Saturday, March 28th 2015

Jack opened his eyes slowly, squinting against the harsh fluorescent lighting above. His head felt like it had been split open, and a sharp pain shot through his left arm as he tried to move. His lip was swollen, and his chin throbbed. He blinked a few times, trying to focus on the sterile surroundings.

There was a clock on the wall—1:20.

The room smelled like antibacterial wipes, bleach, and coffee. It took a moment for Jack to realize he was lying in a hospital bed. An IV drip hung from his right arm, and his body felt heavy, almost disconnected. He wasn't sure if it was the morphine or the lingering effects of whatever he'd taken the night before, but his thoughts were sluggish, slow.

'Oh, Jack. What did you do?'

Jack turned his head slowly and saw Ciarán sitting at his bedside, in full drag—wig, makeup, everything. Ciarán held Jack's right hand in both of his, stroking the back of it with his thumbs. Jack's vision was blurry, but he could see the warm concern on Ciarán's face.

Ciarán's voice softened, but Jack could hear the edge of worry. 'You were dancing, and then you fell off the stage. Hard. You smacked your chin off the floor, and the doctor says you might've hit your head too. It was so scary.'

Jack tried to sit up, but Ciarán gently urged him back down. 'Relax, girl. They've got you on morphine for the pain. Your parents are on their way up from Galway.'

Jack's eyelids fluttered again as Ciarán's words slipped into the haze of his mind. He wanted to panic, but instead felt himself being pulled back into sleep.

Jack blinked his eyes open, but this time, the room felt different. The chaos was immediate, louder, as though the tension in the air had thickened. He could hear shouting, voices raised in anger.

'How dare you!' His mother's voice rang through the room, shrill and furious.

'Get your finger out of my face,' barked Sissy, her voice calm but cutting. Jack's eyes struggled to focus as he saw his mother standing over Sissy, the two of them face-to-face as Ciarán and Millie stood behind her. Jack's heart raced.

'Someone like you has no business telling me how to parent my child,' his mother snapped, her voice full of venom.

'Someone like me?' Sissy shot back, clearly caught off guard by the insult.

At the foot of the bed, Jack's father stood awkwardly, clearly unsure of how to handle the scene unfolding in front of him.

'Jack—' Ciarán began softly, his voice breaking through the chaos, but his mother's voice boomed louder.

'What the hell were you thinking, a mhac?' His mother's words were heavy, suffocating. Her eyes flicked to Jack, lying in the bed, still in drag. The realization of him dressed like this hit her, and her face contorted with disgust.

'Cathleen, c'mon,' his father tried to intervene, but his mother shot him a glare.

'Don't you 'Cathleen' me,' she hissed, turning her attention back to Jack, the anger in her voice almost drowning out the rest of the room. 'Look at him! He's dressed like a bloody fairy!'

The sharp pang of nausea that hit Jack made his stomach churn. The sheets felt too tight around him. He wanted to sink into them, disappear completely. The weight of his mother's words pressed on him like a boulder.

Fairy.

He wanted to disappear, to vanish into nothing. He couldn't speak—his mouth was too dry, his breath too shallow, as he tried to shrink into the bed. The way she saw him—it made him feel small, like a child, helpless and invisible.

'Like some PUFF,' his mother spat, her voice thick with disdain. Her words made Jack recoil inwardly.

'Are you kidding me?' Sissy shot back, her voice dripping with disbelief. 'You almost lost your son to a drug overdose, and you're worried about what he's wearing? He could've died!'

'Drugs!' His mother shrieked, pointing a shaking finger at Sissy. 'He took drugs in your bar!'

Sissy remained composed, but Jack could see the way her jaw clenched, the anger boiling beneath his makeup.

'Cathleen—' his father tried again, his voice quieter now.

'I swear to Christ, if you tell me to calm down one more time, I'll put you through that wall!' she bellowed, her face contorted with rage. Jack's father winced, shrinking back a little.

'No wonder your child is so afraid of you,' Sissy said, her voice almost a whisper, but it carried a weight that shook the room. 'You're a psychopath.'

'I said don't you dare tell me how to parent my child,' his mother snarled, her voice almost growling. Jack's heart pounded harder in his chest.

Why was Sissy here?

How?

And why was she knee deep in a screaming match with his mother?

Jack's eyelids fluttered, struggling to keep focus. The voices felt muffled, distant now, like they were coming from another world. The morphine coursing through his system made everything seem far away, almost like it wasn't happening to him. He could barely keep his eyes open as the room spun and swirled around him.

He glanced at the clock on the wall. It read 3:40. He felt like he was sinking into the bed. The pain was still there, but it seemed distant now.

'You're a disgrace—' Sissy began, but before he could finish, Jack's mother's hand collided with her face. The slap was loud, sharp, and the noise seemed to hang in the air like a jarring echo.

Jack's world went black again.

When Jack awoke again, he could feel the cold touch of a baby wipe scraping across his face, the stinging sensation in his jaw. His mother was leaning over him, her face streaked with tears but still angry, still tense. She rubbed him roughly, scrubbing his skin, her actions harsh and heavy despite the tenderness of the wipe.

He winced at the pain and tried to pull away, but her grip on his face was unyielding. His father stood silently in the corner, his eyes downcast, his phone in hand, disconnected from the storm swirling around him.

Jack felt the absence of Ciarán, Millie, and Sissy.

His mother's voice broke through the stillness. 'Where did we go wrong?'

'Don't,' his father replied sharply, his voice cutting through the room.

'Don't what?' his mother demanded, her tone still shrill.

'Are you blind, Cathleen? He almosht died. We coulda losht another son tonight!' His father's voice was loud now, almost desperate, as though he was fighting to get through to her. Jack's body tensed in the bed, a familiar anxiety settling in his chest. He had never heard his father this angry before. Sure, his dad had been angry at football matches or in traffic, but this... this felt different. His father's rage seemed almost violent. It made Jack's head swim.

'Look at him!' his mother spat back, her voice still venomous.

'I am looking at him!' his father roared in response. 'Am I happy about it? No. Do I undershtand it? No. But he coulda died. We coulda driven up here to collect a body. Have some fuckin' sense!'

Jack's mother opened her mouth to respond, but something stopped her. A noise from the door—a knock—made them both freeze.

'Just coming to check on the patient.' A nurse said nervously as she very sheepishly entered the room. Based on her fear-stricken face, she had probably been standing at the door for a while, waiting to come in. Jack's mother's demeanor shifted in an instant.

'Thank you so much,' she said, her voice syrupy sweet, as if nothing had just happened, her entire personality shifting like the flip of a switch. She looked at the nurse with an expression of practiced politeness, as if Jack wasn't lying in a hospital bed recovering from a drug overdose dressed like a woman.

Jack kept his eyes shut, feeling the weight of his mother's attention on him. The conversation faded into the background as his parents made small talk with the nurse. To them, the moment was just another inconvenience. To Jack, it was the final reminder of how alone he felt in a room full of people who refused to see him.

His mother was more concerned with how others saw her than with understanding her son. And as Jack lay in the bed, the sting of that truth was sharper than any physical pain.