Rorschach's Journal, April 4th, 2009

Rorschach’s Journal, 10:37am

10:37 am, uncomfortable night sleep. Sore, face hurts. Oddly, James allowed me to sleep. Need to get bed soon. Sick of sleeping on floor.

Contemplated staying home today. Didn’t really feel up to going out. But then again, wanted to buy papers and have a coffee.

Turn over and reached for radio. News reports of rabid bobcat running into a bar. Idiot tried to get photo. Fool bitten for “great photo.” I tried to picture it, but kept picturing James as the bobcat. Chuckled a moment.

“In other news, four local drug dealers found dead in gun fight last night. Sources say they were a part of a turf war. One alive in grave condition at Howard University Hospital.” I rolled over, no reports of mysterious masked vigilante. I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. On one hand I wanted to be known and feared in this city, to keep it in shape. On the other hand, I had no desire to be back in prison, no matter how in control I was back in those days. Looks like that cop hadn’t given me away. Or had he? Maybe a secret investigation? I’d have to keep on guard.

My eye reminded me that it needed a little extra help. Begrudgingly I hauled myself up to my feet, stretched out all the stiff muscles and walked out my door and across the hall. I hadn’t wanted to bother the landlord. I hadn’t wanted to admit I needed help. But I knock anyway, knowing that I needed some ice.

The landlady answered and looked at me with horrified shock, “Oh my God! Mr. Novack what happened!?”

I had to lie. Didn’t like to lie. “Tripped over James last night, landed on my chair.” I paused, “May I borrow some ice?”

“Oh you poor dear! Why didn’t you knock last night! Come in come in!” She invited me in, “you just sit right there, I’ll run to get the bactine, will have you fixed up in a jiffy!” She scooted off as she directed me to a chair in the entry way.

“Who is it Vera?” The landlord said from the living room.

“Next door neighbor dear, don’t worry, just go back to your funny papers!” She said as she scrambled around in the other room.

I sat there, in my tank top and purple pants, feeling very out of place. Their apartment was decorated in 1950s kitsch, with Depression glass vases and worn imitation oriental rugs. “I really only need some ice Mrs. Rupert.” I said.

“Oh nonsense, you’ve really done a number on your eye. Here let me…” She said as she approached with cotton balls, antiseptic and a large band aid. I felt the need to run.

For a moment I jumped with a start, “Really I can do that myself Mrs. Rupe….”

“No no, how could you possibly? It’s no bother dear, just hold still.” She said as she went after my face with a soaked cotton ball.

I held my breath a moment as the alcohol stung my wound.

“There now, that’s not so bad, is it?” She said as she adjusted my head by guiding it by my chin.

“Ghrug” I gurgled. Pain in the face, invading personal space, smothering with kindness.

She then put a good sized band aid on the cut and smiled, “Well then, Mr. Novack, all done.” She said as she looked at me. “You must be hungry, here, let me go get something for you to take back with you.” She said.

“Well, ok.” Never one to turn down food. Unashamed about that. Mrs. Rupert ran off into the kitchen after handing me some extra band aids. She returned with a Tupperware jar full of some kind of stew and something wrapped up.

“Just some extra stew, and a slice of chocolate cake. “ She handed me the food and a few baggies of ice.

For a moment my stomach rumbled. “Well thank you, Mrs. Rupert. And thank you for the ice.” I said as we stood looking at each other a moment, “I’ll just be going back to my place now.” I said as she continued to smile at me. I excused myself and wandered back over to my apartment.

The food lasted 10 seconds. Delicious. I had my cake after all. Happy Birthday Walter. I thought to myself.

Spent the rest of the day writing in journal and cleaning up after James.

For now, Rorschach