Man Down


Today, at 7:35 am, I did not wake up to my alarm.  Instead, I jolted out of my sleep coma to an incredibly large sounding bump and crash.  Our room shook.  Earthquake?  No, it definitely sounded like human pinball.  I was having some weird dream about Taylor Swift autographing a picture of me skiing (secret fantasy?…maybe…definitely), and I was feeling the morning-after effects of a couple whiskey gingers so I was in a disorientated and weird state already.  But nevertheless, the sound of a human possibly bleeding out right outside my motel room was worrisome.

Worrisome as it was, neither Sophia or I got out of bed to investigate, or even acknowledged the noises that we had just heard.  We just stayed silent and listened.  Hopefully for signs of life.  They came, in forms of moans and whimpers.  It sounded like an adult male, really struggling.  In my brain, I imagined he had just eaten shit off the balcony above me and onto my car.  Yes, it actually sounded like that.

Then I thought, wait, what if he is just lying there on my smashed windshield bleeding out of his eyeballs?  Shit.  I wonder if that’s covered in my car insurance policy.

I think he called for help, or called the name of his friend?  I'm still a little delirious.  Is this a dream?

After maybe 4 or 5 groans, I finally couldn’t contain it anymore, this was actually happening.  “Dude, is there someone dying out there?”

And we laughed.  Not because we are terrible people but because fuck.  We are living in a motel, and this kind of thing happens.  So much weird shit happens.

I contemplated getting up and looking outside, but I’ve lost my glasses in the big move and it is a whole process to put my contacts in and I am completely blind without them.  So it’s not like I would have been able to see what was going on anyway.

Then, another man’s voice.  “Hey man, are you ok down there?”

He managed a reply.  “Yeah, I’m ok…No, no.  I’m not.”

At this point the other guy asked if the man, who was presumably lying in a pool of his own blood somewhere close to our motel room door, needed help.  Then the rescuer called to his friend, “Hey Doug! We got a man-down out here!”  I’m pretty sure Doug&Co. were the camouflage brigade I saw check in the other day with big beards and twangy voices; hunting trip.

So Doug&Co. came to the rescue and it sounded like they helped the man-down get up off whatever surface he had come to rest upon.  The man-down sounded wasted, but able to articulate that he was in room 430.  Doug&Co. helped him to his room.

And then Doug shouted this enigma, “Hey man, don’t forget your dog!”

What?  Seriously?  

20 minutes later there was no longer a groaning body outside our window, and I heard the camouflage brigade talking to one of the housekeepers who maybe saw what had happened.  She said she looked in to his room the other day and there were empty bottles of mouthwash everywhere.  Seemed like he was drinking them.  They discussed their biggest concern, the dog.

That made me sad.  And it made the whole living-in-motel thing feel even more desperate than before.  Thank baby Ski-Jesus that we are outta this place in 2 days.

Then, we went skiing.


Note:  When I did eventually open the door and look outside, I was relieved to find the Subi in excellent condition, except the ding above the right front wheel from a runaway shopping cart many years prior.  And perplexingly, I did not see a single drop of blood.  I will never know, and always wonder, what exactly happened.