The Sting

A Story by Peter Schal

A story about a condition that I have.

THE STING

Tyson Haynes

The last bell of the school day struck straight-up two thirty at Lionel-Bradley High School, echoing throughout the place once twice, and finally ceasing to ring at all; by then hordes of anxious students waiting impatiently to either leave and get home or stay and get touchy-feely with a girl or a boy appeared out of every six foot high orifice. As the monotonous ringing ceased, I emerged from my history class quietly thanking God that the weekend had finally approached. Labor Day was this Monday, and myself and a couple buddies had planned on a little vacation to Miami, starting tomorrow morning at six. I trundled down the corridor and swung the glass door open to the heat of the day and brilliant sunlight struck my face. I looked away immediately and focused on descending the two flights of stairs to the noisy bus ramp below. I pushed past another set of green double doors and came across a jungle of bulky yellow clunkers, heat and the acrid smell of oily exhaust circulating the air. I paid no attention to these things: I was busily fishing out the pesky tangle of earbud wire from my pocket, plugging them into my ears and pressing the small button on my mP3 that turned on the little mechanism and sent a Nirvana tune (however faint it was, it was impossible to hear it clearly through all of the ruckus) through the tiny cracked speakers. As I brushed past rude teens with their cell phones planted firmly on either side of their faces or their lips planted on someone else’s lips, I swiveled my green hitchhiker’s backpack over my left shoulder and retrieved a black UCF Knights hat from the side mesh pocket. From beneath the unlit darkness a pudgy yellow cap protruded out to peek at the surroundings. It settled away into the gloom as I swung my backpack over my back and ambled along the sickle-shaped curve to the crosswalk beyond the grassy lawn, slipping the hat over my head and twisting it casually backward. A slight discomfort settled upon me as the image of that yellow cap faded away into the transparent, ghost-like memory pool of my subconscious; I didn’t like it. Somehow it foretold of some horrible thing that just might happen in the future; it was very unsettling, indeed. The high grasses that protruded from the dry soil on the west wing of the high school gently kissed my ankles when I trudged across them to the crosswalk that separated the elementary school from the high school. My eyes swiveled from left to right as I searched among head and body for a glimpse of my girlfriend, Sarah. The crowds waited impatiently to cross the walk to the suburban area adjacent to the elementary school, and I joined them momentarily, craning my neck and standing up on the tips of my toes for a better look around my surroundings. No sight nor signal of the pretty girl I have been going steady with for about six weeks; only the unfamiliar faces of my peers hollering first names at one another or striding with a textbook slung under one arm and a cell phone in their free hands, their heads hung low and presumably texting. The posse gathered around me began to creep forward and dissipate altogether like ground mist meeting the first rays of hot sunlight; still I waited in angst for the girl whom I loved. Where was she? How come she was this late? What the heck was going on? I was beginning to grow impatient and agitated when a pair of smooth hands stretched around my head and covered my eyes, blocking my sight.

“Guess who?” a familiar voice cooed playfully in my ear. I smiled thinly and my anticipation evaporated instantly. I placed my own large hands upon hers and removed them. “Is it….Sarah De La Guardo?” I answered evenly. I turned around, smiling a little bit more and looked down at the short and skinny specimen that stood grinning before me. “That’s right, baby; your one and only.” She slipped her pearly-white hands against the small of my back and leaned closer to my body. I did the same and bent forward, closing my eyes briefly and kissing her soft, fleshy lips. They were warm and comforting. She stood up on her toes and added her love to mine, as I inhaled the expensive but pleasing aroma of her perfume: Beautiful by Este Lauder. We parted lips and stood looking into each other’s eyes a moment longer. I held her like a six-year old would clutch a coveted stuffed animal, sliding my left hand tenderly up and down her back, my right glued to her upper hip, squeezing it mildly. “So, does my girl want a little something-something from the corner store?” I asked, peering down into her protuberant bright green eyes. “I’ll pay for it…or maybe we could go Dutch and save ourselves some cash.” She giggled happily, kissing my chest and looking back up at me. “Sure, hon. I’ve been craving a Snickers bar all day today.” I couldn’t help but to let out one loud sharp laugh, arching my back and glancing up and down Sarah’s body lecherously. “Yeah, and it looks like you’ll need much more than just one Snickers bar, by the looks.” A look of surprise and hurt flashed across Sarah’s face in an instant, and then it vanished just as quickly as it had come. She grinned again and slapped my shoulder. “Oh, shut up, Tyson! God, you can be such a meanie sometimes.” She let her head hang low and flashed me her most gullible puppy-dog face. I simpered at the scene and slipped my arm around her shoulders, turning her around and leading her to the few steps to the stoplight pole. I slapped the red button that signaled the DON’T WALK/WALK symbols and waited. Sarah rested her head on my shoulder as I wrapped my arm around her waist. Her sandy-blonde hair spilled down my torso and over the top of my backpack. It smelled faintly of Head and Shoulders. I kissed her sweet-scented scalp as the cars and buses slowed to a halt in front of us and the DON’T WALK symbol on the other side of the street changed swiftly to WALK. We strode along the zebra-stripes and reached the other side of the street. The multitude of motor vehicles made me feel a trifle bit uncomfortable; I was inwardly relieved when they steadily inched away from us as the light behind me changed from red to green. It was still very hot out here; at one point I had to remove my arm from Sarah’s thin waist to swipe at my forehead. “So how did your day go, Tyce?” she asked, inching away from me just a little bit so she could maintain some balance as she walked. It turned out to be very awkward when you’re embracing someone else and trying to walk at a steady pace; it somehow felt like guiding a drunken person through a dark alleyway. “Did you do anything interesting?” A heavy sigh escaped my lips. It had indeed been a rough day; more busy than rough, actually. “Not really. I received an F on Mr. Sims’ biology exam, and I think I totally flunked that history quiz.” We had reached the second crosswalk, this one juxtaposed to the main entrance of Lionel-Bradley. There were still students and vehicles exiting and entering, turning this way and that, and I edged closer to the pink stucco blockade that divided the road from the houses. “Oh. I see.” “Yeah.” I decided to flip the question on her. I looked down at her face, which was focused intently on the road ahead. “Nothing much. Just that those frigging tests kept bugging me out.” I nodded my head in agreement, then bent forward and kissed her head again. It was soft and sweet and finely combed. I enjoyed that smell; every time I came across it somewhere, it reminded me of Sarah. The corner store, which happened to be a Seven-Eleven gas station directly across from a failing Brothers New York Style Pizza lay ahead, probably stuffed with students buying Monsters and getting gum at cheap prices. I was mulling over what I should buy with the twenty dollars snugly tucked away in my wallet as we descended the steep dip that counted as the entrance to the gas pumps. There were three cars already pumping gas from the pumps, primarily seniors, and although it was maybe fifteen minutes after the last bell sounded, there were still a multitude of students hanging by the brick walls, two of them sipping a soda with their shirts off, displaying gross arm muscles on such skinny bodies and sweaty white tank tops, caps from South Pole and Ecko slipped sideways and tilted so much to the left as to expose a bit of acne-ridden, oily forehead and buzz cuts. I could feel their vulture-like eyes dig into me, us, like daggers. I hugged Sarah tightly against my side; tense. I could feel her tensity also, and I kept my eyes glued to the store doors, focusing on that one object and not the troublemakers. They could hurt us, I thought uneasily. Just walk and ignore them. Thankfully, the doors were much closer than I had originally perceived. Sarah let go of me at last before we entered the store and I politely stepped in front of her and held open the door. “Why, thank you, you kind young gentleman.” She said, winking. I made a short bow and replied in my deepest fake British accent. “With pleasure, Madame.” Sarah giggled, her hand clapped over her mouth, and went inside. I glanced back out at the parking lot one last time. But for some vague reason, I don’t know now, I looked up at the fluorescent awning, noticing a brown, holey wasp’s nest. I shook my head, reminding myself to watch out for that, before retreating inside. The air conditioning felt awfully amazing. I let out a sigh of relief as it enveloped itself around me and looked about my surroundings. Indeed, I was right about the store being crowded, but fortunately just a tad. There were about two or three kids altogether at the register, pulling crumpled twenties out of their pockets and sliding their items along for the ill-looking cashier to ring up on the machine. I tore my eyes away from this sight and looked across the store to see Sarah plucking a Dr. Pepper 23 from the loaded refrigerator. I ambled over to her, glancing curtly at the merchandise hanging on small steel hooks, and wrapped my arms around her small waist, hugging her close. She smiled, looking up at me, and kissed my cheek. I returned the favor. “You wanna go to Miami with me this weekend, baby?” I asked into her ear. She smiled even wider, and kissed my lips. We rocked our hips from side to side slowly as if listening to invisible slow dance music, kissing the lips, the cheek, and the neck. “Hmm, I don’t know. Maaybee…” she chuckled as she finished the sentence. I did the same, and planted another kiss on her cheek. She blushed and moved away from my grasp. She grinned again teasingly and stood a few feet away, swinging the bottle of soda from her two front fingers. “Let me pay for this first and then maybe we can snuggle some more, babe.” She winked, and turned on her heels down the aisle to the cash register, looking over her shoulder once and adding a little extra wiggle in her steps. I gazed at her with a lustful eye, turned swiftly to the fridge, and snatched a Coke from the rack and followed her. We exchanged lascivious glances as we waited for our items to be purchased. I pulled out the crumpled twenty dollar bill (Just like everybody else, I thought humorously) and slapped it down on the counter in front of the cashier. She looked at me sourly, then slid the bar-coded sides of our drinks across the laser scanner. “Did you find everything okay, young man?” she asked dully, not looking up. I replied with a sincere smile. “Why yes, ma’am. I believe I did.” I glanced down at Sarah, who stood trying to stifle a laugh with her fingers. The cashier sighed and counted out the change, placing the bills and change in my cupped hands. “There you go sir. Seventeen dollars and fifty cents. Subtotal.” She flashed me a look and I knew at once that it was that now-get-the-heck-out-of here-you-pesky-little-vermin that was always associated with elderly folk and the good for nothing teenagers. I uttered a smile thank you and headed out the door, stuffing the change in my jeans pocket and cuddling close to Sarah again, who, as we left the store at last, let out an entire roll of giggles. “What? What’s the matter?” I asked, a wan smile crossing my face. Inwardly my conscious told me I already knew the answer. “You, silly! You and your silly remarks!” the words were barely out of her mouth when she burst out in a fresh fit of giggles, holding her ribs and tears streaming down her eyes. “Hey,” I replied teasingly, “now that’s not the right way to treat your m---“ An intense sensation of needle-like pain shot up my leg, cutting me off in mid-sentence. “OW! What the he---“ Again I was cut off, this time by another sharp stab of fiery hot pain. Again. And again. And again. It wouldn’t stop: hot tears flowed from my eyes and everything was a blur, everything was misty and vague and--- “Tyson? Tyson! What’s wrong baby? Talk to me! What’s happening?” It was then that I realized it. The wasp’s nest. He was getting stung repeatedly by a wasp and I was allergic, allergic to the poison, allergic to the poison and I was going to die right here in front of everybody. “The EpiPen…” I breathed. My throat felt like it was expanding, my eyes were bulging inside of my sockets, pulsing against my skull, growing wider. I “The what? Honey, what are you saying? Talk to me!” But I couldn’t talk. I just couldn’t. I collapsed onto the hard concrete, falling on my wrist and striking my elbow on the curb. My tongue was swelling up like an inflatable boat in my mouth, my face contorted, blocking my eyesight, and my throat, thickening with poison and constricting my airways, slitting away my vital respiratory system. “Tyson…..what…..on……” Sarah, sitting by my side as I stood at Death’s door, doing nothing but asking questions. Nothing. I sucked in one last breath, I believed, and I saw blue. A pleasant light blue. Then a deeper blue, then a purple, and finally black. Pitch black. And in it, I was at peace.

When I woke up, I was unsure of anything that had happened. When I woke up, a blinding light cascaded into my eyes and practically burned my irises. I instinctively shot an arm up to my face to block most of the light, but my left arm felt heavier for some reason. And thicker, too. As my eyes slowly adjusted to the new light I could clearly see that I was in a hospital room. In a hospital bed with the sheet pulled up just above my waist. And on my arm was a white cast with numerous signatures on it and whole lot of hearts written with a Sharpie. An IV protruded from my arm, it sent numb pain up my arm as I moved it. There were also some weird equipment in here that I did not immediately recognize. Or recognize at all for that matter. There was a weird taste in my mouth and my throat felt funny, as if there was a lump in there or something. And as I massaged my Adam’s apple, as I lay sitting upright in the bed, it all came back to me. Presently a door squeaked opened and I fidgeted in the bed I sat in. A doctor in a white coat and graying hair combed back over his head came in with a clipboard in his hands. “Ah, Mr. Haynes. You’re awake, I see. Did you sleep well?” I looked stupidly at the doctor, whose name-tag read Jonathan Powtall, M.D. “What happened? Why aren’t I dead?” The doctor laughed softly, then sat casually on the edge of the bed. “It’s a long story, Tyson. I believe you should just wait till we get you out of here. When you feel better.”