I Feel Fine

Why, oh why could these people not remember to drink water? Or at least wear a freaking hat? Scout didn’t care if it were a backwards baseball cap and if everyone looked like utter idiots all day – but at least people with obvious dehydration would stop stumbling into the medical tent. Scout knew her internal monologue made her sound like a bitch, but really, these people were not helping themselves.

She soaks a flannel under the cold tap for a while and then brings it over to the most recent victim, or girl, and presses it gently to her forehead. The girl’s boyfriend, a guy with ear-stretchers and piercings, spiked emo black hair, is hovering nearby, looking stressed and worried. Totally not punk.

“Is she going to be alright?”

“She’s just suffering from heat exhaustion,” Scout says calmly. “She’ll be fine. Though you probably should tell me – has she had any alcohol since she’s been here? That usually worsens the symptoms.”

The guy looks shifty for a second, like he doesn’t want to admit to it (he’s quite clearly not of age and neither is she) but he nods, and Scout holds in her sigh and nods back at him.

“Okay, well I’m not going to report you or anything, but it just means your friend is little worse off.”

The girl in question moans a little and clutches at the flannel covering her skin. Scout grabs a bottle of water and hands it to her.

“Sit here for a bit and sip this. I’ll be back over in about ten minutes. Tell me or anyone else if you feel like you’re going to be sick, okay?”

She nods and Scout looks at her boyfriend. “Can you help her?”

“Uhm, sure.” He scrambles to sit by her side, and holds her water for her, helping her drink. Scout turns her back on the young couple and goes back to the person she was with before – some dude who fell down in a mosh-pit and gouged his knee open (who she really hopes isn’t going to sue) but he’s fine now, being tended to by the other doctors. She’s just about to go prep some supplies, see if there’s any more anti-bacterial wipes, when a young man pushes his way into the tent. He looks to be around her age, with a really dodgy green wash in his auburn hair.

He looks pretty agitated and when he spots Scout not helping anyone he strides over. “Uhmm, excuse me? Miss?”

Scout can’t help but quirk an eyebrow. Miss? That’s a new one. People aren’t usually that polite. “Can I help? Are you okay?”

The ginger man half-smiles at her, and Scout can’t help thinking that he’s pretty cute. The beige shirt he’s wearing contrasts to the colourful tattoos on his arm in a very attractive way, but right now he just looks worried.

“Uhm, my friend. He’s sick. I don’t think he drank enough water yesterday, and now I don’t know – he’s just really ill.”

“Okay,” Scout says, pulling herself into medical mode. “Where is he? Is he outside the tent? You should bring him in here.”

The man shakes his head. “No, he’s not outside. He’s back in the bus. He’s with one of the bands performing this year. Sorry, I didn’t know where else to go.”

“Oh, it’s okay. I can help you. Him. I can help him.”

Scout was actually pretty sure there was another medical team set up to help the artists if they got ill, but she wasn’t about to refuse this guy when he’d come out of his way to the tent to find help.

She went over and told the co-ordinator what she was doing (helping someone outside – she didn’t specify where) and then gathered a small bag of water, flannel, painkillers, Gatorade and other supplies she might need.

“Okay, uhmm-“

“Nick.”

“Nick, right. Take me to your friend.”

They had to cross the whole arena to get to where the buses were parked. It was 11 am, nearing the hottest part of the day, and the sun was relentless in its heat. As soon as she stepped out of the gazebo, the medical team shirt she was wearing felt like it was sticking to her back. Nick’s strides were long and she had to speed up her pace to keep up with him.

“So what’s your friend’s name? So I can talk to him when I get there.”

“Garrett. Garrett Nickelsen.”

The name jogs something in her memory.

“Of The Maine?” She was pretty sure they were one of the bands on the line-up.

“Yeah.” Nick grins at her. “Why? You a fan?”

Scout blushes. “Uhm, not really, my sister likes them a lot. She’s seventeen.”

“Ah, okay, that’s cool.”

“You’re not in the band though – I don’t remember you,” she points out stupidly, and then cringes at herself. Nick just laughs.

“No, I’m not. I am an artist though – Nick Santino. The Maine and I are under the same management – we’re pretty tight.”

That probably explains why he’s walking so fast – he doesn’t want to stop for fans or get noticed. Scout feels even more stupid for not recognising him now. She nods because she can’t think of anything else to do. “Oh, cool.”

“How about you? If you don’t mind me saying you look a little young to be a doctor.”

“Not a doctor. I just finished my pre-med degree in college, though, and I’m training to become a paediatrician in the long run. Right now I’m just helping out – they needed volunteers with some medical knowledge.”

Nick looks impressed. “A paediatrician? Like with kids?”

“Yeah.”

“Sweet. I have a little baby nephew.” He then realises that this probably doesn’t mean much to anyone but him, and shrugs. “I mean, that’s pretty cool.”

Scout laughs, and by this time they’ve made it to the dusty parking lot. Nick points to the bus in question. Firstly it’s not in the shade, so it’s probably going to be like an oven inside, even with air conditioning. She follows Nick onto the bus, and like she expected, a wall of stuffy air hits her as soon as she steps foot inside.

The bus is filled with guys, all of whom turn to look at her as she pushes her way forwards. Nick helps her through. “Hey, get out of the way – this girl is here to help Garrett.”

There’s a low whistle from a tall blonde man to the side of her – who she thinks vaguely resembles Kurt Cobain, or at least looks like he’s trying to.

“Wow, I think I’m feeling a little faint myself.”

The guy next to him, tall and with longish brown hair, smacks him around the head before Scout can think of a comeback. The guys part like the red sea after that so Scout can make her way to the sofa at the end of the coach, where there’s a figure spread out.

As she gets closer, the guy – Garrett – looks in a bad way. He seems to be in the throes of a fever, sweating profusely, hair lying in thick strands across his forehead. He’s pulling the sheet covering him tight to his body, but leaning over him Scout can feel the heat radiating from his skin. His breaths are shuddering and shallow and though he’s got his eyes closed, Scout can see his eyes flickering restlessly behind his eyelids.

Like always when she’s with a patient, everyone else around her fades into the background. She brings a hand to his forehead to check his temperature – he’s definitely burning up – and sweeps his hair away from his eyes.

“Garrett? Hey, Garrett. I’m Scout. Your buddies called me because they were worried about you. I’m a medic okay? I’m going to try and sort you out.”

Garrett’s eyes flicker open a little, but they don’t really seem to register her. She thinks she sees him nod the tiniest amount, and then turns around to find all the guys staring at her.

“Everyone out – you’re crowding him, and raising the temperature in here with your combined body heat. One person can stay to help, but that’s it,” she says firmly. Amazingly they all listen to her.

The blonde guy backs away. “I’ll be useless. Come on Ken; let the girl do her thing. Garrett’s going to be fine.” The guy with really long hair takes a last look at Garrett and scampers out after them, and the rest filter out until Nick is left standing next to her, his fingers twitching.

“Can I do something?”

“Does the air-con go up any?”

“Uhh, maybe? I’ll have a look.”

He disappears up the other end of the bus, so Scout returns her attention to Garrett. Now he seems to be more aware of her presence, his eyes staying open at least.

“Hey bud, how you feeling?”

“Cold,” Garrett mutters.

“That’s just he fever talking, I’m afraid. Have you got any stomach pains at all? You haven’t thrown up?”

He shakes his head no, but then whines, a small noise in the back of his throat. “Headache hurts.”

“Ah, well I can’t give you any painkillers for that because it might mess with your body’s ability to recover and hydrate itself.”

He groans and brings a trembling hand to his forehead. Scout thinks she should probably check his coherence levels.

“Garrett do you know where you are?”

“Warped tour,” he manages shakily.

“Great. Do you know who I am?”

“Not really.”

She has to stop herself from laughing, because this, she guesses, is very true. Just then there’s a noise from above them, a sort of rattling sound, and then the room is suddenly being pumped full of blessedly cool air. Nick appears by her side again, looking pleased with himself.

“I set it to the highest setting.”

“Great, thanks. Hey Garrett, do you know who that is?”

Garrett cracks an eye open. “Nick.”

“Well, you don’t seem confused, so that’s good.” Scout says. She opens her bag and searches for the stick on thermometer, like the one you used with kids, and peels off the back, applying it to Garrett’s forehead. It doesn’t take long for the coloured squares to transform, and when Scout removes it and inspects it, what she already knew is confirmed – Garrett definitely has a fever, but he’s not above 39 degrees so it’s not deeply worrying.

She’s interrupted by Nick looking at her anxiously. “Listen, Scout? Uhm, I have to go perform soon. Are you okay if I leave you? I can get one of the other guys in here if you want?”

“Oh, no. It’s okay. Garrett’s just running a fever because of heatstroke and dehydration. He should be fine. I just need to stay with him to make sure it doesn’t get any worse.”

“So you’re alright if I go?”

“Sure.”

Nick smiles thankfully and then heads out the bus, leaving Scout alone with Garrett. She gets up to soak a flannel in cold water and then places it gently across Garrett’s face. He’s still sweating, but Scout’s taking this as a good sign – if he stopped sweating that might mean his body’s cooling system had failed.

“Don’t know if you heard that, but Nick had to go. Just me and you now Garrett, okay?”

He murmurs something indecipherable in reply. Scout grabs a bottle of water from her bag and unscrews the cap. She knows Garrett can’t sit up to drink it right now, so she pours a little water into the cap and tips that into Garrett’s slightly open mouth. He swallows obediently, which is good, and Scout adjusts the flannel where it’s slipping. The sheet he’s got pulled around his stomach is concerning her though, so she tries to prise his fingers away from the fabric. He makes a little moan of protest, shivering, but Scout is firm and eventually she wrangles it off him. For a sick guy he has quite a strong grip, but without the sheet Scout hopes his temperature will fall faster. Underneath the sheet she’s thankful he’s wearing a shirt, but it’s more hole than material, roughly cut around the neck to make the straps thin and ragged looking, and completely open by the arm holes. Obviously a t-shirt he’d cut himself into a tank top. Scout didn’t blame him – the heat made her want to cut everything into crop tops herself. She settles herself on the couch opposite and watches him, waiting for his fever to break, adjusting and re-soaking the flannel every now and again, feeling his temperature with the back of her hand. He’s restless, tossing and turning, muttering under his breath. The surest signs of a fever ever.

After about forty-five minutes he rolls over again, but this time his eyes pop open and it’s like Scout can see his vision clearing, the awareness of his surroundings trickling back to him.

“Hey,” she says slowly, “feeling any better?”

He tries to reply, but the words get stuck in his throat and he coughs instead and Scout scrambles for the water bottle. He takes it from her with slightly unsteady hands and drags himself into a more upright position and takes a few sips. When he’s done he slumps back down.

“Urghuhgh,” he moans. “Sort of.”

“Can I check your temperature?”

“Go ahead.”

Scout gets the thermometer out and presses it to his forehead once again. This time Garrett’s eyes are open and he looks up at her, obviously uncomfortable. Scout tries to smile down at him. Now that they’re more bright and coherent, she notices that Garrett’s eyes are the brightest blue colour. Like the sky outside or the ocean in the tropics. She almost forgets to inspect the results, but when she does it tells her his fever has fallen – he’s now just above 37 degrees, thankfully.

“Well your fever has definitely faded. You just need to drink plenty of fluids. Still got a headache?”

He nods.

“Well you can take some painkillers now.”

She reaches in her bag for the Gatorade and some Advil and hands both to him. He knocks the pills down and chases them with the sports drink and smiles gratefully at her.

“I can’t really remember your name,” he admits, and Scout chuckles.

“I’m not surprised, you were pretty out of it. I’m Scout.”

“Scout,” he says slowly, like he’s testing the feel of her name in his mouth or something. Scout likes the way he says it, his drawl drawing out the vowels and softening the t at the end. “I do remember you saying my name though so I guess I don’t need to introduce myself.”

“Nick told me – it helps me get responses from patients when I use their name.”

“You’re a doctor?”

“No, just pre-med. Trying to be a doctor though.”

“Oh, wow. And here I am arsing around in a band like it’s a real job.”

This makes Scout properly laugh. “For you it’s a real job.”

“But not to you?”

“At the risk of sounding like your parents, no. Gotta be a lot of fun, though.” Scout usually puts on a front to deal with patients; sweet, perfectly polite, but with Garrett she doesn’t feel like she has to, which is odd.

Garrett wheezes, an attempt at laughter of his own. “It’s cool, sometimes I don’t consider it a proper job either.”

“You should finish the Gatorade and go to sleep,” Scout replies instead.

“Are you still gonna be here?”

“Probably. I need to make sure you’re completely rehydrated. Plus your air-conditioned bus is a hell of a lot nicer than the tent I was in before.”

“Uhm, okay.”

He swigs down some sports drink and then rolls over so he’s facing away from Scout. Scout picks up a book she finds to the side of her – Kerouac’s ‘On The Road’ and is just settling in to read the first chapter, half an eye on Garrett, when he sighs.

“This is weird. I can feel you watching me.”

“Kinda my job, Garrett. Plus, I’m reading. Just pretend I’m not here.”

“But I know you’re right there now. It’s weird. I can’t sleep if you’re watching me.”

Scout closes the book and rummages yet again in her bag, drawing out this time some sleeping pills. She pops one out and hands it to him.

“Here. Now stop being a baby.”

He swallows it dutifully, but doesn’t look satisfied. “You’re still gonna watch me fall asleep.”

“Yeah, but the pill should knock you out pretty quickly.”

“Nope, I refuse. You’re gonna have to just talk to me until I fall asleep or something, because I can’t handle the awkwardness of just lying here. Alright?”

Ah, difficult patients. Scout is used to them. “Fine. What do you want to talk about?”

“How about you? You’re the stranger nursing me in my band’s tour bus, after all.”

Scout shakes her head slightly, but can’t help herself from smiling. “Okay, you win.”

“Sweet.” Garrett huddles down into the sofa, closing his eyes as Scout begins to speak.

“I’m Scout Turner, I’m 23 and I’m a med student.”

“Hey Scout,” Garrett whispers back in a dead pan voice, and Scout knows he’s imitating those alcoholic anonymous classes – because that’s the way her introduction sounded. She laughs.

“Uhhm, okay. I’ve lived in Houston pretty much my whole life. It’s not that I hate it, but I’d like to experience living somewhere else, you know? So I’m thinking of moving when I qualify.”

Garrett nods solemnly but doesn’t interject so Scout carries on.

“I, uh, have a sister who’s seventeen. Her name’s Andrea, but we call her Andie. She’s actually a big fan of your band.”

Garrett grins lazily. “Right on.”

“My name’s not actually Scout – it’s Eleanor – but my Mom read To Kill A Mockingbird when I was about four and said I reminded her of the little girl in that, and started calling me it, and it kind of stuck. No one except my high school teachers has ever called me Eleanor, really.”

Garrett sort of hums, so she knows he’s listening, but he’s already starting to slip into the drug induced sleep.

“If I could go anywhere in the world I’d choose London, because I’m a sucker for touristy things and it just looks so fun, which is probably very lame. If I got given a million dollars I’d give half to children’s charities and then buy myself a house somewhere that wasn’t Texas. Probably with a swimming pool because I was obsessed with the fact that my house didn’t have a pool as a kid and I kind of still am, so I want to make up for that. I actually really liked high school, which is weird because everyone else seems to have hated it. My favourite colour is orange because I like sunsets, which is as equally cliché as the tourist thing. The first concert I went to was N Sync, which I will happily own up to. I’ve never had a favourite artist, though, so I get really conflicted when people ask me—“

Scout stops reeling off random facts when she looks over at Garrett again to see he’s dropped off, his breathing gentle and even, his face relaxed in sleep. She throws the sheet she confiscated earlier back over him and smiles. His baby face, she thinks, is adorable, especially so innocent looking in sleep. She picks up the book from before and begins reading again. The bus hums with the sound of the air conditioning, the sound of her turning pages, and Garrett’s peaceful sounding in-out breaths.