The Feet of God

109 - HARD NIGHT’S DAY

I kneeled down and slapped her face.  She did not respond.  So I thought to open the bottle of ammonia and place it right under her nose.  Her face started to twitch.  Then her red-rimmed eyes fluttered apart and she gazed up at me.

All Sandi said was, “I’m tired.”

I tried to reassure her everything was gonna be all right and I would take care of her.  At the same time, I was struggling to pry her loose from that tight position she was in.  It wasn’t easy getting her un-wedged, either, since she was barely able to make the effort to budge herself.  Somehow I got her free at last and up on her feet, even if she was a little wobbly standing there.  Sandi looked pretty fucked up, too, I gotta say.  Her face was a mess.  Her dress was hiked-up and soaked from the deep pool of dirty water that accumulated under the john, and she was shoeless on the filthy, wet floor.

“It’s getting late,” she squeezed my shoulder, “I gotta get home.  He’s expecting me.”

 “Okay, where’s home?” I asked her.

Sandi shot me a look in anger.

“Stupid question,” I admitted in rapid apology.  Of course, she meant her bar.

I took Sandi Dollar by the elbow, one arm tight around her chunky waist, and I carefully guided her back to The Rusty Trumpet where I unlatched the front door to let us both inside.

“I’m guessing it’s behind the side panel over there,” I nodded as we entered.

“And you would be correct.”

We shuffled off together in that direction, which was no easy exertion, lemme tellya, since Sandi weighed near as much as me.  We finally made it, however, and she slid back the wooden panel door.

There was no one waiting inside her room.  It was empty, except for a desk on one side and a single brass bed on the other.  There was papers and pictures and a lot of other crap, mostly what you’d expect to find in a place like this, but that was all.  I did notice that the large black book she carried when we first met sat on her desk.

Sandi’s head pointed in the direction of the unmade bed.  “Just put me down over there.”

I was real glad we was almost to the finish line.  I plopped her down on top of a blanket over some wrinkled flower-print sheets.  She seemed relieved to be home and in her own bed.  She passed out, again saying, “I’m tired.”

I figured my work here was done.  As I headed back outside I swear I felt a soft cold hand brush against my cheek.  As you might guess, there wasn’t nobody there.

I decided that was enough swamping duties for any swamper for one night, so I called it a day.  The Head could wait till tomorrow.  I was exhausted.  I made my way back to the small cot in my tiny quarters and went straight to sleep.

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