“Oh, and I’m not driving,” she says, replacing the screw-on bowl, formerly the lid, onto the milk jug, loading the bowl faster than seems possible, and flicking her lighter, the flame just above the cap.
“I really have to do this scan,” I tell her. “I’ve been having these headaches and my vision goes weird sometimes.”
“I’ll get you there,” she assures as the container fills with thick, silvery smoke. “We’re just going to have to take a cab.”
“Shouldn’t you be there?” I ask. “I mean, I’m going to the doctor’s office where you work to have a procedure done.”
“A test,” she says, unscrewing the cap. “Not a procedure, a test. But that couldn’t possibly make the slightest difference.”
She sets the cap on the side of my tub and takes what really seems too large to call “her hit.”
When she comes back up, smoke is coming out of her nose in little ringlets, and I’m really not expecting it when she grabs the back of my head, presses her lips against mine and breathes the smoke into me.
It happens so fast and I’m already pretty baked, so by the time I really process what just happened, she’s already back on her feet, checking her hair in the mirror.
“You’re the only patient today,” she says. “It’s Sunday. Besides, I called Dr. Churchill, and he knows we’re hanging out.”
“What just happened?”
“It’s called shotgunning,” Yuri answers. “Oh shit, I didn’t even bother asking you if you were cool like that. I promise, I wasn’t trying to get fresh with you. I just noticed that your eyes were still pretty clear, and I don’t know about you, but MRI machines freak me right the fuck out, and I figured you could use a little extra to get you through the procedure.”
“The test,” I correct, and we both start laughing.
Yeah, I think I’ll be nice and calm when it comes time to have my brain bombarded by the magnetic field.
“Shit,” she says, looking at her phone.
“Wh-” I start, but before I can get the “at” out, Yuri’s grabbing my hand and pulling me to my feet.
“We’re running late,” she says, “and I don’t know when the next open slot with the MRI is going to be.”
I don’t have time to respond, as she’s now dragging me out of the apartment. It’s all I can do to grab my purse and keys on the way. Yuri doesn’t bother stopping, so it’s quite the feat.
When we get outside, she sprays us both with about half her spritz bottle, and I’m coughing when the cab pulls up.
Yuri does the talking, which is just as well because that last hit is really starting to get on top of me.
We show up at the hospital either three hours or fourteen seconds later — I can’t be completely sure which — and as soon as Yuri pays the driver, she opens her door, and just like she had back at my apartment, she grabs my wrist and is pulling me out of the cab.
I’m jogging, trying to keep up with her, but we somehow manage to get into Dr. Churchill’s office when the big hand is touching the 12.
The doc is in his office proper, but he sees us come in. He’s on his way out to greet us, but he’s not even to the door to the waiting room when he stops and plugs his nose.
“Yuri, for fuck’s sake,” he says. “How many times have I told you to go easy on the perfume?”
“It’s not perfume,” she corrects, still gripping my wrist, “it’s spritz.”
“Whatever,” he says. “Seriously, is there anything you can do about that?”
“They don’t let me into the doctor’s locker rooms anymore, so it’s not like I can just jump in the shower,” she says, then turns to me. “Long story,” she mutters and releases her grip, seemingly for no other reason than to give me a “get going” pat on the rear.
I’m seriously starting to get some mixed signals from her, but what’s even more on my mind is the fact that we didn’t bother with eye drops, and I can feel the dryness of my eyes.
“Are you ready to go?” he asks.
“Why is it that you always like to be there during tests?” I ask.
“Call it a control thing,” he says. “If I’m there, I can tell the radiologist to take thinner or thicker cuts as needed. I swear, they have no instinct for it at all.”