Percival Chapter One Part Seven

It was on a news channel and a handsome man wearing a baby blue suit thrusted a microphone under an old man’s bearded chin. The old man’s wrinkled skin drooped under his eyes and he looked like he was asleep. “Tell us how you feel about this verdict?”

“I don’t know what to think. We lost.”

Percival switched the channel, looking for anything of value.

“…only nineteen ninety-five…..He’s the father. I know it…..He scored the last goal….we have breaking news…The weather this weekend should be gorgeous but a serious storm is brewing…..”

He turned on his videogame system and picked up the controller. The screen popped into view and loaded his saved game. He’d been playing Toad’s Revenge for a month now, navigating a toad warrior through an imaginary land. What it amounted to was how fast he could smash the buttons and wiggle his thumb, which wasn’t a far cry to what he did for a living with the register but it passed the time until he hoped Clarrisa would come over.

They’d met a month ago right outside his door. At two o’clock in the morning, Percival was half asleep, the television was on but turned down real low.

“What the fuck is this,” yelled a man’s voice from outside Percival’s window. This didn’t surprise him nor was it the first time that he had heard yelling, fighting or loud sex from his motel room, so he didn’t pay it much mind but it had woken him and he liked the voyeurism and muted the television.

“This is all I have. I swear Santiago,” said a woman’s trembling voice.

“This is forty five dollars!” Percival could hear the woman give a yelp. “You better have more than this. What did you do with it?”

“That’s it. I swear. I’ll get the rest to you when I work tomorrow. I promise.”

Percival heard a slap and then he saw a silhouette of the woman hit his window. “You know that I’m fair with you Candi. You know that. You get me the rest of that money or there’s no more. Do you hear? No more!”

Then Percival heard the heavy footsteps of the man heading down the stairs to the parking lot. The woman was just under his window and he could hear her sobbing. He didn’t know what compelled him but he got up and put on a pair of pants and opened the door. He stuck his head out and she gave a start, jumping to her feet.

“What the fuck do you want?” she said. She was bleeding from her nose and tears smeared her over done makeup. She was short with long brown hair held together with a thick white hair tie. She wore a latex red mini skirt with white stockings.

“I’m sorry but I heard everything and wanted to know if you’re alright?”

“Fuck off!” She rose to her feet and swung her small black pocketbook over her shoulder and headed in the opposite direction.

Percival didn’t know what to say but he wanted to stop her from going. “Are you a…a.” he didn’t know how to finish off the sentence, but it seemed to work and she stopped with her hand on the railing and one foot on the first step.

Percival Chapter One Part Six

Percival washed his hands and opened the sliding glass door of a large stainless steel refrigerator, where the staff stored the leftovers and pulled out a long container of spaghetti and meatballs. He set it on a nearby table, grabbed a styrophome container, scooping a huge portion of pasta into it and then placed everything back where it belonged. Percival left Franco in the kitchen and entered the dim cafeteria. The sound of a vacuum drowned out the steady drum of pages on the intercom system.

He sprawled on the bench of the employee’s table, while he waited for Franco to come out with the rest of the staff. In a matter of minutes Franco emerged and waved to Percival. He sprung from the bench and retrieved his bike.

The hospital is never empty but at this time of day only a few people milled about. Franco didn’t leave through the main entrance but through a side door that went to the employee parking lot. Franco whistled as they all passed a brand new Mercedes Benz.

“I’d like to take that out for a ride. That’s fully loaded too. Shit, I’d get so much play in something like that that I’d have to unlist my number,” he said, as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a key chain with a copper nude lady on it . He unlocked his black Ford pickup and the rest of crew jumped in the back. Percival lifted his bike into the bed of the truck and climbed in.

The breeze from the moving truck felt good against his skin. The night sky blazed with stars and the moon hung like a clipped toenail in the air. Franco dropped off the rest of the passengers first; they lived in a rickety one story house with an knee high grass and two gutted cars in the front yard. Two women waited in the doorway for them and several children pushed themselves through them to get outside. The kids ran around the men playing a game of tag. Franco honked the horn, then screeched his tires, careening down the street.

Minutes later the Sunset Lodge’s flickering green neon sign of a palm tree lit the street as they turned into the parking lot. The siding of the building was aqua, the type plastered on resorts at the beach but there wasn’t a body of water with sand around for at least a hundred miles. Franco pulled right up to the soda machine next to the stairs that led to Percival’s room. He hopped out, slid his bike from the truck and wheeled it over to the driver side door, where Franco had his arm resting and his head sticking out.

“You better make it to that fight,” he said and spit out into the middle of the parking lot. “It’ll be good for you.”

“We’ll see.” Percival knew he wasn’t going.

“Adios,” Franco said and took off.

“Yea,” replied Percival in a soft voice, knowing Franco wouldn’t hear. He turned towards the stairway and pushed his bike up.

His room, 218, included a bedroom, a small kitchen area and a bathroom. He could afford the room because he worked two jobs; the second one wasn’t really a job but paid volunteer work. He threw his book bag on top of his unmade bed and went into the kitchen and put his food away. Once he shut the small refrigerator, he opened the cupboard above the stove and pulled down three medicine bottles. He took out three pills from the largest bottle, two from the smallest bottle and one from a light blue bottle. Flipping the faucet on, he threw three pills indiscriminately down his throat and cupped his hands under the running water and slurped a mouthful. He swallowed the rest of the pills and flipped on the television.

Percival Chapter One Part Five

The manager went to the register and placed his manager’s key into its lock and the drawer popped open. He took out an empty blue bag hidden in the recesses of the tray and put most of the cash inside, keeping enough to give change for the remaining customers.

“You can go at eight tonight, if you wish. Don’t forget the shifts that you picked up this weekend,” said Mr. Silverman

“I won’t,” replied Percival.

He would have to stick around until Franco got out to get a ride back. Percival waited until eight and then shut down the cafeteria, by closing off the red velvet rope. The dishwashers were in the kitchen cleaning, when Percival went in to clock out. Grabbing a dish towel, he moved next to a huge stack of trays and went to work.

Franco whistled as he trotted by, but didn’t stop to help, instead he adjusted the dial of a small radio duct-taped to a barstool and cranked it up as loud as it would go. A deep Spanish voice reverberated throughout the kitchen. He was singing about his girlfriend leaving him. Franco started moving his hips in time to the music and lip synced to the song. Mr. Silverman walked out of his office just in time to see Franco pick up a dirty fork with a green bean attached to it, using it like a microphone.

“Are you going to make love to that green bean or are you going to clean it? And Percival you better have clocked out,” he said over his shoulder, and went past Franco and into the cooking section. “Hey Eduardo, you better dump that grease tonight.”

Franco threw the fork into the sink, splashing pasta sauce water onto the wall. “I tell you Percival, he has no passion. Look at him. You can tell that man has no rhythm. His knee caps don’t bend.” Franco grabbed a broom and started dancing around the room.

“Come over here and help me stack these,” said Percival and flung his dishrag at Franco.

“You are all about work.” But he moved over to the stack of dishes putting his broom down against the side of the sink. “You need to have a little fun every now and then.”

“What are you talking about? I go out and have fun all the time. In fact I went out with you last Wednesday and had a beer down the street.”

“That’s bullshit! You whined the whole time when I said that I wanted to stop in and have a beer.” He took his hands out of the sink and waved them around. “I need to go home and study. Wa wa wa.”

Percival laughed and looked into the sink. “Well I went in didn’t I.”

“Why don’t you come over and watch the fight, eh? It would be fun.”

“I’m not into boxing. I’ve got things planned this Saturday anyways.”

“What do you have planned. Ah, a senorita perhaps? Well good for you Don Juan.”

“It’s not a girl. There’s a movie that I want to see. It’s coming out this Friday. You’ve heard of it. The Beast Two.”

“Sounds like crap. I haven’t even heard of The Beast One. Come on over, its better than sitting in that crappy motel all night.”

“I’ll think about it.”

Percival Chapter One Part Four

They gave Percival a week to live and after he survived that, they gave him a month. One of the nurses named him Percival, after the knight who discovered the holy grail and eternal life. When three months passed they placed him in a special home for sick children. When he turned one, they gave him a party. The nurses gathered around the enclosed plastic casing of his crib and sang happy birthday to him.

In 1984, AIDS was a death sentence, but he survived another year. At age three, the media called him ‘The miracle Baby’ and attention began showering the orphanage. The other sick children grew jealous and they teased and alienated him.

Each year that passed, and he saw kids come and go, most in caskets. He became the nurses favorite, always hanging out with them instead of the kids. No one thought he would keep going but then came five, six, then seven. The doctors kept testing him to see what his body did to combat the disease. How is it that he wasn’t dead? At the age of eight the pharmaceutical companies came, offering to help the orphanage if they could check on Percival.

The Head Doctor, Mr. Othertin, a kind gentle man, refused their offer to bring in their own doctors and instead gave them a vile of Percival’s blood every week for a minimal amount of money.

Dr. Stevenson interned under Mr. Othertin. He would come in and take the temperature of the kids and draw their blood under the watchful eye of Mr. Othertin.

After Mr. Othertin passed away and Philip went to another hospital, the orphanage changed and new doctors came in testing Percival everyday, which he despised and would climb out of the window at night and run away before their appointments.

Doctor Silverman would get off his late night shift by passing by the waiting room. He would spot Percival sprawled across the seats asleep and tap him on the shoulder and rouse him. Then he’d take him to his house and let him sleep on the couch, calling the orphanage to tell him where he was.

Philip and Percival would share a meal of eggs and sausage links before heading back. Percival doused his eggs in ketchup and Philip teased him saying that the eggs were bleeding. He’d beg Philip to let him live there but Philip calmed him down and persuaded him to go back to his orphanage, where he had the best chance to beat his illness. He gave Percival courage and he always entered the orphanage with his back straight and his head held high.

The line in the cafeteria dwindled down so that Percival could escape from the register and mingle near the employee’s table where Franco and some of the other dishwashers were eating. They were talking in Spanish to each other which Percival could make out a word now and again, since he had taken a few Spanish classes.

They talked about an upcoming boxing match which Franco bought on Pay-Per-View. They placed bets on who would win and in what round. Percival listened to Franco get a few of the men who hadn’t bet yet to put up some cash.

He turned to Percival, noticing him for the first time and pointed at him. “I bet Percival would bet ten bucks. Ain’t that right, Percival? What do you say?”

“Don’t try to get me to bet. I’ve already lost to much money to you. "

Franco gave Percival a look that said, don’t blow my cover, and then turned back to the group around the table and started in on them again. A lady approached the register and Percival hurried over to cash her out. He only had an hour left on his shift but the sun had already set. Mr. Silverman entered into the cafeteria and the dishwashers sprang into action, gathering trays and wiping down the tables. Franco remained the only one at the table, slurping on the bowl of chicken noodle soup.

Percival, Chapter One, Part Three

“I’m here to take over but I’m going to get a bite to eat before Mr. Silverman cashes you out.”

“No problem, sweet heart,” she said, handing a gentleman a five dollar bill.

Percival grabbed a tray at the server station in the middle of the food court and piled on a huge portion macaroni salad and a hamburger, taking it over to the employee table just out of sight from the rest of the cafeteria. He eyed Mr. Silverman making his way over to Mrs. Zandrosi. Percival had shoveled all the food into his mouth and by the time Mr. Silverman finished. Washing it down with a gulp of orange soda, he scooted around the table and over to Mr. Silverman and Mrs. Zandrosi.

“I don’t think you are on the schedule this coming Tuesday but I’ll make sure you have it off,” Mr. Silverman said to Mrs. Zandrosi. “Oh Percival, you’re all set to take over now.”

“Sure,” he said, moving in front of the register to greet an impatient doctor. He liked making doctors wait.

The line dragged on and the job became monotamous. Percival kept repeating the same phrases, “hello”, “is that it?”, and “thank you”. The only things that used any brain power was the counting the amount owed and the cash returned. The elderly people, doctors and nurses all looked the same. He noticed Dr. Stevenson in line and he waved. Dr. Stevenson was the parental figure in Percival’s life for a long time. One of his earliest memories of Philip was of him taking his temperature in the orphanage doctor’s office where he grew up.

Philip stopped in front of the register and handed him a twenty dollars. “Good to see you today,” he said. “You need to see me for a check up this month.”

“Just tell me when and I’ll get the time off,” he replied.

“How are you feeling lately? Are you still feeling weak?”

“Just a little at night, but not as much as when you last saw me.”

“Good. I hope that the guys at Keiser are going easy on you.”

“Yea, they’re still giving me twenty pills a day,” said Percival and handed him his change.

The relationship between Philip and Percival had developed since his birth at this hospital twenty-two years ago. His mother, a heroin addict, had come to see the doctors because she was three months pregnant and when they finished her the blood tests, they found out that she also had full blown AIDS from sharing needles with her junkie friends. When in labor, she lost to much blood and her heart stopped. They tried to save her life, her heart came back three times but she was to weak to survive, dying without being able to hold him.

Percival came out tiny and lifeless. The doctors thought him stillborn but when they put him down in the incubator and went to attend his dieing mother, he wailed so loud that everyone stopped and turned towards him.

Percival, Chapter One Part Two

The neighborhood stood in disarray, garbage cans rolled aimlessly around vacant lots and houses were packed together with every window locked with steel bars. Two little girls swung an orange jump rope with a tiny girl with worn out clothes waiting to jump in. They sang while their beads in their hair swung wildly about.

A group of teenagers smoked cigarettes and lounging against a maroon Cadillac with four flat tires. They eyed him as he sped by. The largest of the boys leaned over and said something inaudible and it got the others chuckling.

Percival weaved in and out of piles of broken glass until road ended, where he took a left and the hospital came into view. An ambulance zoomed by with its siren blaring, pulled to a stop in the emergency room entrance and two men dressed in white jumped out of the back, rolling out the gurney. On top of the gurney, an enormous woman on it. She clutched her stomach, a huge mound, and wailed. As they passed each other, she looked right into his eyes. She looked so pale to Percival, like her skin was bleached. He tore his eyes away, hopped off his bike and rounded the corner.

He pushed his bicycle through the electric doors of the hospital and maneuvered around a swarm of people blocking his path. The smell of Pine-Sol disinfected his nostrils as he took a deep breath. He liked the tingling sensation. He imagined the disinfectant combating his disease.

A hundred voices intermingled in a loud crescendo, as he approached the cafeteria. Tired patients and their families sat bunched together as they ate, while a long line waited to be served food.

Percival went to the employee’s door and opened into an alcove attached to a kitchen. Men yelling in Spanish bustled around the kitchen, their aprons painted with scraps of food.

Franco spotted him and gave a shout in rusty English, ”Hey, Percival. Glad you could make it.”

He placed his bike in the corner of the alcove, resting it against a mop bucket and joined the fray. Franco tossed him a tattered rag and moved away from the enormous pile of dirty trays.

Snatching the rag, Percival fished out his time card on the wall next to the manager’s office. He peered in, and saw Mr. Silverman at his desk, talking on the phone. The manager looked up and motioned for Percival to come in. He opened the door and stood, waiting for him to finish the phone call.

“You can toss that rag back to Franco, because we need you at the register,” said Mr. Silverman, as soon as he hung up the phone, plucking out Percival’s paycheck from a pile of papers on top of the desk. “You might want this too.”

Taking that as a sign to go, he left. Franco leaned against the door leading out to the dumpster, an unlit cigarette dangling from his mouth. He looked at Percival and gave him a nod toward the dishes. He tossed the rag at Franco and it bounced off the top of his landing on the floor.

“I have to use the register today. I’ll help you after I get done there.”

Franco looked disappointed and slipped out the door while Percival entered the food court. A red velvet rope corralled people in zigzags until they reached a counter of stacked trays. Randolph wheeled a fresh batch and started refilling them. Percival ducked under the rope and headed toward the end of the line to where Mrs. Zandrosi, in a white church dress, rang out customers. Her hair light brown was held in place by a shower of hairspray. Percival had seen her hair repel a rainstorm.

Percival, Chapter One Part One

“Percival, I don’t know if it will help you to waste a whole semester on two courses that you don’t really need. Here take these sheets, fill them out and mail them. I think it’s the best path to take,” he said, handing Percival a manila folder.

“Alright,” Percival lied.

Percival slipped the folder into his backpack under his chair, and rose. He felt relieved that it was over. He was going to take those courses and there wasn’t anything that Mr. Sanford could do to stop him. The man wielded no power at all, except persuasion. Mr. Sanford had a useless job.

The Registration Office opened in an hour, so he headed to the library where he’d spend hours lounging on the sofas reading or taking small naps. Percival meandered through the fiction section and scoured the titles until ‘The Forest of Dreariness’ grabbed his attention. Taking the book, he headed towards his section near a large fireplace with a couple of large cushioned couches sprawled around. Since the fall semester hadn‘t yet begun, the library was empty, and he enjoyed it this way. He kicked back on his deep purple colored couch, throwing his feet on top of the arm, and flipped to the middle of the book. He liked to pick up a book, flip it open to a random page and begin from there, sucking in the heart of the book like the marrow from a bone. When he finished a chapter or two, he’d throw it in the book bin. He went through most of the fiction this way without finishing a single book.

After a chapter of the boring book he made his way to the men’s room. Standing in front of the large mirror above the running water, Percival splashed water over his face. He always had a baby face, with his skin the color of creamed coffee and his hair corn-rolled back. He didn’t look like a dying man.

The only sounds in the bathroom were the crumpling of the paper towel in his hands and the light dripping of the faucet. Percival headed out of the bathroom and down the hall. He had to hurry with his registration so that he wouldn’t be late for work. His eyes wandered to a teenager in tight jeans and tank top. As she sauntered past him and he thought about Clarrisa. Recently, she filled most of his thoughts.

As he approached Mrs. Kennedy, the registrar, he fumbled inside his backpack for his registration sheet and extending it to her, an elderly lady with spectacles and white hair. She squinted up at Percival through her thick glasses.

“Hello Mr. Watkins. Your registering for classes again. Let’s see what you have.” She reached out and swiped the sheet from him. “Your only taking two classes?”

“This is my last semester here.”

She typed. “That’s too bad. We’ll all miss you. Please see us before you go. Hey Murtha, Percival here is leaving us.”

An old lady emerged behind a filing cabinet, “What’s that? Oh Percival, registering early?”
“I said, he’s leaving us,” said Mrs. Kennedy.

“Where is he going? Isn‘t he registering?”

“He is but this is his last semester?”

“Well isn’t that a shame kicking out a good boy like you.”

“There not kicking him out. He’s leaving.”

“Where are you going?”

“To work,” he said, taking his receipt from Mrs. Kennedy. They waved as he headed for the door.

Once outside, he unlocked his bike and pedaled toward the bike path. Weaving in and out of several runner’s way, Percival raced the other cyclists until his exit, a worn out path up a steep hill that took him over a curb and onto the street. He turned right down Waterhouse Street that led his job at the hospital.

Percival, Chapter One

Chapter 1


“Let me tell you about when I started out in college,” said Percival’s councilor, Charles Sandford as he slouched in his large office chair, making the wood creak and focused his beady eyes on Percival. “I wasn’t doing anything with my life. Sitting around, working on cars, drinking, until I woke up one day and went to school. From there I found that I wanted to help people, but to do that I needed to help myself first. So I cleaned up my act, got focused and now I’m doing what I always wanted to do.”

Percival tried not to focus on Mr. Sandford’s second chin that hid his pasty white neck. The poor man just had enough room to snap the last button on his dress shirt.

“You’ve been going to Summerset Community College for six years now. From what I’ve seen, you haven’t even applied to a University. With your grade point average and your seven associates degrees…”

“Nine,” said Percival.

“With your nine associates degrees, you will have no problem getting into a University. Now I’ve compiled a half dozen schools in this area that you could attend.”

“I’m thinking about taking the last two courses next semester.”

“Now Percival, you don’t need to know the career you want yet. But you’ve taken practically every course in our catalog. Don’t you think you should move on?”

“Mr. Sanford, I thank you for all your help during these past years but I really want to take these courses. After next semester, we’ll talk about a University.”

“Percival, I don’t know if it will help you to waste a whole semester on two courses that you don’t really need. Here take these sheets, fill them out and mail them. I think it’s the best path to take,” he said, handing Percival a manila folder.

“Alright,” Percival lied.

Percival slipped the folder into his backpack under his chair, and rose. He felt relieved that it was over. He was going to take those courses and there wasn’t anything that Mr. Sanford could do to stop him. The man wielded no power at all, except persuasion. Mr. Sanford had a useless job.

The Registration Office opened in an hour, so he headed to the library where he’d spend hours lounging on the sofas reading or taking small naps. Percival meandered through the fiction section and scoured the titles until ‘The Forest of Dreariness’ grabbed his attention. Taking the book, he headed towards his section near a large fireplace with a couple of large cushioned couches sprawled around. Since the fall semester hadn‘t yet begun, the library was empty, and he enjoyed it this way. He kicked back on his deep purple colored couch, throwing his feet on top of the arm, and flipped to the middle of the book. He liked to pick up a book, flip it open to a random page and begin from there, sucking in the heart of the book like the marrow from a bone. When he finished a chapter or two, he’d throw it in the book bin. He went through most of the fiction this way without finishing a single book.

After a chapter of the boring book he made his way to the men’s room. Standing in front of the large mirror above the running water, Percival splashed water over his face. He always had a baby face, with his skin the color of creamed coffee and his hair corn-rolled back. He didn’t look like a dying man.

The only sounds in the bathroom were the crumpling of the paper towel in his hands and the light dripping of the faucet. Percival headed out of the bathroom and down the hall. He had to hurry with his registration so that he wouldn’t be late for work. His eyes wandered to a teenager in tight jeans and tank top. As she sauntered past him and he thought about Clarrisa. Recently, she filled most of his thoughts.

As he approached Mrs. Kennedy, the registrar, he fumbled inside his backpack for his registration sheet and extending it to her, an elderly lady with spectacles and white hair. She squinted up at Percival through her thick glasses.

“Hello Mr. Watkins. Your registering for classes again. Let’s see what you have.” She reached out and swiped the sheet from him. “Your only taking two classes?”

“This is my last semester here.”

She typed. “That’s too bad. We’ll all miss you. Please see us before you go. Hey Murtha, Percival here is leaving us.”

An old lady emerged behind a filing cabinet, “What’s that? Oh Percival, registering early?”

“I said, he’s leaving us,” said Mrs. Kennedy.

“Where is he going? Isn‘t he registering?”

“He is but this is his last semester?”

“Well isn’t that a shame kicking out a good boy like you.”

“There not kicking him out. He’s leaving.”

“Where are you going?”

“To work,” he said, taking his receipt from Mrs. Kennedy. They waved as he headed for the door.

Once outside, he unlocked his bike and pedaled toward the bike path. Weaving in and out of several runner’s way, Percival raced the other cyclists until his exit, a worn out path up a steep hill that took him over a curb and onto the street. He turned right down Waterhouse Street that led his job at the hospital.

The neighborhood stood in disarray, garbage cans rolled aimlessly around vacant lots and houses were packed together with every window locked with steel bars. Two little girls swung an orange jump rope with a tiny girl with worn out clothes waiting to jump in. They sang while their beads in their hair swung wildly about.

A group of teenagers smoked cigarettes and lounging against a maroon Cadillac with four flat tires. They eyed him as he sped by. The largest of the boys leaned over and said something inaudible and it got the others chuckling.

Percival weaved in and out of piles of broken glass until road ended, where he took a left and the hospital came into view. An ambulance zoomed by with its siren blaring, pulled to a stop in the emergency room entrance and two men dressed in white jumped out of the back, rolling out the gurney. On top of the gurney, an enormous woman on it. She clutched her stomach, a huge mound, and wailed. As they passed each other, she looked right into his eyes. She looked so pale to Percival, like her skin was bleached. He tore his eyes away, hopped off his bike and rounded the corner.

He pushed his bicycle through the electric doors of the hospital and maneuvered around a swarm of people blocking his path. The smell of Pine-Sol disinfected his nostrils as he took a deep breath. He liked the tingling sensation. He imagined the disinfectant combating his disease.
A hundred voices intermingled in a loud crescendo, as he approached the cafeteria. Tired patients and their families sat bunched together as they ate, while a long line waited to be served food.

Percival went to the employee’s door and opened into an alcove attached to a kitchen. Men yelling in Spanish bustled around the kitchen, their aprons painted with scraps of food.
Franco spotted him and gave a shout in rusty English, ”Hey, Percival. Glad you could make it.”

He placed his bike in the corner of the alcove, resting it against a mop bucket and joined the fray. Franco tossed him a tattered rag and moved away from the enormous pile of dirty trays.

Snatching the rag, Percival fished out his time card on the wall next to the manager’s office. He peered in, and saw Mr. Silverman at his desk, talking on the phone. The manager looked up and motioned for Percival to come in. He opened the door and stood, waiting for him to finish the phone call.

“You can toss that rag back to Franco, because we need you at the register,” said Mr. Silverman, as soon as he hung up the phone, plucking out Percival’s paycheck from a pile of papers on top of the desk. “You might want this too.”

Taking that as a sign to go, he left. Franco leaned against the door leading out to the dumpster, an unlit cigarette dangling from his mouth. He looked at Percival and gave him a nod toward the dishes. He tossed the rag at Franco and it bounced off the top of his landing on the floor.

“I have to use the register today. I’ll help you after I get done there.”

Franco looked disappointed and slipped out the door while Percival entered the food court. A red velvet rope corralled people in zigzags until they reached a counter of stacked trays. Randolph wheeled a fresh batch and started refilling them. Percival ducked under the rope and headed toward the end of the line to where Mrs. Zandrosi, in a white church dress, rang out customers. Her hair light brown was held in place by a shower of hairspray. Percival had seen her hair repel a rainstorm.

“I’m here to take over but I’m going to get a bite to eat before Mr. Silverman cashes you out.”

“No problem, sweet heart,” she said, handing a gentleman a five dollar bill.

Percival grabbed a tray at the server station in the middle of the food court and piled on a huge portion macaroni salad and a hamburger, taking it over to the employee table just out of sight from the rest of the cafeteria. He eyed Mr. Silverman making his way over to Mrs. Zandrosi. Percival had shoveled all the food into his mouth and by the time Mr. Silverman finished. Washing it down with a gulp of orange soda, he scooted around the table and over to Mr. Silverman and Mrs. Zandrosi.

“I don’t think you are on the schedule this coming Tuesday but I’ll make sure you have it off,” Mr. Silverman said to Mrs. Zandrosi. “Oh Percival, you’re all set to take over now.”

“Sure,” he said, moving in front of the register to greet an impatient doctor. He liked making doctors wait.

The line dragged on and the job became monotamous. Percival kept repeating the same phrases, “hello”, “is that it?”, and “thank you”. The only things that used any brain power was the counting the amount owed and the cash returned. The elderly people, doctors and nurses all looked the same. He noticed Dr. Stevenson in line and he waved. Dr. Stevenson was the parental figure in Percival’s life for a long time. One of his earliest memories of Philip was of him taking his temperature in the orphanage doctor’s office where he grew up.

Philip stopped in front of the register and handed him a twenty dollars. “Good to see you today,” he said. “You need to see me for a check up this month.”

“Just tell me when and I’ll get the time off,” he replied.

“How are you feeling lately? Are you still feeling weak?”

“Just a little at night, but not as much as when you last saw me.”

“Good. I hope that the guys at Keiser are going easy on you.”

“Yea, they’re still giving me twenty pills a day,” said Percival and handed him his change.
The relationship between Philip and Percival had developed since his birth at this hospital twenty-two years ago. His mother, a heroin addict, had come to see the doctors because she was three months pregnant and when they finished her the blood tests, they found out that she also had full blown AIDS from sharing needles with her junkie friends. When in labor, she lost to much blood and her heart stopped. They tried to save her life, her heart came back three times but she was to weak to survive, dying without being able to hold him.

Percival came out tiny and lifeless. The doctors thought him stillborn but when they put him down in the incubator and went to attend his dieing mother, he wailed so loud that everyone stopped and turned towards him.

They gave Percival a week to live and after he survived that, they gave him a month. One of the nurses named him Percival, after the knight who discovered the holy grail and eternal life. When three months passed they placed him in a special home for sick children. When he turned one, they gave him a party. The nurses gathered around the enclosed plastic casing of his crib and sang happy birthday to him.

In 1984, AIDS was a death sentence, but he survived another year. At age three, the media called him ‘The miracle Baby’ and attention began showering the orphanage. The other sick children grew jealous and they teased and alienated him.

Each year that passed, and he saw kids come and go, most in caskets. He became the nurses favorite, always hanging out with them instead of the kids. No one thought he would keep going but then came five, six, then seven. The doctors kept testing him to see what his body did to combat the disease. How is it that he wasn’t dead? At the age of eight the pharmaceutical companies came, offering to help the orphanage if they could check on Percival.

The Head Doctor, Mr. Othertin, a kind gentle man, refused their offer to bring in their own doctors and instead gave them a vile of Percival’s blood every week for a minimal amount of money.

Dr. Stevenson interned under Mr. Othertin. He would come in and take the temperature of the kids and draw their blood under the watchful eye of Mr. Othertin.

After Mr. Othertin passed away and Philip went to another hospital, the orphanage changed and new doctors came in testing Percival everyday, which he despised and would climb out of the window at night and run away before their appointments.

Doctor Silverman would get off his late night shift by passing by the waiting room. He would spot Percival sprawled across the seats asleep and tap him on the shoulder and rouse him. Then he’d take him to his house and let him sleep on the couch, calling the orphanage to tell him where he was.

Philip and Percival would share a meal of eggs and sausage links before heading back. Percival doused his eggs in ketchup and Philip teased him saying that the eggs were bleeding. He’d beg Philip to let him live there but Philip calmed him down and persuaded him to go back to his orphanage, where he had the best chance to beat his illness. He gave Percival courage and he always entered the orphanage with his back straight and his head held high.

The line in the cafeteria dwindled down so that Percival could escape from the register and mingle near the employee’s table where Franco and some of the other dishwashers were eating. They were talking in Spanish to each other which Percival could make out a word now and again, since he had taken a few Spanish classes.

They talked about an upcoming boxing match which Franco bought on Pay-Per-View. They placed bets on who would win and in what round. Percival listened to Franco get a few of the men who hadn’t bet yet to put up some cash.

He turned to Percival, noticing him for the first time and pointed at him. “I bet Percival would bet ten bucks. Ain’t that right, Percival? What do you say?”

“Don’t try to get me to bet. I’ve already lost to much money to you. “Franco gave Percival a look that said, don’t blow my cover, and then turned back to the group around the table and started in on them again. A lady approached the register and Percival hurried over to cash her out. He only had an hour left on his shift but the sun had already set. Mr. Silverman entered into the cafeteria and the dishwashers sprang into action, gathering trays and wiping down the tables. Franco remained the only one at the table, slurping on the bowl of chicken noodle soup.
The manager went to the register and placed his manager’s key into its lock and the drawer popped open. He took out an empty blue bag hidden in the recesses of the tray and put most of the cash inside, keeping enough to give change for the remaining customers.

“You can go at eight tonight, if you wish. Don’t forget the shifts that you picked up this weekend,” said Mr. Silverman

“I won’t,” replied Percival.

He would have to stick around until Franco got out to get a ride back. Percival waited until eight and then shut down the cafeteria, by closing off the red velvet rope. The dishwashers were in the kitchen cleaning, when Percival went in to clock out. Grabbing a dish towel, he moved next to a huge stack of trays and went to work.

Franco whistled as he trotted by, but didn’t stop to help, instead he adjusted the dial of a small radio duct-taped to a barstool and cranked it up as loud as it would go. A deep Spanish voice reverberated throughout the kitchen. He was singing about his girlfriend leaving him. Franco started moving his hips in time to the music and lip synced to the song. Mr. Silverman walked out of his office just in time to see Franco pick up a dirty fork with a green bean attached to it, using it like a microphone.

“Are you going to make love to that green bean or are you going to clean it? And Percival you better have clocked out,” he said over his shoulder, and went past Franco and into the cooking section. “Hey Eduardo, you better dump that grease tonight.”

Franco threw the fork into the sink, splashing pasta sauce water onto the wall. “I tell you Percival, he has no passion. Look at him. You can tell that man has no rhythm. His knee caps don’t bend.” Franco grabbed a broom and started dancing around the room.

“Come over here and help me stack these,” said Percival and flung his dishrag at Franco.

“You are all about work.” But he moved over to the stack of dishes putting his broom down against the side of the sink. “You need to have a little fun every now and then.”

“What are you talking about? I go out and have fun all the time. In fact I went out with you last Wednesday and had a beer down the street.”

“That’s bullshit! You whined the whole time when I said that I wanted to stop in and have a beer.” He took his hands out of the sink and waved them around. “I need to go home and study. Wa wa wa.”

Percival laughed and looked into the sink. “Well I went in didn’t I.”

“Why don’t you come over and watch the fight, eh? It would be fun.”

“I’m not into boxing. I’ve got things planned this Saturday anyways.”

“What do you have planned. Ah, a senorita perhaps? Well good for you Don Juan.”

“It’s not a girl. There’s a movie that I want to see. It’s coming out this Friday. You’ve heard of it. The Beast Two.”

“Sounds like crap. I haven’t even heard of The Beast One. Come on over, its better than sitting in that crappy motel all night.”

“I’ll think about it.”

Percival washed his hands and opened the sliding glass door of a large stainless steel refrigerator, where the staff stored the leftovers and pulled out a long container of spaghetti and meatballs. He set it on a nearby table, grabbed a styrophome container, scooping a huge portion of pasta into it and then placed everything back where it belonged. Percival left Franco in the kitchen and entered the dim cafeteria. The sound of a vacuum drowned out the steady drum of pages on the intercom system.

He sprawled on the bench of the employee’s table, while he waited for Franco to come out with the rest of the staff. In a matter of minutes Franco emerged and waved to Percival. He sprung from the bench and retrieved his bike.

The hospital is never empty but at this time of day only a few people milled about. Franco didn’t leave through the main entrance but through a side door that went to the employee parking lot. Franco whistled as they all passed a brand new Mercedes Benz.

“I’d like to take that out for a ride. That’s fully loaded too. Shit, I’d get so much play in something like that that I’d have to unlist my number,” he said, as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a key chain with a copper nude lady on it . He unlocked his black Ford pickup and the rest of crew jumped in the back. Percival lifted his bike into the bed of the truck and climbed in.

The breeze from the moving truck felt good against his skin. The night sky blazed with stars and the moon hung like a clipped toenail in the air. Franco dropped off the rest of the passengers first; they lived in a rickety one story house with an knee high grass and two gutted cars in the front yard. Two women waited in the doorway for them and several children pushed themselves through them to get outside. The kids ran around the men playing a game of tag. Franco honked the horn, then screeched his tires, careening down the street.

Minutes later the Sunset Lodge’s flickering green neon sign of a palm tree lit the street as they turned into the parking lot. The siding of the building was aqua, the type plastered on resorts at the beach but there wasn’t a body of water with sand around for at least a hundred miles. Franco pulled right up to the soda machine next to the stairs that led to Percival’s room. He hopped out, slid his bike from the truck and wheeled it over to the driver side door, where Franco had his arm resting and his head sticking out.

“You better make it to that fight,” he said and spit out into the middle of the parking lot. “It’ll be good for you.”

“We’ll see.” Percival knew he wasn’t going.

“Adios,” Franco said and took off.

“Yea,” replied Percival in a soft voice, knowing Franco wouldn’t hear. He turned towards the stairway and pushed his bike up.

His room, 218, included a bedroom, a small kitchen area and a bathroom. He could afford the room because he worked two jobs; the second one wasn’t really a job but paid volunteer work. He threw his book bag on top of his unmade bed and went into the kitchen and put his food away. Once he shut the small refrigerator, he opened the cupboard above the stove and pulled down three medicine bottles. He took out three pills from the largest bottle, two from the smallest bottle and one from a light blue bottle. Flipping the faucet on, he threw three pills indiscriminately down his throat and cupped his hands under the running water and slurped a mouthful. He swallowed the rest of the pills and flipped on the television.

It was on a news channel and a handsome man wearing a baby blue suit thrusted a microphone under an old man’s bearded chin. The old man’s wrinkled skin drooped under his eyes and he looked like he was asleep. “Tell us how you feel about this verdict?”

“I don’t know what to think. We lost.”

Percival switched the channel, looking for anything of value.

“…only nineteen ninety-five…..He’s the father. I know it…..He scored the last goal….we have breaking news…The weather this weekend should be gorgeous but a serious storm is brewing…..”

He turned on his videogame system and picked up the controller. The screen popped into view and loaded his saved game. He’d been playing Toad’s Revenge for a month now, navigating a toad warrior through an imaginary land. What it amounted to was how fast he could smash the buttons and wiggle his thumb, which wasn’t a far cry to what he did for a living with the register but it passed the time until he hoped Clarrisa would come over.

They’d met a month ago right outside his door. At two o’clock in the morning, Percival was half asleep, the television was on but turned down real low.

“What the fuck is this,” yelled a man’s voice from outside Percival’s window. This didn’t surprise him nor was it the first time that he had heard yelling, fighting or loud sex from his motel room, so he didn’t pay it much mind but it had woken him and he liked the voyeurism and muted the television.

“This is all I have. I swear Santiago,” said a woman’s trembling voice.

“This is forty five dollars!” Percival could hear the woman give a yelp. “You better have more than this. What did you do with it?”

“That’s it. I swear. I’ll get the rest to you when I work tomorrow. I promise.”

Percival heard a slap and then he saw a silhouette of the woman hit his window. “You know that I’m fair with you Candi. You know that. You get me the rest of that money or there’s no more. Do you hear? No more!”

Then Percival heard the heavy footsteps of the man heading down the stairs to the parking lot. The woman was just under his window and he could hear her sobbing. He didn’t know what compelled him but he got up and put on a pair of pants and opened the door. He stuck his head out and she gave a start, jumping to her feet.

“What the fuck do you want?” she said. She was bleeding from her nose and tears smeared her over done makeup. She was short with long brown hair held together with a thick white hair tie. She wore a latex red mini skirt with white stockings.

“I’m sorry but I heard everything and wanted to know if you’re alright?”

“Fuck off!” She rose to her feet and swung her small black pocketbook over her shoulder and headed in the opposite direction.

Percival didn’t know what to say but he wanted to stop her from going. “Are you a…a.” he didn’t know how to finish off the sentence, but it seemed to work and she stopped with her hand on the railing and one foot on the first step.

“Why?” She turned her head and looked at him.

Percival searched for the right words, something witty but nothing sounded right and just before the silence became awkward he said, “I have some money. "

“You do, do you?” She sauntered over to him, sniffling blood.

“Come on in.” He switched the light on and opened the door, searching his jean pocket for his wallet. He had forty-two dollars crumpled in his hand. She came in but left the door cracked, her hand still on the knob. She scanned the room taking in the pictures on the wall and bookshelf.

“You live here?”

“Yea. Almost a year now. What’s your name? I’m Percival.” He sat on the bed trying his best not to intimidate her.

“I’m Candi,” she said.

She let go of the doorknob and walked into the center of the room checking things out, touching a black and white photograph of his mother, a typical high school shot and the only thing he had from her.

“This your mom?” She said.

“Yes. She’s dead now.” He stood up and she eyed him with an arched brow as he moved to open the fridge. “Do you want something to drink?”

“I need a Kleenex. I think I bled on your rug. You should clean that up before it dries,” she said, pointing to a dotted trail that ran from the door to where she stood.

“Sure,” he said but he kicked himself for not suggesting to help her earlier. He felt like an ass. He ran into the bathroom and pulled out a fistful of toilet paper and handed it to her. She held it against her nose. “Sorry I should of known.”

“I’m not a…You know…I’m a dancer,” she said. She tilted her head back.

“Oh. That’s cool.” He wanted the words back as soon as he said them. “I mean that’s better then being a prostitute.”

She stared at him and smiled. “I could use some cash though.”

“I have forty-two dollars.”

“We could work something out.”

Percival could feel the heat rise to his head. “Umm you just take it. You need it.”

She laughed. “You got to be kidding?”

“No. Go ahead really. You look like you need it more then I do.”

“Oh this,” she said and held out the bloody toilet paper. “He’s not really that mean of a guy. I kind of deserved it.”

“No one deserves that,” he said.

“You don’t understand,” she said and then changed the subject. “You’re just going to give me this cash for nothing?”

“Well you could stick around and hang out. I don’t care. Watch some television.” Percival picked up the remote and started changing the channel. She didn’t respond and continued to investigate his room. She stopped at his bookshelf.

“You must read a lot . Do you go to school or something? Biology, Chemistry, British literature….” She ran her finger along the books on his shelf.

“I go to Summerset Community College.” Percival felt butterflies in his stomach. This was the first time a woman has been in his room and he tried to act natural about it.

“What’cha going to be? A writer.” She turned away from the bookcase and opened her purse and pulled out a stick of gum.

“I don’t know yet. I’m not sure about it. Maybe a doctor.” He was trying to impress her.
She sat down on the corner of the bed with their legs almost touching. He eyed her white stockings and his insides felt ablaze.

“You seem a tad nervous. Do I make you nervous?” she said.

“No,” he said and straightened his back.

Her fingers crawled onto his leg and he involuntarily tightened his muscle. She smiled. “What’s wrong? Is it me?”

“No it’s not you. I’m…um….doing a survey for my college.”

“What type of survey?” she questioned.

“I can’t have sex for a month. I have to check back for any signs of depression and health problems.” He always had a good imagination but he was surprised at how easy he pulled that out of nowhere. “But you can have the money anyways since you probably need it more then I do.”

She took the money and stuffed half of it in her bra and put the rest into her pocketbook. Her hand lingered inside her purse. “Can I use your bathroom?”

“Sure go ahead.”

Her high heels clicked on the floor as she entered and shut the bathroom door. Percival fell back onto his bed, his arms spread out, staring at the ceiling, and feeling like a total idiot. He heard a lighter being flicked inside the bathroom. She must be lighting a cigarette or something, he thought to himself. She was in the bathroom for awhile and Percival called out, “Are you alright?”

She didn’t answer but as soon as Percival got up to see if she was okay the door opened. Her shoulders were slumped over, as she made her way back to his bed. Percival stood by the fridge as she passed him, he could tell that she was drugged up. She flopped onto the bed and mumbled something.

“What did you say?”

“I waaas wondering if I could stay overrrrr?” She turned her head and looked at him.

“Sure. You can sleep on the bed.”

“I haveee a……good feeling….about you……you seem…...” The rest of her sentence was inaudible but Percival thanked her anyways.

She slept over that night and left in the morning. The next day she came back with a black eye and explained that Santiago was pissed that she didn’t give him the rest of the money the night before and she passed the whole thing off like it was just a thing that happens.

From then on she started knocking on his door late at night and he would let her in. After a week, he just left the door unlocked, so that she could slip in. She would go into the bathroom and do whatever she did, never doing it in front of him. This past week she started snuggling up under the covers and started to nibble on his ear. Percival wiggled away from her and turned to face her.

“What is it?” she said.

“I have AIDS,” he said and he expected her to jump out of the bed but she smiled. It warmed him that he told her and that she looked comfortable.

She giggled.

“Why are you laughing?” he said, sitting up. When she continued to laugh, he grew angry. “What’s so funny?”

“I thought you were gay.”

Percival shot out of bed. “What? How could you think that?”

“Well, you didn’t show any response to me coming on to you?” When she sat up he saw that she was naked. She looked beautiful.

Percival took it that she was attacking his manhood. He wanted to grab her right there and kiss her but crushed that idea. He slipped out of bed, put on his slippers and walked over to the fridge. He pulled out a container of milk and drank.

“How did you get it?” she asked.

He could just make out her outline in the darkness. “My mother was a drug addict and she gave it to me.”

“You mean you’ve lived with it your entire life?”

“Yep. I take around fifteen pills a day to keep everything in order.”

“You’re pretty lucky to still be around this long.” Percival was taken aback.

“I’d like to have it over and done with to tell the truth.”

“That’s shit talk. If you wanted to die, why didn’t you just kill yourself?”

“I‘m chicken shit.”

“I have something that I want you to know,” she said.

“What is it?”

“My name isn’t Candi. It’s Clarrisa Brown. Candi is my stage name.”

It was nice to talk to her when she wasn’t drugged up. She had a very sincere personality and when she was under the influence, she seemed to be inside a shell and rarely ventured out of it to conversate. They talked for much of the night until a faint light chased the shadows across the ceiling.

He wondered if she was coming over tonight. As he threw the joystick to the ground. He was bored and there was still plenty of time until Clarrisa shift ended. His stomach growled, so he went to the fridge and pulled out his food that he took from work. He sat down on the floor and ate, while Jeopardy was on. Once he finished eating, he crawled under the sheets and slept. He dreamed about marrying Clarrisa and moving out of this crap-hole and into the suburbs. They’d have children together and he’d have a job where he would wear a suit.

It would never work, a kid born in the world with a disease, sentenced to death and a stripper, addicted to drugs that anchored her into a world of stripping. Why was he kidding himself about this woman? But he wanted to help her, he didn’t know why he put such an effort into a futile project. They were way beyond saving.

Then there was a soft knock on the door and she walked in and his heart began to beat faster.
“Hey, honey.” She started calling him honey, a sign that they had established a type of relationship.

“Hi. There’s some food in the fridge from work.”

“Thanks. I’m starving.” She opened the refrigerator, pulled out the rest of the leftovers and skarfed it down. “I need to head back out but I’ll be back around two. I’ve got a party to go to.”

He didn’t like hearing her talk about her work and wanted to imagine that she was a bank teller rather than a stripper. It made him feel better about their odd relationship.

“This Saturday I thought that we could go out to dinner somewhere,” he said. She stopped what she was doing and turned to face him.

“You mean a real date?” she said. He could tell she was surprised.

“We haven’t been out since we met. So what do you think?”

“Sure. I got to run though.” She ran into the bathroom and in a few seconds she was springing out the door and he could hear her heels clacking down the stairs.

He sprawled out on the bed, happy. Tomorrow, he’ll go out and buy her a dress, nothing too fancy but something other then the slutty outfits that she wears now.