“How lucky is a man? I kissed him and he kissed me. As da fella said, ‘Wasn’t that a kick in the head?'”
Frank Corrigan sang the lyrics out of one corner of his mouth while the other stuck a cigarette in place. His gloved finger sank into the patient’s abdominal cavity. Corrigan preferred not to know their names. This makes it easier to process unfortunate outcomes.
“The room was pitch black. I hugged him and hugged him back. As the sailor said, quote, ‘Isn’t that a hole in the boat?'”
The song started skipping. Corrigan held steady in his hands. “Can someone have that, please?”
The two nurses exchanged glances. One of them turned towards the turntable. The record was scratched. The cigarette flew from Corrigan’s lips, bounced off the patient’s right arm, and flipped to the floor. Corrigan stomped his foot on it without looking.
“Start it over,” Corrigan said, eyes focused on the five-inch hole that contained the inflamed appendix. The nurse groped a thin, trembling arm, leaning over to place the needle on the side of a seven-inch vinyl disc.
“Start again!”
The music has started. Corrigan’s face softened. He belted out the words as he sliced open the infected organ.
“My head keeps spinning. I’m going to sleep and keep smiling. If this is just the beginning.”
Corrigan held up the appendix and smiled at it. “My life will be bee-eau-ti-ful.”
He wrapped his fingers around it and threw it away.
“Sew this bastard up,” Corrigan said. He fished out a fresh cigarette from the pack he kept in his pocket and lit it.
One of the nurses whispered, “Doctor, it’s a she.”
“Then sew him up. When he wakes up, tell him it’s a good idea to move in one piece.”
***
Corrigan leaned against a wall in the hallway outside the operating room. He smokes a cigarette while humming the song. A nurse from a nearby station approached him, holding a pink square.
“When is the next one?” he said pulling again.
“Twenty minutes.”
“What am I doing here?”
“Exploratory laparotomy, I think.”
He rolled his eyes. “Do you want a good mystery?” he said.
“Excuse me?”
“Didn’t you hear me?”
“I did, I just—”
“I don’t want to. I want 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 want to.”
He held the sheet towards her. “Your wife called. She left a list for the grocery store.”
Corrigan grabbed it and studied the contents. “From saving lives to getting food,” he said. “Just like this.”
“Does he know how talented you are?”
Corrigan crumpled the note. “He knows. I don’t think he cares too much, but he knows.”
He returned the pink ball to the nurse. “Don’t you need it?” he said.
“My talents include reading a grocery list once and remembering it.”
***
A cigarette landed in the middle of Corrigan’s mouth as he pushed a cart with both hands. He frowned at the song that started playing on the speakers in the grocery store.
“You will have instant karma. Knock on your head. You better get yourself together. You are about to die.”
Corrigan went up and down the hallways, picking up things, holding them in front of her mirror, putting them down with the others. After he grabbed the box of Rigatoni, he rolled the cart to the front of the store. He threw away the expired cigarette.
He picked up the items and handed them to the cashier. He punched the price of each one on the register. After he gave her the last, he smiled.
“Find everything you’re looking for?”
He popped a fresh cigarette in his mouth. “That’s pretty existential.”
“What is this?”
He lit a cigarette. “I have what I need.”
***
Corrigan turns the thin wheel of his red Alfa-Romeo with his left hand while working the stick with his right. He regretted getting the convertible. Even at the top, it’s too cold to drive it in the winter. Another cigarette dangled, floating with each shifting of gears. A news update was played on the radio station.
“And finally in sports today, the local pro team selected Louisiana Tech quarterback Terry Bradshaw with the first pick in the draft. They got dibs the hard way, losing thirteen of fourteen games last season.”
Corrigan shook his head. “Louisiana Tech? My God, they always stink.”
Sinatra’s My Way began to play as Corrigan slowed the car into the driveway.
He looked at the house. A light fixture above the door casts the porch in a gorgeous glow. He could see flashes from the TV coming through the curtains of the front window.
They have lived there for five years. The place is big. It wasn’t good enough, not for how good he was now.
Corrigan turned the key and turned off the engine. The end of the cigarette glowed in the dark. He thought about the porch again. Yes, he knew it was time to upgrade.
He opened the car door. His left foot landed on a pile of melting snow at the edge of the cracked concrete. He shook the scum from his shoes. A cloud of breath mixed with smoke rose from his cigarette.
He closed the door and got into the back of the car. He holds the key to the trunk. A flash of blue lightning startled him. His head was turned to the sky, sending a piece of ash flying away from the cigarette.
He saw only stars, along with the thin claw of the moon. He looked for clouds. nothing.
When he returned to the car it was gone.