that phrase triggered my stroke

by Charlie Hix


I was camping with my friend Eric last August along the Illinois river. Eric and I had brought with us a lot of alcohol, and each had made up a batch of chili. We liked to compete to see who could make the hottest, that still was edible. After we had set up our tents, we built a fire and heated our chili creations. Eric had brought a bottle of Herradura Amatitán tequila, that was unbelievably smooth and helped numb our throats for the spicy chili.

The next thing I recall is being naked in the river. Suddenly, awakened, realizing that I was freezing to death, I scrambled out. Surprisingly, out of the water I felt exhilarated. I looked for Eric, but he wasn't around, which was good.

I wondered why I was naked had gone into the river when I noticed my wet clothes and next to them an unopened bottle of tequila, of which I opened and took a slug Instantly becoming drunk again. Once back into my drunk mind-state, I remembered why I had come down to the river. While I had been passed out I had diarrhea. Somehow even in my unconscious state, I became aware of my situation and had gone to the river to wash myself, my shorts and jeans.

I was refreshed from my freezing bath in the river, and warmed by the tequila (this time just Cuervo). Realizing I needed dry clothes and hopping there were some in my car, I walked to the parking lot . But there were no dry clothes, instead I found my fishing rod. The sun was just rising, and somehow in my stupor, I thought that fishing would be a great idea. I started jogging back towards the river, feeling happily buzzed not just from the alcohol, but also because I was streaking down this forest path like an Indian. I was happy until I tripped.

I made it back tor camp, and called out: "I hurt myself". But Eric didn't respond. "Dammit Eric, " I screamed." I fucking fell and I have a fishing hook in my balls!"

"Is it bleeding?" he asked slowly coming out of his tent, curious. When he got a look at me he said: "That's a lot of blood dude". He pulled off his t-shit and handed it to me. I covered myself. I was probably crying. He went to the cooler and pulled out two beers, opening them and handing me one, he asked " Did you try to pull it out?"

"No." I said and slammed the beer in one swallow.

"I have Vicodin in my glove box." he said.

"Great, I could use five." I said, We brought a bunch of the ice cold beer with us and I tried to hold one to my crotch and it seemed to help. We both took Vicodin and drank the beers on our way.

At the emergency room, the receptionist looked at us with a evil smile. "How can I help you boys?" she asked.

"I have a fishhook in my testicles." I explained.

"Were you boys trying one of those suspensions things where you hang yourself by hooks?" she asked, as this was a common occurrence.

"I'm not his boyfriend." Eric. angrily and unexpectedly. blurted out." I'm not gay, I'm straight."

"Whatever." the receptionist said, and pointed us to cubicle to register.

As we were sitting down, the obese woman across from us, not looking up from her computer screen asked like a robot: "Do you have insurance?"

"I'm having a really bad day." I answered . I was naked, dirty from falling on the path, dried blood on my legs, and my bloody hands tenderly held a blood soaked t-shirt trying to cradle my testicles so as not to move the embedded hook that obviously had pierced some blood vessel before becoming lodged in the `ball inside of the ball'.

And the woman said to me : "Boo fuckin hoo, so is everybody else in here."

This triggered the transcendental moment. Maybe the Vicodin, the tequila, the beer, the embarrassment, the fear, the extreme pain, and now an anger bordering on rage, and the absurdity of it all had all, had come together in my head. I looked over at Eric who was shirtless with a glazed drugged look and a smile. It seemed like he was in slow motion as he made a fist, and the punched me hard on my on shoulder saying only: "Wimp."