After the Leg Is Gone 12.6.02
My manegement project has fallen by the wayside. I mean, like, it's done. Decent. We could have been better. But at least I didn't drop my pants as an ice breaker.
Let's go back to the night of the crips. Last time, we had this:
I was working with my management group. I stood to put something in the trash. Most of me was cool with that but a twinge on the left side of my knee was a dissenter.
I had been sitting in one position for a while; i should have been moving my legs. I had been swimming for a few weeks, getting back into shape. Swimming hard. Feeling the benefits.
Then the library closed where I was typing.
for a soundtrack use these interim tunes:
Danny Elfman's Evil Theme from Nightmare Before Christmas
The Isley Brothers' Hurry Up And Wait
50 Cent's Wangsta
Earth, Wind, And Fire's After the Love is Gone
Riyuichi Sakamoto's Grief (Amon Tobin rmx)
Nine Inch Nails' Down In It
Neil Young's Theme from Dead Man
Back to the crips. I'm up in the Tisch building with my non-man-titties and all, and we end our meeting. I start to walk upstairs but my left knee is still balking at me like "Na-na-na-naaaah!," since I let my knee listen to that f---ing genius N.O.R.E. But my knee wasn't pissy drunk like that. "If you can't understand it, write that shit down... and FIGURE IT OUT WHEN YOU GET HOME!!" -Redman
I reach the pool with a gangsta lean and it's all gravy, I stretch that twinge till it backs up off of me, take my shower, and I'm in the pool, swimming hard. I did a lot more laps than usual, and I went pretty hard. I felt very good, like all the training was helping, like the four days I took off of swimming helped too. I stretched once or twice in the pool (legs up to the bar underneath the starting blocks, reach-- yeah, I'm flexible. Yeah, I learned it at the club, wise-ass.) in between sets. Came out.
Went to shower. I decided then that I would have to include this bit in a blog (having no idea what the rest of the night had in store for me). I was reminded of my blog on the 15th where I made mention of the best term for the male genetalia-- junk. I was in a junkyard. Five men had come out of the sauna and it is customary for those men to shower. Nekkid. I won't say whether I felt shamed or elated or anything like that-- but it's a little worrisome showering in a corner while five other men shower too. Very "don't drop the soa-oh-oh." A lot of hair on these fellas too. Yeah, I said it. Just to demistify things.
Worst of all, they were taking cold showers. So I could feel it when the guy who came next to me turned his on. It was cold just being nearby. So I took a hotter shower.
In situations where a man is surrounded, in a junkyard, a man prefers not to hear socializing and talking. That just makes it seem like it's less wierd. But they're all chatting like it's totally chill. For me, it has nothing to do with a fear of man-spears. I just don't find myself in such situations all the time. I need to be more open-minded, right? As long as I'm not open-assed it's all good.
I shudder to think about the junkyard. Back at my locker, securing my very own junk in my pants, then moving on to the shirt, some baby oil to keep my skin moist, and moving on to the shoes--
Something happened on the way to the shoes. Mind you, I was supposed to meet Arroz for some chillin and drinking, and then down to see friend Ruby spin her things. Her things being CD's. Fucking perverts. But I wasn't thinking about that anymore because my eyes were blazed up with pain. My leg went into a locked position like it was trying to find its way back into a womb i never had.
I tried. But the pain was unbelievable when I tried to move it. I used my hands to massage and groove it. I took my eyes and looked down at my shoes 'em. Couldn't figure out the pain it was more than a bruise 'em.
There was a fellow who had put himself in crash position to my right. He had an ice pack over a face obviously in pain. He had crossed my path once in the locker room, staring at his face in the mirror as if to figure out who he was. He turned to me, hesitantly. Do you need me to get some... help?
Uhm... I think you'd better. Thank-- acch-- you.
Minutes later a member of the Coles sports center staff was down there, gauging the extent of my injury. My leg wasn't moving. He thought I might have torn something. I thought I might have lost it right there and screamed but I was working to stay awake against the pain of trying to move the leg at all, put on my shoes, figure out what the fuck was happening to me.
I was told my options and chose to go to the NYU emergeny room, because, you know, my leg didn't work. And I needed it for stuff like walking and chasing rainbows. While I was waiting I spoke to the guy with ice over his face. He had broken his nose playing basketball, of course. He was trying to determine if his nose had changed orientation. It had. I told I hoped they didn't have to re-break his nose as he feared a doctor would.
But there I was, being helped into a wheelchair, and I still had my cellie so I called Arroz (I ain't coming. Situations is all fucked up, yo. Nah, you don't got to come guns blazin' into the drop, dear friend, don't get it twisted) and my brother, Brother-man (Tell moms I won't be home tonight. Nah, I ain't get nobody pregnant nor did I gaffle no punks and get hauled off to cell block A). And I waited. And waited. I admit, I was watching some of the pick up games and admiring the women coming from the aerobics class. I might have been in pain but I wasn't in THAT much pain.
Finally, a member of the transportation staff came with a van and we worked my ass into that van. The driver was a Jamaican man and he talked about his longtime practicing of martial arts; and how he has had knees locked up.
"You think I tore something?"
"Don't even say that. I had my knee lock up on me once. It was just a muscle strain."
"How long -ow- does it take to straighten out?"
"Depends? How long?"
"Like a rough estimate."
"Took me three days once."
I was like, nah, they had best be giving me some muscle relaxers, high grade painkillers, and a bag of Humboldt County's finest all rolled up for use, cause I ain't with that pain, kid.
We approached the hospital in minutes and soon... I would experience the Emergency Room as if it were for the very first time. Okay, I AM an ER virgin. Tune in-- later, or tomorrow, depending on this blasted homework.