A few weeks after returning home from camping, just on the cusp of driving out to have dinner and spend some time figuring things out with Laura he pitched a fever all of a sudden. At first he thought it was only a change of temperature outside that might've hit him wrong after a hot shower and then too quickly out with wet hair to the icy chill of his route. As it turned out, within hours he was in the full grip of extreme body aches and all he wanted to do was sleep.
None of it fit. He hadn't been around anyone who was sick. He had met every need he could think of out on his trip, so why now? This was his usual response to any kind of illness, although he didn't have many experiences with it to begin with. Getting sick confounded him mostly. Where on earth!
Not only did he have to manage the gripping muscle aches and kryptonic fatigue, his deep sense of irritation burned through the center of his stomach and anger brought acid to ongoing bouts of apoplectic swearing and damning nearly everything in his wake.
He damned nearly everything he set eyes on: the noisy refrigerator, the remote with its batteries fizzling out, the bright lights of his neighbors Chevy flashing in and out of his windows – why was it right when he could finally open his eyes that that SOB would decide to turn into the drive outside the apartment?
A few days of misery turned into a full week and his skull seemed to be packed with more than a month's worth of nose blowing… Yes, after clearing much of the shelf of cold medicines at the local drugstore down the street. As he shivered past Anthony downstairs waving his bag of medicines he could overhear him in the background saying, "Did a zombie just go through here?"
From the couch to the bed, from the bathroom to the couch to the bed, he wore the carpet into pathways of misery and discontent. He dreamt mainly through dark cloud cover, returning to old pain, seeing faces missed or wished he'd understood. He was sick in his dreaming and even had a few dreams after lying down to get some rest within a dream he was already taking. Paste filled his mouth again and again and he spat through two boxes of Kleenex before calling his doctor.
Not knowing what day it was, he found himself on hold with the receptionist for nearly 25 minutes. The apartment was an icebox. He could smell his own stench. He glanced over to the calendar to see it was now Monday of the following week when it all got started. After she finally answered he was informed that Dr. Hildebrand was no longer practicing but that he could make an appointment with one of those new to the practice, would next Thursday with Dr. Colby at 8 AM work for him? He laughed and hung up the phone.
He turned the food channel back on the TV. Muted of course to save himself from the assault it could bring to his senses with each commercial.
It was then that he heard himself muttering into the pillow, it's okay Zoe… I'll be better soon.
Zoe. Oh my God – Zoe!… Zoe!
