Mindbottling

The world came back in fits and starts. Muffled sounds that were familiar, yet somehow out of place. The scrape of chair legs on a linoleum floor. The rustle of cloth, so close that I could smell the starch. And mumbling. Well, they probably weren't actually mumbling, but the words were jumbled and difficult to understand.

Then nothing for a while.

Someone was touching me, and I hoped she was hot. Sometimes, (well, all the time, really), when I drank too much, my standards would drop dangerously low, and I'd wake up the next day faced with an epic Coyote Morning.

The touching stopped, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I was so baked, I couldn't even open my eyes. Man, this was going to be one evil hell-bitch of a hang-over. I figured it would probably best if I just fell back asleep.

I woke up to a horrible beeping sound. An annoying, incessant, high pitched blip, blip, blip, sent from the ninth circle of hell, just to irritate the piss out of me and possibly drive me insane.

Blip, blip, blip, blip…

Good Christ, people! Couldn't they see I was suffering from the Queen Latifa of hangovers here? Was the pounding in my head and the dog-crap taste in the back of my dry, spittle-caked mouth not enough? Did they have to drive me to madness with a high-heeled shoe to the temple as well?

I clenched my hands and jaw and tried to calmly count to ten, but the numbers were all jumbled around, and the freaking cunt of an alarm clock was pissing me the fuck off!

"Enough!" I roared, and sent my fist through the offending machine. The crash that it made, as it hit the floor was equally offensive to my poor ears, but I smiled anyway, for that goddamned beeping had finally stopped.

"Chazz!" I heard as I spiraled back into sleep.

"That's my name," I said, barely recognizing my own raspy voice, "don't wear it out."

~*~*

The next thing I remember was that it was daytime, and I was lying in a bed. A hospital bed, probably. I blinked, taking in the sunny surroundings. Dust motes floated lazily through shafts of light that cut across the cards and flowers adorning the room. Coach was there, too, sitting in one of the tacky, uncomfortable guest chairs, talking to a cute chick who was sitting down at the edge of the bed, near my feet.

She was tall, and slim, and had sexy blonde curls that cascaded past her shoulders down the center of her back. My eyes trailed lower, to the sweet curve of her ass, complimented by her gold-stitched designer jeans.

I don't believe in love at first sight, but lust at first sight is an emotion I am more than familiar with. I pursed my dry lips together and tried to whistle.

The sound was far from impressive, but it had the desired effect. Coach's gaze shifted from the hottie to me, and then she, too, turned to see what had gotten Coach's attention.

Her eyes were as fantastic as the rest of her. Blue as the crystal waters of the Caribbean (or was that CaribbEAn?.) She broke into a familiar toothy grin and my jaw dropped.

The chick was a dude! And not just any dude: MacElroy!

"Chazz!" Jimmy cried, throwing himself at me, crushing me in a hug. "My gosh! You're finally awake." He pulled back to look me in the face, then leaned in and kissed me on the lips. I didn't react right away due to shock, but I finally got my bearings, then pushed Jimmy away.

"Hey, big guy, I'm happy to see you, too, but you're kind of cramping my style here." Jimmy looked blankly at me, blond curls sweeping over his shoulders. "And what the fuck is with your hair?"

"Well, well," said an unfamiliar voice, "look who's awake."

We both looked up to see a nurse approaching the bed, clipboard in hand. I don't remember what her face looked like, but she had a set of sweater-cows that wet dreams are made of.

"Welcome to the world of the living, Mr. Michaels . How are you feeling?"

"I hope you brought the flibulator," I said, giving her a sly wink, "because I think you just stopped my heart."

"Defibrillator," mumbled Jimmy under his breath.

The nurse giggled and fluttered her lashes, and I knew I was in.

"Oh no," she said, flattered, "I'm just here to check your vitals."

I grinned at the double meaning and pushed Jimmy away to make room for her.

"While you're down there," I said, pulling the front of my gown open, exposing my trademark hairy chest, "how about giving 'Little Chazz' a sponge bath? I'm feeling particularly dirty all of a sudden."

"Chazz!" shrieked Jimmy, "But… but…"

"Sorry MacElroy, official hospital business. Why don't you come back in an hour." I grabbed the curtain and pulled it around the bed.

"Better make it two," said the nurse, giggling again, until her mouth became otherwise occupied.

"B-but…" sputtered Jimmy, into the curtain, his skinny silhouette cut against the light from the doorway. I suddenly remembered something.

"Oh, hey!" I called, pulling it open a crack, "Did we win the gold?"

Jimmy's mouth opened and closed, then opened again.

"Which gold?" asked Coach, from behind him.

" Well duh, Montreal. Did the Iron Lotus work?"

Jimmy turned and looked at Coach, his features unreadable.

"Yeah, Chazz, we did. We won the gold," Coach said.

"Yes!" I crowed, closing the curtain. My busty nurse already had her uniform unbuttoned. I eyed her bounty and grinned. "Hey baby, ever done it with a four-time gold medalist before?"

"Not yet," she purred.

"Looks like I'm about to break another record."

The Jimmy shadow put its hands over its ears and ran from the room.

~*~*

The doc came by that afternoon to give me the skinny on my 'condition.' According to him, the knock on my head had caused me to lose over a year of memories. The last thing that I could remember was the Iron Lotus in Montreal. Jimmy, grabbing me by my shattered ankle, his lips drawn back in concentration as we spun, gathering momentum. The force of the spin pushing all the blood to my head, the stands whipping by in a blur, and my muscles and tendons stretched to their limit, then I was airborne. Free. Weightless.

I arched my spine and threw back my head to put myself into the flip, then… nothing. Just waking up here in the hospital.

"Chazz?"

I looked up, realizing I'd missed Coach's question.

"What?"

"Do you understand what the doctor has been saying?"

"Yeah," I said, irritated, "I'm not retarded. I've lost some memories. Big whoop. I've blacked out lots of times. Hell, I don't remember most of the Eighties. What's the big deal?"

"The big deal," interrupted Jimmy, "is that you almost died."

God, he is such a mother hen sometimes. He'd been clinging to me like a will-not since I woke up. Even now, those pathetic baby blues were boring into me. I peered around him to maybe get a peek of Nurse Crotchet or whateverthehell her name was. Jimmy moved his head to block my view.

"You might never get those memories back."

"Yeah, I got that, Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman, thank you very much."

"Now, Mr. MacElroy, that's not necessarily true," said the Doctor, "it's very likely that Charles will regain those memories, but they will have to come back at their own pace. I don't recommend that you rush things. Sometimes too much information, especially out of context, can be very confusing to those suffering from mental incapacities."

"I wasn't decapitated," I snapped, "and you don't have to talk about me like I'm a retard."

"No one is saying that you're not intelligent, Mr. Michaels."

"I am!" smirked Coach, while raising one hand in the air.

I good-naturedly flipped him the bird and he winked.

"All I'm saying," continued the doc, "is that you should take things slowly. Recovering from head trauma is a long, slow process. Do you have any questions?"

"Yeah," I said, craning my neck, "Where's that hot nurse with the big hammers?"