Gallery of the Dead

Twenty-Three

The snacks room at the blood center in downtown Tucson wasn’t very big, but it was spacious enough to accommodate three small tables and the two other people already in it reasonably well.

Despite having no appetite, Timothy Davis walked over to the table in the corner that displayed a very small selection of cookies and biscuits. His eyes scanned the few packets on the table and his mouth twisted awkwardly.

‘Not really a varied choice, is it?’

The question came from the tall man who had just joined Timothy by the table. He too seemed to be struggling with a decision.

‘No, sir,’ Timothy replied with a slight headshake. ‘The problem is, I’m not very big on cookies or biscuits.’

‘Yeah, I hear you, buddy, me neither, but unfortunately this is all the Red Cross can afford. Actually, I think that even these packets have come from donations.’

‘Yes, sir, they probably have.’

The man studied Timothy for a brief second. ‘I’m Mike,’ he said, extending a strong and firm hand. His arm had also been bandaged, but his dressing seemed quite different from the one Nurse Atkins had applied around Timothy’s arm. Timothy failed to notice that.

‘Timothy Davis. Pleasure to meet you, sir.’

‘OK, what’s with the “sir” thing?’ Mike asked, his brow creasing under his baseball cap.

‘Oh, please take no offense, sir. Where I come from I just... got used to calling everybody either “sir” or “ma’am”, that’s all. I don’t mean anything by it.’

‘Where you come from?’ Mike said, running his thumb and forefinger over his thick walrus mustache. ‘Let me take a wild guess here — somewhere in the Deep South.’

Timothy smiled. ‘That’s right, sir. Alabama, born, bred and raised.’

‘Alabama? That’s a looong way away. So what brings you to Tucson?’

‘Mostly work,’ Timothy replied, extending and flexing his arm a couple of times. ‘This gets quite itchy, doesn’t it?’

Mike chuckled. ‘It sure does. Is this your first time?’

Timothy nodded. ‘I should’ve done it before, but...’ his voice was padded by melancholy. ‘Anyway, I’ve promised myself that I’ll be a regular from now on. Yes, sir. Got to try and help others when we can, you know? At least some. People just don’t seem to care about each other anymore.’ Timothy raised a hand. ‘I’ll admit that I’ve been guilty of that myself for a long time. But I’ll do better from now on, sir. Yes I will.’

The melancholy was still there, but before Mike could ask anything else, Timothy moved the subject along.

‘How about you, sir? Is this your first time?’

‘Oh no. This is my... eighth.’

At that exact moment, Timothy’s stomach growled so loudly Mike took a step back.

‘Wow,’ he said, making a face, his blue eyes paused on Timothy’s stomach. ‘It sounds like you have something alive and very angry in there.’

‘I apologize, sir. I’m not sure where that came from.’

‘From being hungry,’ Mike said. ‘That’s where. Didn’t you have some food before coming here?’

Timothy hesitated. When he spoke again, his voice was barely louder than a whisper. ‘I know I was supposed to, but...’

Despite the hunger noises coming from his stomach, Timothy didn’t feel like eating anything. In fact, he hadn’t had much of an appetite for the past three and a half weeks and he had dropped a considerable amount of weight in that time.

‘Well,’ Mike said, ‘I’m afraid that cookies and biscuits just won’t be enough to silence that dragon living in your stomach. Have you had breakfast this morning?’

‘Umm... I did, I just didn’t eat very much.’

‘Are you nuts?’ Mike asked. ‘That’s a crazy thing to do on the morning you’re giving blood. I’m surprised they allowed you to donate.’

Timothy’s eyes averted.

‘You never told them, did you? Of course not. If you had they would’ve sent you home and asked you to come back tomorrow or the day after.’

‘I know, sir, but I haven’t had much of an appetite lately and I doubt that that will change in the next few days.’ The sadness in Timothy’s eyes was heartbreaking.

‘Why?’ Mike asked. ‘Are you ill? Have you been to a doctor?’

‘No, sir, I’m not ill. I’m just... reevaluating my choices in life, I guess.’

‘Well, your stomach is begging you for some food, my friend, and now that you have just given blood, you need to listen to it, unless you enjoy passing out without much warning.’

Timothy shook his head. ‘Not particularly, sir, no.’ He looked back at the cookie table.

Mike consulted his watch. ‘I have an idea. Do you like Mexican food?’

Timothy curbed a smile. It was his favorite kind of food.

‘Yes, sir, very much.’

‘OK, the “sir” thing will have to stop. Please. It’s making me feel ancient. Just call me Mike, OK?’

Timothy nodded in agreement. ‘Sure, Mike. Please call me Tim.’

Mike smiled. ‘That’s much better. I already feel young again. So now back to the subject at hand, Tim: just around the corner from here there’s a fantastic little Mexican café. They do the most incredible burritos. That will certainly fill you up, I promise you. How about you and I go grab ourselves some proper food, Mexican style. I’m buying. What do you say?’

Timothy looked unsure.

‘C’mon,’ Mike insisted. ‘Neither of us can really go into work today, especially you, no matter what it is that you do, and we both need food. Doctor’s orders.’ He grinned. ‘So we might as well eat something we enjoy, don’t you think?’

As if on cue Timothy’s stomach growled again.

‘OK, we have one “yes”,’ Mike joked. ‘Any more takers?’

Timothy smiled as he also checked his watch. He didn’t really have anywhere to go back to. He had quit his job, and home... well, home just didn’t feel like home anymore.

‘Yes,’ he finally replied. ‘Mexican sounds mighty fine right now. Lead the way and I’ll follow.’

‘Great,’ Mike said. ‘But first let’s grab some orange juice. We both need the fluids and the sugar.’

‘I guess that’s a good idea.’

As the man walked across the room and grabbed two cups of orange juice from a small table, Timothy never noticed him emptying the contents of the tiny bottle he had palmed into his right hand into one of the cups.