Why We Took the Car Read Free

chair. At the police station.
    He nods. Yes.
    I nod too.
    â€œIt’s just us here,” he says after a pause.
    â€œI see that,” I say like an idiot, and wink first at the doctor and then for good measure at the plastic torso.
    â€œYou don’t have to be worried about saying anything here. I’m your doctor, and that means our conversations are completely confidential.”
    â€œOkay,” I say. He’d said something similar to me a few days before, and now I understand. The man is sworn to secrecy and he wants me to tell him something that he can keep secret. But what? How unbelievably cool it is to piss your pants out of fear?
    â€œIt’s not just a question of misconduct. It’s also a question of negligence. They shouldn’t have taken you at your word, do you understand? They should have examined you and called a doctor immediately. Do you know how critical your condition was? And you say you fell off the chair ?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œI’m sorry, but doctors are a skeptical bunch. I mean, they wanted something from you. And as your attending doctor . . .”
    Yeah, yeah. For God’s sake. Confidentiality. I get it. What does he want to know? How someone falls off a chair? Sideways, down, and plop. He shakes his head for a long time; then he makes a small gesture with his hand — and suddenly I understand what he’s trying to figure out. My God, I’m so slow sometimes. So damn embarrassing. Why didn’t he just ask?
    â€œNo, no!” I shout, waving my hands wildly in the air like I’m swatting a swarm of flies. “It was all legit! I was sitting in the chair and I lifted up my pant leg to look at it, and when I did I got all dizzy and fell over. There were no external factors .” Good phrase. Learned it from a police show.
    â€œAre you sure?”
    â€œI’m sure, yes. The police were actually really nice. They gave me a glass of water and tissues. I just got dizzy and fell over.” I straighten myself up in front of the desk and then demonstrate like a talented actor, twice letting myself slump to the right until I nearly fall over.
    â€œVery well,” says the doctor slowly.
    He scribbles something on a piece of paper.
    â€œI just wanted to know. It was still irresponsible. The blood loss . . . they really should have . . . and it did look suspicious.”
    He closes the green folder and looks at me for a long time. “I don’t know, maybe it’s none of my business, but I’d really be interested to know — though you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. But what did you want — or where were you trying to go?”
    â€œI have no idea.”
    â€œLike I said, you don’t have to answer. I’m only asking out of curiosity.”
    â€œI would tell you, but if I did, you wouldn’t believe me anyway. I’m pretty sure.”
    â€œI’d believe you,” he says with a friendly smile. My buddy.
    â€œIt’s stupid.”
    â€œWhat’s stupid?”
    â€œIt’s just . . . well, we were trying to go to Wallachia. See, I told you you’d think it was stupid.”
    â€œI don’t think it’s stupid, I just don’t understand. Where were you trying to go?”
    â€œWallachia.”
    â€œAnd where is that supposed to be?”
    He looks at me curiously, and I can tell I’m turning red. We’re not going to delve any deeper into this. We shake each other’s hands like grown men, signaling an end to the conversation, and I’m somehow happy that I didn’t have to push the bounds of his confidentiality.

CHAPTER 5
    I’ve never had any nicknames. In school, I mean. Or anywhere else, for that matter. My name is Mike Klingenberg. Mike. Not Mikey or Klinge or anything like that. Always just Mike. Except in the sixth grade, when I was briefly known as Psycho. Not like that’s the greatest thing either, being called