“How lucky can a guy be? I kissed her and she kissed me. Like his son once said, ‘Isn’t that a blow to the head?’
Frank Corrigan sang the lyrics out of one corner of his mouth while the other placed a cigarette in its place. His gloved finger dug into the pit of the patient’s stomach. Corrigan preferred not to know their names. It made it easier to process unfortunate results.
“The room was pitch black. I hugged her and she hugged me back. As the sailor said, quote, ‘Isn’t that a hole in the boat?’
The song started playing. Corrigan kept his hands steady. “Can someone take it please?”
The two nurses exchanged glances. One of them tried to the turntable. The record was scratched. The cigarette spilled from Corrigan’s lips, bounced off the patient’s right arm, and bounced back toward the floor. Corrigan stomped his foot on it without looking down.
“Start it again,” Corrigan said, his eyes fixed on the five-inch hole that contained the inflamed appendix. The nurse fumbled the thin, wobbly arm, leaning forward to put the needle on the edge of the seven-inch vinyl record.
“Start it again!”
The music started. Corrigan’s face softened. He connected the words by cutting the infected organ.
“My head keeps spinning.” I go to sleep and keep smiling. If this is just the beginning.”
Corrigan held up the appendix and smiled at him. “My life will be beautiful.”
He wrapped his fingers around it and threw it away.
“Sew this bastard up,” Corrigan said. He took a fresh cigarette from the pack in his pocket and lit it.
One of the nurses whispered, “Doctor, it’s her.”
“Then shut up. When he wakes up, tell him it’ll be a good idea to switch in one piece.”
***
Corrigan leaned against a wall in the hallway outside the operating room. He smoked a cigarette while singing the song. A nurse approached him from the nearby station, holding a pink square.
“When is the next one?” he said, taking another long drag.
“Twenty minutes.”
“What am I doing to this one?”
“Exploratory laparotomy, I guess.”
He rolled his eyes. “Do you like a good mystery?” he said.
“Excuse me?”
“Didn’t you hear me?”
“I did, I just . . .”
“I don’t. I like to know what I’m doing. I don’t like to go on a wild goose chase inside someone’s gut.”
The nurse looked down at the pink square. “Somebody has to do it, I guess.”
“Thanks. I still don’t like it.”
She held the sheet up to him. “Your wife called. She left a list for the grocery store.”
Corrigan scooped it up and studied the items. “From saving lives to getting food,” he said. “Exactly.”
“Does she know how talented you are?”
Corrigan typed the note. “She knows. I don’t think she really cares, but she does.”
He handed the pink ball back to the nurse. “Don’t you need this?” she said.
“My talents include reading the grocery list once and remembering it.”
* * *
A cigarette dangled from the middle of Corrigan’s mouth as he pushed a cart with both hands. He frowned at the song that started playing over the speakers in the grocery store.
“Instant Karma will get you. It will hit you right on the head. You better pull yourself together. Very soon you will die.“
Corrigan walked up and down the corridors, plucking things, holding them up to his glasses, throwing them in with the rest. After snapping the box of Rigatoni, he wheeled the cart to the front of the store. He flicked the spent cigarette away.
He picked up the items and handed them to the cashier. She entered the price of each in the register. After giving the last one, she smiled.
“Find everything you’re looking for?”
He popped a fresh cigarette into his mouth. “It’s more existential.”
“What is it?”
He lit his cigarette. “I have what I need.”
* * *
Corrigan steered the thin steering wheel of his red Alfa-Romeo with his left hand while working the stick with his right. He regretted getting a convertible. Even with the stuffing, it was too cold to drive in the winter. Another cigarette dangled, falling with each gear shift. A news update was played on the radio station.
“And finally in sports today, the home pro team has selected Louisiana Tech quarterback Terry Bradshaw with the first pick in the draft. They earned losses the hard way, losing thirteen of fourteen games last season.”
Corrigan shook his head. “Louisiana Tech? My god, they’re always going to stink.”
of Sinatra My way began to play as Corrigan slowed the car down the road.
He looked at the house. A light fixture over the door gives the porch a rich glow. He could see the flashes from the television coming out of the curtains of the front window.
They lived there for five years. The place was quite big. It wasn’t good enough, not for how well it was going now.
Corrigan turned the key and killed the engine. The tip of the cigarette glowed in the dark. He considered the porch again. Yes, he knew it was time to upgrade.
He opened the car door. His left foot landed on a pile of melted snow at the edge of the cracked concrete. He shook the slush off his shoes. A cloud of breath mixed with the smoke coming from his cigarette.
He closed the door and headed for the back of the car. He held the key to the trunk. A blue bolt of lightning made him shiver. His head shot skyward, sending a piece of ash flying away from the cigarette.
He saw only stars, along with a thin nail of the moon. He looked for clouds. There was none.
When he returned to the car, she was gone.
