Friends Like These — Alexander Ferrar

The crosshatch pattern of the pistol's grip was etched redly in the palm of my hand, with a little circle and a slanted line from the flat-head screw on my lifeline. I stared at it stupidly, and at the anemic blue tendrils of cigarette smoke curling away into the night from the Marlboro I held in that trembling hand.

An elderly woman with blue poodle hair stood outside the front entrance of Good Samaritan Hospital, smoking with me, staring at the splatters of scarlet on my trippy molten metal dress. The night was very quiet for the first time in hours.

“My granddaughter's having a baby,” the old woman said, trying to start a conversation.

“I'm sorry to hear it.” I couldn't muster much sympathy.

“Why?” she asked, taken by surprise. Fucking old people.

“Look, my girlfriend's been shot. I'm in no mood for a chit-chat.”

Her eyes widened a moment, then she smiled strangely and drew on her cigarette, a menthol by the smell of it. She blew a cloud at me and chuckled dryly, her voice sounding like the crunch of dead leaves.

“I was a lesbian once. For about an hour.”

I looked at her, startled. She was very, very old.

“That was a long time ago,” she said. I nodded slowly.
“I suppose I was about your age. We all do wild things when we're young. We can't get away with them once we grow up.”

“How old is your granddaughter?” I asked, warming to her.

“About that age. She doesn't have a husband. Of course, neither did her mother.” She said the last with a tone of regret.

We smoked in silence for a while.

I listened to distant sirens and looked at my hand again. Still there. I didn't let go of the pistol after shooting out of the window at somebody stopped at a green light, blocking my way. Startled the hell out of him, but it got him moving. I held onto it until we screeched to a halt outside the hospital and Layla flew forward into the dash-board. Then I was carrying-dragging her into the lobby, trailing bright red slashes of blood on the linoleum and screaming for a doctor.

I looked at the old woman. “About what age did you settle down?” I asked.

She sighed. “If you want to know when you should…” She pointed with the two fingers holding her cigarette at the blood all over my dress, nodding gravely. “Now would probably be a good time.” She dropped her cigarette onto the concrete and ground it out with the toe of her shoe, winked at me, and shuffled back inside.

Fucking old people.