Hello there. This is a long chapter. Aren't you all lucky?
Disclaimer: Still not mine.
Well, the future's got me worried,
such awful thoughts.
My head's a carousel of pictures;
the spinning never stops
I just want someone to walk in front
and I'll follow the leader
I stare at him in disbelief. It's him – you know, him (well, obviously I had to check – you know, in case Ross was...uh... lying to me – since that's what people do, you know. Hey, is this why people tell me I have trust issues?). He's changed since that photo Phoebe showed me of him. Well, obviously. Most people change in twenty years. With the possible exception of Joan Rivers... let me rephrase my original statement. Most people not formed entirely of plastic change in twenty years... my God – am I actually thinking about Joan Rivers right now? Okay – mental note, Jack: when people call you a freak, this is why! (Plus the way that you're talking to yourself – that might also have something to do with it).
I drag my mind back on topic (it's hard for me sometimes, okay?) and realise that I'm staring right at him. Damn. I expect that might not add to my whole air of 'you left us for ten years, so I'm not even going to look at you', right? Well, it's not my fault. He's staring at me too (and that makes it better).
He's got blue eyes. Bright blue. Just like my Mom. God – maybe the secret no one's ever told me about him is that he's actually related to Mom! If I found out that I were related to my wife (considering I don't have one – a sister, I mean, although I don't have a wife either - that's probably quite an unlikely situation, but whatever) I think I'd run away, too. Extremely fast. To Minsk (Phoebe's ex, David, used to live there. Apparently the girls there are hot. Then again, David's a geek, so... oh, who am I even kidding? I am too).
Oh, sweet Lord. That's a disgusting thought. I feel ill. Ill. Sick. Sick, sick, sick. Sick boy, Jack.
They're all staring at me weirdly now (you know – Satan, his minion, and... er... Ross and Phoebe). Might have something to do with the way I'm repeatedly shaking my head and whacking it – you know, some people don't consider that normal... what strange little lives they must lead.
I turn to Phoebe - she must have followed me out of the waiting room. My mind generally doesn't wander so much when I talk to her – her topic of conversation is normally so terrifying that it keeps me fully occupied. Petrified, but occupied.
She has a weird grin on her face. What does she have to grin about? Unless-
"How the hell did he get here?" I demand, jabbing an accusing finger in her direction (well, hopefully she'll understand that it's an accusing finger, and not that I'm... dancing, or anything. Because, obviously, a lot of people dance with their fingers...).
"I'm not sure." She turns to him. "Train?"
"Plane," he tells her.
"Oh." She looks at me. "Plane."
Oh, really? That's exactly what I wanted to know! It all makes sense now!
I glare at her. "That's not what I mean, Pheebs," I mutter, raising my eyebrows significantly in Chandler's direction.
She smiles benignly, obviously not aware that I am two seconds away from killing her (with my lethal finger, apparently....). "I phoned Joey." Joey? Oh. That would be the one who just picked his nose and ate it when he thought no one was watching, right? Yeah – Joey. What a charming guy. "You know, to tell him about Mon." Really? Because I thought it'd just be a social call! She giggles – apparently my mother's illness has become a comedy now. Brilliant. There's nothing good on television – let's just watch Jack's life crumble instead, eh? Fantastic! "You know," she continues obliviously. "Mon used to have the biggest crush on him when he first moved in!"
Four faces turn to stare at her incredulously. "Oh! Is this an example of one of those times you were telling me about, Jack? Y'know – when I should keep my mouth shut?"
She gets it! The woman finally gets it! I nod emphatically, praying that she might get the hint. For once in her life – she does. Is this conclusive proof that God exists? "Uh – anyway," she continues. "Joe said he'd come straight away, and I guess he kinda... brought Chandler with him."
Oh, isn't that sweet? It's like ordering tickets – exclusive front-row seats for my mother's deathbed. Yeah – Joey plus one guest. Shame he had to bring the guy who deserted us, though.. couldn't he have brought his mother or his girlfriend, or something?
Phoebe sighs reminiscently – oh, dear God – is she still talking? "We were all so close back then. You know – before..." her voice trails of, and she, Ross, Chandler and Joey look tense (as if this meeting wasn't tense already...) and clear their throats simultaneously.
Oh, great. So we're back to the Big Secret that no one's ever told me again – oh, how I love it when everyone else knows something I don't and keeps me in the dark. Hang on – everyone knows. This is so unfair! The monkey (you know, the gormless one they're all calling 'Joey' and trying to pass off as a human) gets to find out before me! I swear – being a teenager sucks. No one tells you anything! Or maybe it's just that they don't trust me... or even that they don't like me. Man – if I emerge from this without severe self esteem issues (well, more severe self esteem issues than I already have), I'll be seriously shocked.
Now I'm trying to be assertive,
I'm making plans
Gonna rise to the occasion, yeah,
Meet all their demands
But all I do is just lay in bed
and hide under the covers
There is an awkward silence. Well, isn't this just one of those Kodak moments you just want to remember for ever and ever? Three hours later – I may be exaggerating slightly – we are saved by a man in a white coat. At first, I'm convinced he's some random gay guy committing a major fashion faux pas – until I realise that, considering we're in a hospital and all, he might just be a doctor. Boy, aren't I just razor sharp today?
"Doctor Davidson," he smiles, shaking hands with Ross and nodding cheerily at Phoebe and the two guys. Uh, hello there. Don't mind me or anything – it's not like I'm the son! Oh, how I hope his first name is Harley, and that he was bullied all the way through school. Either that, or 'Complete Ass'.
"So, er..." Doctor Ass says, turning to my uncle and fiddling nervously with his clipboard – my stomach lurches. This (from what I've seen on TV, which, of course, is a highly accurate representation of hospital life) is the classic behaviour of someone who's got to give bad news to the bereaved family. Oh, God! He's going to tell us that Monica's... hang on. No. That can't be right. The guy's smiling. No one smiles when they're telling a kid that their Mom's died, right?
Yeah, I know I should be brave
But I'm just too afraid of all this change
And it's too hard to focus through all this doubt
I keep making these to-do lists but nothing gets crossed out
"Mr Geller?" he asks. Ross nods, straightening his tie (seriously. Now is not the time. My uncle gets way nervous around real doctors – which, considering he has a PHD in dinosaurs, is hardly surprising...).
"Yeah. That's me." I have to stop myself from growling in annoyance at all this time wasting. I'm glad I do – Doctor Sad Loser over here doesn't look like he's in the mood for animal charades...
"Great. Could we have a word?" the doctor asks him. "Nothing's changed – we'd just like to explain the extent of your sister's injuries to you."
"I'll come!" I shout, jumping out of my seat. "Anything you've go to say, I want to hear it too!"
"No, no," the doctor replies, in the sort of patronising tone he obviously reserves for little kids. I realise that my first impression of him was probably right... "This is for adults." And I am what? I bet he's going to try and offer me a lollipop next... "It would probably be better if you stayed here with Dad."
Dad? "I have no father," I tell him, narrowing my eyes and glaring significantly at Chandler. That's right, Jack. You cut him real deep.
"Well, quite," he says, smiling cheerily and obviously ignoring me completely. "Anyway – Mr Geller? If you'd like to come to my office and we can discuss your sister's welfare?"
Worst chat-up line ever, that.
Ross nods, and follows him obediently, leaving just me and Chandler. (And Phoebe. And Joey).
"I'm hungry!" whines Joey, obviously unaware of the palpable tension (and here was me thinking that animals had heightened senses...). "Chandler, can you help me out here?"
By offering himself as a human sacrifice? Good idea.
'Cause I been feeling sentimental for days gone by
All the summers singing, drinking, laughing, wasting our time
Remember all the songs and the way we smiled
In those basements made of music?
But now I've got to crawl to get anywhere at all
I'm not as strong as I thought
"Sure," he mutters, handing his wallet to Joey. "Bring me back some change, alright?"
Oh, okay, then. When he got rid of one son, he obviously got a new one. Joey. He wanders off in search of food, and Chandler gives me a hopeful grin.
"He's a nice guy once you get to know him," he tells me, winking.
A wink? Ten years, and I get a wink? I gape at him, disbelieving – suddenly aware of how ridiculous he is – of how ridiculous all of this is.
As I see it, I have two options. Option A is to laugh – Option B is to cry.
After some deliberation, I decide to take Option C – to kill the bastard. Phoebe, unfortunately, seems to anticipate this, and grabs me round the middle (which would be very exciting and all if she weren't my aunt, and if I weren't in a hospital planning to commit murder).
"Get off me, Phoebe!" I roar. "Get off me. Get off. I'll kill him! I'll do it! I swear I'll kill him!" My cheeks are warm – either the hospital staff have cranked up the heating in here, or I'm crying (it's probably the latter – if you know anything about the US government, you know that they are not going to let a small thing like their patients dying of pneumonia come between them and sparing a few dimes. It'd probably be easier if we all died, anyway – less people would complain, and they wouldn't have to bother with all that democracy crap). I ball my hands into fists, biting my lower lip so hard it starts to bleed (that is totally normal, I swear! It's what... uh... boxers do...). And I'm ready. "Let me at him!" I yell.
"You don't want to do this," Phoebe tells me, firmly. No, no. I really do. "Well, you do," she concedes after a second (y'think it has something to do with the way I've turned bright red and look like I'm about to implode?). Yep. "But you won't be able to, I promise." And that's where she makes her first mistake... wait. No. This is definitely not her first mistake – I still haven't forgotten that massage incident with the fire extinguisher and the chilli sauce. And neither have that guy's poor family... may he rest in peace.
"Y'think?" I ask, struggling to free myself from her grasp (she's strong, okay? It has nothing to do with me being weak and pathetic! No, really! Nothing!).
"We'll see," she whispers, letting go. I am propelled forwards in a rush of hot anger, and I unleash myself upon him, the tears (by now, I'm certain that they definitely are tears. It didn't take me a long time to work this out, or anything..) biting at my eyes. All I know is that I want to hurt him... I want to hurt him. For her.
My fist flies forwards, and I hear a comforting crunch of (hopefully his) bones. I pull it back, gathering energy for another punch (and ignoring the nasty feeling I have that I've actually crushed my knuckles and left his face entirely unharmed), but an inexhaustible force pulls me backwards – I am helpless to its power. In other words, my Aunt Phoebe. She can be freakishly tough when she wants to – that's probably what growing up on the streets and marrying a gay ice dancer does to you. Well. Maybe not the gay ice dancer bit so much, now I come to think of it... God, my family's strange. Why have I never realised this before?
"Sorry," she tells Chandler unenthusiastically. I am outraged – she should be apologising to me for pulling me off the guy! Just as I was about to do some real damage (I whimper slightly as I nurse my painful fist)! "I didn't think he'd actally hurt you." She pauses thoughtfully. "God, he must really hate you..."
"Thanks for that, Pheebs," he says quietly, a shadow of a smile on his face.
Yeah. Thanks for that, Pheebs.
So when I'm lost in a crowd
I hope that you'll pick me out
How I long to be found
The grass grew high, I laid down
Now I'm waiting for a hand
To lift me up, help me stand
I've been laying so low
Don't wanna lay here no more
Don't wanna lay here no more
He turns slowly to me. His face, regrettably, seems unharmed. Damn.
"Jack," he says quietly, his voice deeper than it was when he was talking to Phoebe. Oh, yeah. Prove your masculinity to me. That's going to impress me. Sure.
"Don't even try and talk to me," I tell him, in a calm and reserved tone. Well – when I say calm and reserved, what I actually mean is that I shriek like a girl. But, hey. I'd say that his impression of me isn't so great anyway – considering the fact that I've already leapt on him and we've only known each other for less than an hour. If I were a woman, that'd probably be okay, but... no. We're not even going to go there.
I feel sick.
"Stay away from me," I continue, trying not to get any mental images which could, quite possibly, scar me for life (like this situation hasn't already done that...). "Stay away from me, or I swear that any number of Phoebes won't keep me off you next time." Fighting talk, Mr. Jack. Not entirely true – Phoebe is infinitely stronger than me – but tough all the same. All this fighting – I am turning into such a rebel! Or... er... not.
"Consider me warned," he says, the half-smile back. That smug grin is grounds for murder, right? I mean – that has got to hold up in court, hasn't it?
Something tells me he's not taking me seriously – probably something to do with the way I'm squealing like a little baby. "I'm not kidding, man," I tell him quietly. "I would've already knocked you flat on your back-" (a smile white lie never hurt anyone. He doesn't have to know that I'm a wimp. I quite like the idea of him thinking I'm a tough street kid, actually...) "-if I didn't know that Monica wouldn't be too happy to wake up and find that her only kid's in prison for life, you know?"
I suddenly remember the telephone call I got from the police yesterday – Man, it's funny how time flies when you're having fun, isn't it? God obviously has a sick sense of humour.
I decide to slip the call subtly into the conversation - well, why not? "Life. That's what you get for murder, y'know," I inform him meaningfully (you know... just in case he... didn't already know). Oh, yeah – seriously, Subtle is my middle name. Jack Subtle Bing (and you thought my name couldn't get any worse... well, actually, it could. My middle name is really... uh... Muriel. Oh, the glee on the faces of the kids in my class when they found that one out, I tell you...).
"Yeah. I know that," he replies. "I watch a lot of cop shows on TV."
Oh, good. I'm so glad to know that you ditched my Mom in order to do something meaningful with your life and not just to waste your life away for no reason, then. I'm sure she'll be glad to know that when she gets out of here. That'll make the years worth it. "No firsthand experience, then?" I ask, noticing that he isn't picking up on my delicate hints. He must be even more stupid than I thought...
"Of cop shows on TV?" he asks, grinning. Oh, hello there, Mr. Wit.
"Forget it. We're not having this conversation."
"Really? You could've fooled me, man. What're we doing now, then?" Hey. It's good to know that the guy has a sense of humour. It's also good to know that there's no way in hell I could have inherited it. Thank God.
"You aren't important to me. I'm not just saying that." Well, I am really, because he is important. He's my father. But he doesn't have to know that. "All I care about right now is my mother, okay?" Fear erupts into my mouth at the thought of Monica – like a volcano. Mount Jack. Only, instead of lava-
"Are you being sick?" he asks, worriedly.
"Are you stating the obvious?" I retort. Or, at least, I try to. It's hard to be dry and cutting while you're retching on the floor underneath a plastic hospital chair – you try it, okay?
Phoebe steps in, putting an arm around me (she's a brave woman – either that, or she's brought a change of clothes with her...). "You wanna go to the restroom, Jackie?"
No, no. I'm fine here, thanks. Perfectly comfortable.
At that moment, a gaggle of doctors (a gaggle? I'm not sure. What's the correct term for a collection of medical workers?) runs past, followed by my Uncle Ross in hot pursuit. Hey, that would make a good computer game! Chase The Doctors Then Impale Them With Their Stethoscopes! On the other hand, it might not be violent enough for today's teen market...
"Ross? What's wrong?" asks Chandler, leaping to his feet.
I glare at him. "Don't talk to my uncle," I tell him. I turn to Ross. "Ross? What's wrong?" (Me saying it makes all the difference, honestly...).
"It's Monica! She's... she's..." he chokes. "Oh, come on!"
Everything that happens is supposed to be
And it's all predetermined – can't change your destiny
Guess I'll just keep moving
Someday maybe I'll get to where I'm going
Oh, dear. I think I've become addicted to cliff-hangers. Tee hee. I love you all and I'm glad that people are actually reading this! Don't hesitate to review!