Someone covered him with a blanket. Someone put a wet cloth over his face so he couldn’t see even out of his one bad eye. He managed to lift his hand, yank the cloth off his face and stuff it in his mouth, trying to suck the water out of it. Did it not occur to a single medical professional that he might need water? Did that really need to be explained? Yes, he couldn’t speak the word, but did he have to speak it? They pried the cloth from his clenched teeth.
“Why can’t we give him some water?” Ashton said loudly. “Look at him.”
“We’re starting an IV on him now. Don’t worry, he’ll get his fluids through a vein. He can rupture his stomach if he drinks too fast. He’s in trouble. It’s a hundred degrees out and he is not sweating. His temperature is 104. Pulse 180. Look how shallow he’s breathing. He’s about to crash. We need to get him to the hospital stat.”
Ashton leaned over Julian. “I’m going to call your family. I hope the nurses will clean you up, so your mother doesn’t have a heart attack when she sees you. Behave yourself when the nurses fuss over you, cleaning you up, oh, nurse, how much do you charge for genitalia, same as I do for Jews, Mr. Gideon . . .”
“Mr. Bennett, excuse us, please . . .”
Ashton ignored them. “Hang in there, brother,” he said.
Don’t leave me, Ashton. Please. Don’t leave me again. How clearly Julian remembered Ashton gone from his life. The man was wrong. Look how much Julian remembered. Too bad he couldn’t recall the man’s name. All in good time.
The EMT was pushing Ashton away, but he kept leaning over the stretcher. “Dude, I wish you knew what you’ve put us through. Do you have any idea how long we’ve been searching for you, how long you’ve been missing?”
No. Tell me. How long.
“There’s been an APB out on you for seven days, Jules. Seven fucking days. Where have you been? You vanished off the earth. And not for nothing, but you popped up nearly fifty miles from where you and I were camping at Mugu Point. All this time we were looking for you in the wrong place. How the hell did you get here?”
Julian blinked with his one open eye.
“Mr. Bennett! You’re preventing us from doing our job. You know he can’t speak to you. He doesn’t even know who you are.”
“He knows who I am,” Ashton said. “Don’t you, Jules?”
Motionlessly, Julian stared at Ashton.
“Exactly! He can’t answer a single basic question. Does traumatic brain injury mean anything to you? Do you want him to die? Move away from the patient. Go visit him at UCLA Medical Center. He’ll be the one in the critical unit.”
Ashton didn’t move. “Don’t worry, bro, I’m not leaving you. I’m never leaving you again. I’m driving to the hospital right behind you.” He patted Julian’s chest.
Julian kept mouthing, kept trying to form a word.
“Look, he is trying to say something,” Ashton said to the paramedic.
Julian looked up at the sky, hazy in the heat. A tear rolled down his temple. What was the name of the girl he had loved so much? Did he dream her, the mystical girl that changed shape and size, changed his life, changed the shade of her auburn hair, the cream color of her eyes? Was she myth? Did she exist?
With great effort Julian lifted his arm from under the blanket and pressed his palm against his friend’s unshaven, relieved, scared, familiar face, as familiar to him as his own. Summoning his breath before he passed out, from a dry desert throat he eked out what was to him a shout but to everyone else barely heard.
“Ashton,” said Julian.
Part Three
Future Imperfect
When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life,
for there is in London all that life can afford.
Samuel Johnson
Illustration by Paullina Simons
36
Phantasmagoria in Two, Take 2
JULIAN STOOD IN FRONT OF HIS BEDROOM MIRROR AND loosened the knot in his tie. For some reason it felt too tight. It kept pressing on his Adam’s apple. He would’ve left the tie off, but he didn’t like to go into studio meetings without one. Everyone took him more seriously with it on.