 7:30pm
Benjamin and I arrive at the Royal Vauxhall Tavern for DUCKIE, the coolest alternative queer club night in the universe. I used to come here when I was a student in London in the summer of 2002. I am setting up my guitar. It is a dream come true.
Saturday, 5:00pm
My dear, dear, old, old friend Benjamin meets me in Piccadilly Circus. We originally met in Maryland, when he was some sort of physicist/musician, but he is now living in Devon, England, and is working as a blacksmith. Whichever tourists weren't previously taking my picture because I'm wearing a top hat are now taking my picture because I'm kissing a boy.
Saturday, 2:00pm
I'm eating a massive lunch in Neal's Yard with Tina from Dream Bitches and Pantsuit. Tina is doing PhD work in London. I haven't been to Neal's Yard in six years. I am feeling so nostalgic, though my memories are relatively vague - just a diffuse sense of freedom and power that I never felt as an undergrad in the states.
Saturday, 1:20pm
I arrive in London from Oxford, where I was the maid of honor at Christine's wedding.
[Report on Christine's wedding forthcoming...]
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Dan Fishback is a sponsored project of Fractured Atlas, a non-profit arts service organization. Contributions in behalf of Dan Fishback may be made payable to Fractured Atlas and are tax-deductible to the extent permitted by law.
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