Gauze

Was there a sentence that sounded less like a lullaby in the whole English language? "Pack it in gauze and let's get out of here" didn't soothe and didn't create a peaceful mood the way, say, candles on the patio might. But that's all I got.

My leg hurt like hell. My jeans were getting heavy with blood, and the whole back seat was sticky with it. From my hand on the door handle and me trying to tear my jeans with my fingers, just rip them apart to get a better look. And Phelan throwing a thing of gauze that unraveled as it fell through the air and the sounds outside getting denser somehow, like everything was underwater. An underwater storm, with lights playing on the roof of Phalen's car like dreams. Dreams. Dreams of...

Was someone lighting candles back there? "Dexter! Pack it in gauze and let's get out of here!" Dexter slapping my face with his smooth hands. Hands like he'd never held anything that wasn't upholstered. "What are you doing back there? Jesus, don't beat him up, he's already hurt bad enough!" and Phalen storming down the street, the engine wide open. Nothing fazed him. Nothing slowed him down. And he drove like he'd just pass through a brick wall and come out the other side. He had gauze with him in the car. I think he liked finally being able to put it to good use. He didn't prepare to avoid accidents. He prepared so he'd come out looking good. Looking slick. "So then I threw Dex the gauze and we booked!" That's how it would come out.

Dexter slapping my face. My leg felt like someone was giving me a tattoo with a machete. Phalen: "Hang on, man!" Dexter stuffing something in my shirt pocket, concentrating to get it in there around my bucking ribcage. He looked me in the eye, steadily. Was he going to kiss me? A fond farewell as I passed into the world of candles and warm evening rain? "That's your finger. I wrapped it up good. Don't forget it's in there, okay?"