Gums of Our Lives: Episode 7

Back in her office, A Serious Monster was poring over the research she had done on The Narrator while singing Kanye West’s “Monster.”

“Everybody know I’m A Serious Monster,” she rapped under her breath, and then smiled at how terribly clever her new lyrics were. She had been scouring the internet and making phone calls all day, and her eyes, neck, ears, wrists, and right shoulder were all dully throbbing. She reached into her desk and pulled out a bottle of Jameson. “Oh, hello, old friend,” she said, lovingly. “Have you ever danced with the devil in the pale moonlight?” The bottle, unsurprisingly, said nothing.

“What’s that, Jameson? You want the truth? You can’t handle the truth!”

The bottle remained steadfast in its resolution not to respond.

“Well, then,” A Serious Monster continued, “We’ll just see about that.”

She unscrewed the top and poured herself a glass.

“Heeeeeere’s A Serious Monster!” She said, downing it in one gulp. Suddenly, she was startled by the phone ringing. She picked it up.

“Hello?” she managed to mumble in the way that people mumble when they’ve only been talking to themselves and bottles of whiskey for the past week.

“Someone’s been watching the Jack Nicholson marathon on AMC,” the voice on the other end rasped quietly.

A Serious Monster shook the cobwebs from her head.

“Who is this?” she demanded.

“A concerned party,” the voice responded in the same dull rasp.

“How are my television-watching habits your concern?”

“They are not. I was merely saying that so that you know that you are being watched. And listened to.”

“Is that supposed to scare me? I’ve been watched and listened to before.” She began to reach under her desk for the .38 magnum she kept hidden there.

The voice on the other end sighed.

“Please. There is no need to reach for your gun. You do not know where I am, for one. For two, my intention is not to hurt you. I want to help.”

“I work alone.”

“Not against The Narrator you won’t. Not if you want to live.” The sudden strength in his voice made A Serious Monster pause. He continued. “I have information that you won’t find in any internet search. If you are interested in my help, come to the alley behind El Rey Delicioso in one hour.”

A Serious Monster started to respond, but was greeted by a dial tone. She looked up at the clock. It was 3:17. She did the math. One hour later would be 4:17. “Great,” She thought to herself. “I’m gonna miss the beginning of One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.”

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The Kelburrows and BabyFriday sat in the waiting room of the hospital, waiting, as one is wont to do in a waiting room. A woman in a lab coat emerged from the exam room and approached the two of them.

“BabyFriday?” She asked.

They stood up. “I’m BabyFriday,” she responded.

“Nice to meet you.” The doctor extended her hand. “I’m Dr. Doctor Girlfriend.”

“Do you have any news about my husband? Is he going to be ok?” BabyFriday asked.

“Well, he received a serious blow to the head. It doesn’t look to be fatal, however, so that’s a good thing.”

“But what about his memory?” BabyFriday interrupted.

“I was just going to get to that. It seems as though there might be some damage to his brain, specifically in the medial temporal lobe. It’s too early to make any definite diagnosis, but it’s possible that he could be suffering from some sort of memory loss.”

“Is it permanent, Dr. Doctor Girlfriend?” She asked, growing desperate.

“We have to run some more tests. It’s possible that due to the trauma suffered from the explosion he could have what we refer to in the medical community as ‘wonky brain.’ Sometimes a trauma is so horrific that the memory centers shut themselves down. The purpose is to protect the body from reliving those horrors, but, sometimes, older memories are temporarily blocked as well. We’ll have to keep him under observation for the next couple of days to determine the severity of his injury.”

“I can’t afford to keep him here that long! Our medical insurance doesn’t cover memory loss due to traumatic explosions!” BabyFriday began to grown desperate.

“Not to worry, BabyFriday. Your husband’s medical bills are being taken care of.”

“By who?”

Dr. Doctor Girlfriend glared at her, disapprovingly.

“Sorry. By whom?”

Dr. Doctor Girlfriend looked over her chart.

“Let’s see here… Ah yes. It says, ‘A Mysterious Benefactor.’”

BabyFriday turned to The Kelburrows.

“Do you know anyone named ‘A Mysterious Benefactor’?”

She shook her head.

Dr. Doctor Girlfriend looked at the chart again. She held up her hand.

“Wait. It says here that the person’s name isn’t A Mysterious Benefactor, but rather a designation. They prefer to keep their name anonymous.” She looked up. “Wow!” She exclaimed with delight. “It’s just like a Dickens novel!”

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Back at BabyFriday’s house, Thisismynightmare and Briadru4 were watching 16 and Pregnant, unaware that, just outside the door, the Winbot stood, gleaming menacingly in the moonlight. He extended his metal finger and pressed the doorbell.