I Almost Died.
Part I

Did you know that black colored stool is a sign of internal bleeding? So is blood in your excrement.

All news to me.

A week had gone by with certain aforementioned issues, and I simply thought “that’s odd,” and went about my merry way. I’m not the type to “get sick” per say, so I didn’t think much of it. My view on illness has always been that there isn’t much out there that can’t be cured by a couple Advil and a night without drinking. However, my B.M. issues worsened, and were coupled with chronic fatigue, bouts of dizziness, and an unquenchable thirst (for water, not for power). It wasn’t until I started vomiting blood that I began to think that something may or may not be wrong with me. Face down in a toilet filled with a colorful blend of hemoglobin and New England clam chowder, I told myself “I may need to see a doctor about this…”

“…in the morning.”

So I went to bed, hoping a good night's sleep would take care of business. I had trouble sleeping though, cursed with terrible nightmares about work. Tossing and turning, I finally decided to get a warm glass of water and a couple Advil to help me sleep. I climbed out of bed, but as I got to the bathroom my head started spinning fast and furiously. I had an awful metallic taste on my tongue, and I felt my legs give out beneath me. For reasons I can’t explain, Olivia Thirlby’s terrible performance in Juno raced through my head, and as my hands searched the wall for something to grasp onto, I told myself “I don’t care what people say, I thought that movie sucked.” Moments later I came to, sprawled out on the tiled floor. I had passed out and on my way down hit my head on the counter top and knocked over the trash can.

Laying there, I noticed that there was blood on the floor. My face was throbbing from banging it against the counter top, and I touched it I realized that my nose was bleeding. "Jesus!" I thought to myself, "Another bleeding fucking orifice." I was two bloody nipples away from a complete meltdown. I tried to reach for a handful of toilet paper to stop the blood, but my head was still spinning. So I just sat there with my head in my hands, watching blood drip onto the white bathmat my mother gave me for Christmas. It was then that I decided to start considering going to doctors. Nowish.

It was 1AM Tuesday morning. My roommate Katy was asleep, and I debated on whether I should wake her or not. She had to work in the morning, so I figured I would try to figure this one out on my own. I had never been to an emergency room in Queens and I had no idea what to do, so I returned to my room and pulled out all my health insurance paperwork. The task was more difficult than I had anticipated. Figuring I would never need it, I had filed the letters my insurance company had sent me, unread and still in the envelopes they had been mailed in. I found a booklet I thought might help, but with my brain working at less-than-cull-capacity, I decided that this was beyond me and that I needed Katy's assistance.

I lightly knocked on her door, and surprisingly she immediately responded. She didn’t leap from bed and in a single motion and rip my head from its body as I would have done. Just a simple “come in.” I pushed the door open, and was relieved to see her fully clothed and alone (not that she’s unattractive mind you. It’s just that finding her mid-coitus was the very last thing I needed at this point in time). Standing in her door way I told her “uh…I think I may need to go to the emergency room.”

Katy sprung to action. Within 30 minutes she had found the nearest emergency room and called a car to come pick us up. I, in the meantime, had phoned the emergency hotline number I had found on the back of my insurance card. My head had stopped spinning and I began to think again that maybe if I went back to bed I would wake up fine in the morning. Really, I was just looking for someone to tell me it was okay to stay in my bed. After describing my symptoms to the nurse on the other end of the line, she sat their silently for a second.

“Do you think I need to go to the emergency room?” I prodded.
“Uh…are you kidding me?” She responded. “I mean…” she paused as she carefully chose her next word. “Duh.”

The nurse had demanded that I call an ambulance. But I hate to make a scene, so Katy and I took the car she had ordered. As we piled into the back, I asked the driver to take us to Mt. Sinai Hospital in Astoria, using my most convincing I’m-not-going-to-die-in-your-back-seat voice.

Katy and I didn’t wait very long in the waiting room. My ass had hardly hit the seat before a nurse had poked her little raisin head from behind the door and called my name. Katy and I followed her into a little room where she took my temperature, my heart rate, and blood pressure. I described my symptoms to her and waited for her to say “Oh we get this all the time.” She’d laugh at my naivety, and casually retrieve a pill bottle from an easy to reach desk drawer. She’d hand me a couple pills and a glass of water and say “take these and get out of here. Go get some sleep, you two look exhausted!”

Instead, she picked up a phone and over the loud speakers announced some code. Code green or code red or code Nancy Drew, I didn’t hear what she said. But the next thing I knew I was being hoisted onto a stretcher by some giant black guy and wheeled into triage.

MERRY FUCKING CHRISTMAS

I decided to send out a Christmas news-letter this year. I’ll admit - it’s an idea that I unabashedly stole from my cousin Kelly. She wrote a letter and sent it to my mother, who thought it was the funniest thing in the world. Not to be outdone, I decided that I too must send a letter to my grandparents, aunts and uncles, and elderly who may mistake it for a graduation announcement and send back some cash.

So I wrote the following letter, folded it nicely into a Mahogany card with three black cherubs on the front, and signed in my best cursive "Merry Fucking Christmas you bunch of Crazy Black Assholes!" My only regret was that I didn't make enough to send to all of you. So I've posted here on my blog, for your enjoyment.

And as a side note, Merry Christmas, even if it is the middle of January.

Dear Everyone,

I recently received a Christmas letter from a long lost friend, who so thoughtfully composed a lengthy letter detailing every major event in her life that I’ve missed in the last year. Upon reading this letter, I realized that I’ve been missing out on a perfectly legitimate excuse to talk about myself (and to spread holiday cheer naturally). So, for your reading pleasure, I have written below a compilation of highlights from my life from this last year. Enjoy!

Living in New York is just as glamorous as I’m sure you think it is. The streets are lined with beautiful A-list celebrities. I can hardly walk to the subway station without bumping into someone famous. Since moving to New York I’ve seen Andy Rooney, Wallace Shawn, and three former Project Runway contestants. Why Just the other day I saw Alan Cummings eating dinner in one of my favorite restaurants. I went up to him and introduced myself, telling him what a fan of his work I am, to which he responded “I’m not Alan Cummings.” Alan! He’s such a joker!

It was a year ago this September that my dear friend Kathryn and I moved into our luxurious apartment in New York's epicenter of culture and class – Queens. With a neighborhood like this, it's a true mystery why anyone would choose to live in Manhattan. Of the many visitors I've had, not one has failed to marvel at our local wonders – the Washeteria, the two Rite Aids positioned side by side, the hobo that wears a Santa hat year round. Talk about Christmas Spirit! How many of you can say you've seen Santa Claus peeing into a storm gutter?

For the few of you who haven’t seen my apartment, you’re surely missing out! Finely decorated, we’ve collected high-end furnishings from both Ikea and CraigsList. You should really visit! And incase you’ve heard of our little mouse-situation, no worries! That problem has been mostly sorted. Mostly.

Now, I just couldn’t write a letter without mentioning work. You know me,”work work work.” I think you’ll be happy to hear that my hard work and dedication haven't gone unnoticed. That’s right, I’m talking about the big P word. Promotion! Gone are the days of answering phones, getting coffee, and running to the grocery store for economy sized packs of heavy-flow tampons. Now, while I’m not necessarily getting paid any more for my extra hours, the name of my position has changed, and we all know what Shakespeare says about names. They’re very important.

The city can get so drab in the winter, so I decided to take a little tropical holiday a few weeks ago. I thought it would be nice to treat myself and go somewhere exotic! My trip to Ft. Lauderdale was very nice. I was only gone for three days, but i leaned a lot in that time, including that 1) Ft. Lauderdale is where Poland goes to die, and 2) sun tan lotion is not, as I previously hypothesized, a placebo. I had a lovely time, and the doctor said my skin should grow back very soon.

Living in the cultural capital of the world, my friends and I have been taking advantage of all the finer forms of entertainment you can find here in New York City. We're all very excited about the long awaited release of National Treasure II; the Book of Secrets. I just hope it's as good as the first! If anyone needs a last minute present idea, I know one thing Christopher J wants…the charm and striking good looks of Nicholas Cage.

While I'm sure I don't need to tell you of what generous and selfless person I am, I wanted to share a little story of my kindness that I thought would warm your hearts this Christmas season. This year, Kathryn and I decided to take a young homeless girl into our home (it was mostly my idea). The transient was my first-cousin Kelly, who recently got a job in New York and needed a place to stay while looking for an apartment. And I'll tell you one thing, she was quite an imposition. There were shoes in my bathroom, bras on my dining room table, and a remote controlled dinosaur atop of my television. But despite the huge burden she inflicted upon us, we still had a lovely time with her…until of course, after two months it was suggested that she leave. Miss you Kell-Bell, wherever you are!

And with that I must leave you. Christmas is just around the corner, and you know me, always leaving shopping to the very last minute! Ha ha, but seriously. I wish you all a very merry Christmas and a happy New Year.

With Much Love,

Christopher J Miles

PS Alan Cummings says hello.

Trip to the Lake.
Part II

Kelly and I stood under the flight board in disbelief. 20 minutes before our flight had been schedule to arrive on time. Now it, and every flight south of the Mason-Dixon Line was canceled.

Kelly and I looked at each other, mouths agape. “It’s like I willed it to happen,” Kelly told me, “willed it to happen…with my brain…”

At this point, the line to the terminal desk seemed to wrap around the airport. Without speaking, we picked up our bags and went to the end. There was a hundred angry travelers in front of us, and five minutes later another hundred behind us. While I was slightly disappointed (having decided just a few moments before that I was actually looking forward to going), truth be told, I really didn't give a fuck. And Kelly? She was down right giddy. Within seconds, she already had a date for later that evening.

It was hard to not feel somewhat superior to everyone else standing in line. Not caring really gave the two of us an edge. Kelly and I stood silently, eavesdropping on the young woman whining behind us. Over the phone, she sighed and in a mark of passive aggressive genius she stated “I guess God doesn’t want me to come see the band concert. I guess God hates me.” Kelly mouthed no, but I do bitch.

Time dripped by as we waited in line. To entertain ourselves, we practiced different approaches for what we would say when we got to the front. “Let’s pretend like we’re really upset,” I suggested. “You start crying and I’ll pound the desk and demand to see a supervisor.” Kelly suggested reverse psychology. “I didn’t want to fly on your shitty plane anyway!”

Finally we got to the front. Standing behind the desk was a tiny old woman. She looked like the type that if allowed, would wear a t-shirt to work that said “I can only please one person a day. Today isn’t your day, and tomorrow isn’t looking good either.” She’d smirk every day when she stretched it over her saggy frame (not laugh mind you. No, she never laughed), and when people spoke to her, she would simply point to the shirt. If they persisted she would respond by warning “don’t make me point to the shirt again."

I put our tickets on the counter and said “so, there’s probably no way you can get us to Richmond tonight, is there?”
Without looking at her computer, she stared me dead in the eyes and said “nope.”
“And I’m guessing you probably can’t get us to North Carolina either.” I added.
“Nope.”
“And can I go ahead and assume that you’re probably already booked on all the flights to North Carolina tomorrow?”
“Yup.”
Kelly and I looked at each other and shrugged. “Well I guess that does it for us. aThank you.”
Kelly added with all sincerity, “It’s been a pleasure, truly.”

We grabbed our bags and peaced. Being as I lost my phone, Kelly was forced to call our parents to give them the bad news, and for that ten minutes I was genuinely happy I had left it in the cab. At first, Kelly thought she had gotten off easy. Her dad had picked up and the conversation went a little something like this.

“Dad, our flight was canceled…Yeah…okay…love you too bye.”

Moments later Aunt Lynn called back. Kelly sighed before she picked it up. I heard my Aunt through the phone “WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU’RE NOT COMING?” For the next ten minutes I heard Kelly muttering “Mom…but they said...no…mom…ALL THE FLIGHTS ARE CANCELED …mom...no…there is no bus to Raleigh…”

She finally snapped her phone shut. She released a long breath and said “she said that they’re going to miss us and that they’re sorry we can’t come. Oh and your mom thinks you’re a dumbass for losing your phone.” And we left it at that.

Considering the drama that had just taken place, we decided to treat ourselves to a cab ride home. “The last thing I need right now,” Kelly told me, “is some crazy subway drama.” Before she could complete the sentence, a large Hispanic dude jumped in front of us.

“You guys looking for a cab? I got one waiting over there…” he said, pointing to some distant parking lot.

I shook my head no, but before I could verbalize the negative, Kelly jumped all over it. “Why yes, cab driver. We will take you up on your offer. Please, lead us to your parked vehicle”
I screamed a little inside.

We followed the large fellow into the parking lot, farther and farther, until we came to a pimped out Explorer. It had fat rims, and even fatter dude sitting behind the wheel.

“Nononononono” I said, turning around. Kelly looked at the guy and said “Um…sorry…this isn’t really what I expected. I think we’re just going to take a regular cab.”

The large fellow jumped in front of me. “Is it Phat Joey? Dude, he’s my cousin. We’re just two honest guys trying to make enough money to feed our family.”

I looked back at Kelly and then the dude, and then continued heading back to the airport. The guy turned to Kelly. “Man, we do this a hundred times a day. You don’t want to go back there and wait in line for a cab. It will take 40 minutes, and they’ll charge you twice as much.”

Kelly stood there, and I saw her hesitation. I put my bag down, and being the man in the situation, I thought it was high time that I stepped up and started acting like one. “Um...it's up to her I guess,” I told him.

The guy turned to Kelly. Like a giant douche, I had put her on the spot and she looked at me with panic in her eyes. “Come on sweetie,” he pleaded. “If something happens, you have your boyfriend here to defend you.” Somehow, neither one of us found any comfort in this statement.

“I mean…,” she said, her eyes darting back between me and Phat Joey, “fuck it.” She threw her bag into the back seat and climbed in. “But if I die I’m going to be very upset with you two.” The large guy hopped into the passenger seat, and I screamed a lot inside.

Looking around the car, nothing added up. First of all, why were they both here? How could this be a profitable business if they charged less then a cab and then split the money two ways? Second, how could two men, who claimed to be struggling to feed their families, afford a small plasma screen TV playing live satellite under the rear view mirror? How could they afford the seven suits, hanging fresh from the dry cleaners in the back? It would be offensive logic to think that this would result in anything other than a shiv in the neck.

As we drove through the airport parking lot, I plotted ways to get out. I would tell them that I forgot my bag at baggage claim. I would tell them I had to go get it. They would have to let us out, and we could make a break for it. It would be the best decision I ever made. It would save our lives.

So I sat there silently and we pulled out onto the highway. We were on the road to our certainly violent and eminent deaths, but I didn’t want to be rude…

Kelly and I sat in complete and utter silence; the only noise was coming from Keyshia Cole and Missy Elliott playing on their on-road entertainment center. I nervously fidgeted with a piece of paper, all the while picturing how it would go down. Instead of taking us home, they would drive us to some sketchy neighborhood. One of them would then remove his gun from his pocket and instantly shoot me in the head. Luckily, I wouldn’t be around to watch them make Kelly their play thing. When the cops found our bodies floating in the East River, they would comment on how tragic it was, two beautiful lives taken down for what must have been just a few bucks ($7.24 and a sugar packet to be exact).

I started to relax a little when Phat Joey took the exit ramp towards Queens. However, Phat Joey and his amigo started arguing. “You said 44^th Ave. right? Not 44^th St? Because there is no 44^th St in Queens”

My heart immediately started pounding out of my chest. This is how it was going to happen. They were going to play stupid and get lost and take us down a back alley and then cut us into pieces. I could actually see my heart pounding.

“Yes there is!” Kelly spoke up. “I know this because I live on it.”

The two guys looked at each other. “My mistake” one of them said. I thought I was going to pass out, or pee myself, or most likely both. I started praying like a mad man, asking God for forgiveness for eating meat on Friday during Lent and having sex with all those strangers. Maybe if I just gave them my wallet, they would let us live. They could just take my wallet, drop us off in the middle of no where, and call it day.

I reached for my wallet, and then suddenly we came to a stop. Phat Joey had pulled the car over, and I quickly tried to make peace with God. Kelly grabbed me. I screamed a lot…but this time not inside.

“Are you going to get out or what?” She asked me. Phat Joey was staring at me like I was crazy. We were parked in front of my apartment.

I almost kissed the curb when I got out of the car. The young man grabbed my bag and handed it to me. “See, you made it out alive didn’t you”

“Yessir” I shrugged. He got me!

We paid the ridiculously cheap fare and i gave him a big tip for not killing me. The trip-that-didn’t-happen from hell was over, and we had made it home alive,.although cell phone and topical cremeless.

As a post script, I would like to add that shortly after we returned home, I noticed that I had quite a few new IM's waiting for me. I opened the first one from my friend Diane. She wrote:

“So, I spoke to your cab driver a few minutes ago. Apparently you left your phone in his back seat. He said to call him and he would bring it to you.” I had about seven other messages that said the same thing. Apparently he was answering all my calls.

My mother called Kelly’s phone a few minutes later. “Chris! Rahul has your phone!”
“How do you know his name?”
“Oh I know a lot about Rahul. He’s a real delightful man. But anyway, he said he would drop your phone off if was in the neighborhood.”

I called my from from Kelly’s and Rahul answered (naturally). “RAHUL!” I shouted. “You have my phone!”
“Oh yes, you left it in my seat.” He responded. “I bring it back if I go to Queens.”

And sure enough, 4 hours later brought it by. I was so relieved I would have kissed him on the mouth, you know, had he not been so unattractive. He wouldn’t even take the cash I offered him as a reward. He just waved me off and when on his way. Amazing. And that’s why I will name my first born Rahul.

Or my next fish. Either way.

THE END