My throat was parched and the bitter taste of Aspirin lingered on my tongue. I felt the cold perspiration on my back but I was feeling so much better already.
Larry was right about the sponge-bath.
He's wearing my headset, sleeping. One side of his face was pressed against his crossed-arms which rested on top of the bed directly opposite from the spot where I rested.
The sun was lambent outside after the rain. Larry's face was bathed in its warm light and he looked perfect in the sunlit room. I wanted to slap him for that.
I tried to move softly to not wake him up but the bed was too soft to resist even the slightest movement. It sent ripples on the opposite side towards Larry when I attempted to rise.
"Hey, did I wake you up?" He stretched his arms and yawned.
"Stupid, I'm the one who woke you up." I hissed.
"Ouch! My hands are numbed," his lips twitched for whatever sudden discomfort he's feeling.
"It's because you've slept on it when there are two pillows tucked under my head. You could have used one."
"I did not wanna wake you up. You needed to rest so your body can recuperate faster." He replied.
"Give me your hands..." He looked at his hands and then looked at me.
"Hands Larry..."
He reached out his hands hesitantly so I grabbed it and pulled him closer.
I fitted my fingers between the gaps in his hands and started massaging it tenderly. This was the second time that I get to hold Larry's hands and they felt softer than last time.
"How are you feeling now?" I threw a glance at him momentarily and pulled back. Looking at Larry's face this close can cause temporary blindness.
"Good Florante, where'd you learn this?"
"From Nana...I bet your medical ass had not read any of this in your textbooks."
He chuckled.
"I wish I could naturally cuss as good as you Florante. "
"Well then, what's stopping you...?"
"I don't know, it just doesn't feel right when I try to do it..."
"The world is a big mother-fucking asshole, Larry, it curses at us every single day...wouldn't hurt if we could cuss back at it and tell it to go-to-hell."
He smiled and his eyes turned into fireworks in New Year's Eve. It was a trap.
"Your Nana sounds like an interesting person...I wish I could meet her one day."
"Keep wishing..."
"What happened to your knuckles?" He inquired staring at the reddish bruise forming on top of my hands.
I did not answer.
"Florante, please stop hurting yourself..." our eyes gazed at each other trying to speak words that both our tongue could not manage to speak of.
I pulled my hands back and looked away before the strength to do so would wean on me.
He walked towards Ms. Sanchez' cupboard and I was left thinking what sort of medical procedure was he planning on me this time.
He hooked my right hand and started picking on the dry scabs.
I was about to retrieve my hands back to my pocket where it would be safe from the sudden sparks that I felt every time our skin touch but he said "Hold still, I won't hurt you."
You're hurting me already.
He plucked the scabs carefully using the sponge-forceps and dubbed the pinkish skin with Hydrogen Peroxide.
It had an awful smell that hurt my nose.
"So are you gonna tell me what happened here?" His voice was a temperate summer sun that melted me from where I sat. He raised the sponge-forceps and disposed the cotton-ball it was holding.
"No..."
"Alright..." he sighed and softly blew the liquid medication on my knuckles. It felt cold before it evaporated into thin air.
He took my body temperature once again and smiled triumphantly at the thermometer.
"Your fever had subsided! it's still at 38 degree Celsius but it's so much better now. You should be good as new by tomorrow." He crackled like all the joy in the world was encapsulated in that stupid thermometer he was holding.
"Good..." I replied.
We spent the rest of the lazy afternoon lying on the bed. I was reading "The Alchemist" by Paolo Coelho and Larry was wearing my headset, singing softly to the tune of "Zephyr" by The Red Hot Chilli Peppers.
"Florante you got a good taste for music!" He exclaimed.
"Well, I certainly hope that your voice is half as good too..." I responded sarcastically while turning the page of the book that I was reading. Larry was good at many things except for singing. He sounded like a swarm of disoriented bees.
"Come Florante, sing this song with me!" He turned around and faced me lying on his stomach. His knees were bent on the soft white bed-sheet and his feet dangled in the air.
***The song plays***
Take a look it's on display, for you
Coming down no not today...
"Common Florante! Sing it with me!" He squealed, shaking my shoulders. He put the other headset on my left ear and shrilled excitedly like a child, expecting for the chorus to hit.
"Alright, goddamn it Larry..." I complained and put the book beside the bed.
The song reached the chorus and we're both singing.
Fly away on my Zephyr
I feel it more than ever
And in this perfect weather
We'll find a place together
In the water where I center my emotion
All the world can pass me by
Fly away on my Zephyr
We'll find a place together...
Larry and I were head-banging at the top of our lungs and laughed like there's no tomorrow.
It felt like it was the first I ever heard the song though I played it a million times before. Weird.