You Don't Even Know by Sue Lawson

by checking out the lump lying in the opposite bed. The physio and a nurse moved my roommate right before my dignity was crushed. From the chair I can see a head swathed in bandages and a girl’s face. Even though she’s asleep, she’s frowning like she’s trying to solve a math’s problem.
    I strain to read the name above her bed.
    â€œMackie Oliver.”
    Mackie. Cool name.
    According to the texta scrawl beneath her name, she was admitted the same day as me and we have the same surgeon. That must have been a big day for Mr Dobson.
    For a moment I wonder how she ended up in here. I’ve barely formed the question when I am distracted by my icy toes.
    I need socks, a rug or something. Even a towel to wrap around them. I don’t know if I have any socks here, and even if I did, there’s no way I’m staggering around carrying a bag swilling with piss to find out.
    Frustration explodes into fizzing balls of panic.
    What the hell am I doing here?
    How come I’m sitting like an old dude, waiting for death?
    How come some of the nurses grunt and avoid looking at me?
    How come I need help to dress, eat, even piss?
    What if when the tube comes out my body forgets how to piss, or worse, I can’t stop and end up like a mouse, with no bladder control, constantly weeing?
    Every muscle is rigid. My ribs ache and my head throbs. My arm itches under the plaster. Sweat trickles from my hairline.
    I tense and release my hand and try to roll my shoulder to stop the raging panic.
    The lunch trolley rattles to a stop outside our door.
    I swallow and nod at the scowling man who carries my tray …

28
A LEX
    I took the tray of dirty glasses and stacked them into the industrial dishwasher. Behind me, standing in the middle of the huge kitchen, Mum issued orders.
    â€œTable four with those mains, thanks, Heath. Andy, have the entree plates been removed from the tables in the back corner? Well, do it now, please.”
    Mum had asked Ethan and me to be waiters at the charity auction for her latest cause “Books 4 Refugees”. Like we had a choice. She asked us in front of Dad and followed up the request with “All the other girls’ sons are helping.” Mum talk for “Don’t make me look bad.”
    So instead of kicking back watching a movie or hanging out with Tilly, I was stuck in a nightmare of frenzied bidding for plants shaped to look like balls on sticks, tickets to the opening night of a new musical, framed and signed football jumpers, an Olympic swimmer’s signed bathers and other weird stuff. Seemed to me people were more concerned with outbidding each other than what they were bidding on.
    Every time Ethan returned to the kitchen, he was full of who had bought what, like it was a news flash or something. I didn’t give a stuff.
    â€œThat Spencer guy, you know the one who used to be a politician? He bought tickets to the footy. Should have seen Kelly Matthews’ face when he was outbid.” Kelly Matthews was the current state member of parliament, who according to Dad, wasn’t worth a cold pie.
    â€œFascinating,” I muttered into the dishwasher.
    Ethan elbowed me as he placed dirty dishes on the sink. “Shut up, loser.”
    â€œGood comeback. Work on that for long?”
    He glowered and bumped into me on his way to the door. I slammed into a dishwasher tray I’d half-filled with glasses. “Idiot!”
    â€œAlex,” said Mum. “I need you to take meals to table five.”
    â€œI’m filling the dishwasher.”
    â€œNow, Alex.”
    I banged the machine’s metal handle and slouched to where meals were lined up to be taken out.
    â€œChicken first, then beef. Serve from the left.”
    â€œYou’ve told me this before.”
    â€œAnd don’t bang them down.
Place
them.”
    â€œWant me to do this or not?” I snapped.
    The guy drizzling sauce around the plates grinned at me.
    I rolled