Barbara the Slut and Other People. Lauren Holmes

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СКАЧАТЬ Anonymous was the fourth caller on hold, which was the maximum, so at least all the lines were busy and the phones were going to stop ringing. It was my lunch break but I was sitting at the security window, and people kept calling and coming in and needing things. I was looking out the front door straight into the sun. I wished I had sunglasses or ski goggles or something. Every time someone opened the door, cold air rushed through and made me shudder.

      Louisa was wearing her coat at the check-in desk, but she kept asking me what was wrong with me, like I shouldn’t be freezing my ass off. Finally I was like, “Fat people get cold too,” and she cracked up.

      I picked up line one but the caller was gone, and the phone started ringing again.

      “Hello, thank you for calling Gonorrheaville, would you mind holding just a minute?” Louisa pressed the hold button.

      “Oh my god,” I laughed. “What if someone from administration calls and you say that?”

      “They’d call the private line.”

      “What if they didn’t?” I said.

      “They definitely wouldn’t call the patient line. They know we don’t pick it up.”

      “We try to pick it up.”

      I picked up line four and it was still the guy I couldn’t understand.

      Something something HIV, he said.

      “Do you want to make an appointment?”

      Something something HIV, he said again.

      “Do you want to be tested for STDs?”

      Something something, he said in a high voice.

      “Sex-u-ally trans-mit-ted dis-ea-ses?” I said.

      “Yes!”

      The private line started ringing.

      “Okay, hold on,” I said, and picked up the private line.

      “Viv?” It was my stupid boyfriend Davey. “What time are you coming home?”

      I hung up the phone and wondered if Davey definitely knew it was me who picked up.

      I picked up line four. “Okay, what’s your name?”

      Something something anonymous, he said.

      “You want to be anonymous?” I said. “Fine, but you have to have a first name. What’s your first name?”

      “Ano … Mike-des,” he said.

      “Mike Dess?”

      “Mike!”

      “Okay, Mike. Do you have any symptoms?”

      It sounded like Mike Anonymous didn’t have any symptoms, so I made an appointment for an STD testing with no symptoms at seven the next night. I ate the last bite of my eighth brown rice cake with peanut butter and went back to work.

      • • •

      The next day Louisa had to work the front desk with Boss Donna, so she answered the phones, “Thank you for calling the clinic, this is Louisa, how can I help you?” instead of “Gonorrheaville, please hold,” or her other favorite, “Chlamydialand.”

      I was in the dirty lab getting instruments out of the autoclave when Donna paged me. “Vivian to the front, please. Vivian to the front.” Boss Donna loved the intercom.

      I walked to the front, stepping on only the pink tiles.

      “Your patient is here,” Donna said when I got there. “The one that called yesterday.”

      “What?” I said. The waiting room was empty except for a man filling out paperwork in the closest seat to the check-in window. He was sweating and his face was flushed. He looked like he was in his thirties or forties. He wasn’t fat-fat but he had a round face and he filled out his suit.

      “That guy?” I said.

      “No, one of the other guys,” said Donna. “Yes, that guy.”

      I shut the window between the check-in desk and the waiting room.

      “He speaks no English,” said Louisa, “not one word.”

      “That’s Mike Anonymous?” I said. “He’s not supposed to be here until seven. How come he’s my patient?”

      “Because we can’t understand him at all,” said Louisa.

      “Neither can I!” I said.

      “We’ll let you know when his chart is ready,” said Donna.

      His chart was ready quickly because he didn’t answer any of the questions on the questionnaire. I brought him back to the bathroom to pee in a cup and told him to leave the cup in the window and meet me in the lab. But when he came into the lab he was holding his urine cup. He was still sweating. I smiled at him but he didn’t smile back.

      He sat in the blood-drawing chair and I asked him all of the questions he hadn’t answered. I rephrased them so that he could answer yes or no. His breathing got heavier and he answered the questions in gasps. When I got to the questions about who he had sex with and how, he said yes to being married. He didn’t answer how he had sex, and I wasn’t about to ask yes-or-no questions about whether he had oral, vaginal, or anal, so I skipped that part. He shook his head like he didn’t understand again when I asked him whether he had had more than one sex partner in the last six months. Two drops of sweat fell onto his shirt. I wondered if it was possible that he understood me perfectly.

      “We’ll test your urine for gonorrhea and chlamydia and your blood for HIV,” I said.

      He took some gauze from the supply table and dabbed his chin and then his forehead. Now I was pretty sure he actually had no idea what I was saying. I pricked his finger for the rapid HIV test, set the timer, and sent him back out to the waiting room.

      • • •

      I started working at the clinic after I graduated from college. I was supposed to do some other stuff, like med school, but I kind of crashed and burned in the fall semester of my senior year, and now I was trying to figure out what to do about my life.

      My childhood dream was to be a girl-scientist. I started conducting chemistry experiments in the kitchen before I could read. My parents gave me a drawer to keep my potions in, and the only rules were that I couldn’t use anything with a green Mr. Yuk sticker on it, and I couldn’t use anything from the garage. In first grade, my half brother Charlie got sick, and I imagined that if one of my potions cured him, I would be such a famous girl-scientist that I would have to wear disguises when I went outside. I made more and more potions, and when Charlie came to visit he tried the ones I picked out for him. He took a tiny sip from each, and once he threw up from smelling one.

      Charlie was eighteen years older than I was, and he lived in New York City. I remember thinking that he was the person who knew me best in the world, because he sent me СКАЧАТЬ