“Daddy? Come back to us, Daddy, please …”
A bright light faded from Dave’s eyes as his daughter softly emerged from the blinding whiteness. He tried to speak through a dry, cracked mouth that felt to his tongue like the surface of the Moon. It dragged along the insides of his cheeks as he whispered to his little girl, who still looked blurry.
“Emily? Wha- where am I …?”
“The hospital, Daddy! Oh, I’ve missed you so much.”
As Dave’s eyes adjusted to the light, Emily and the background behind her focused into shapes and colors. The walls were white and tiled a light septic green. He heard the beeping of his heart rate monitor. It was definitely Emily, but she was no longer a kindergartner.
“Oh, Daddy. You’ve been in a coma for four years,” Emily said. “But you did it!”
“Yes, honey,” came another voice from the side. “You did. And we’re all so proud of you.”
It was his wife, Jennifer.
“Jen? I did?” Dave asked, once again having difficulty seeing, but now through tears. The room began to fade into soft, watery lighting.
“And not just your family. The whole country has been watching, praying that you would come back to us.”
Dave heard a phone buzzing.
“Yes, he’s awake,” he heard Jen say. “Dave, it’s the President. He wants to speak with you.”
“What? No, fuck that guy!” Dave attempted to spit, but his dry mouth managed only a silent fart.
“No, Daddy. He’s not the President anymore. It’s Joe Biden.”
Dave considered it for a second, shrugged, and motioned for the phone.
“You’re on speaker, Mr. President,” he rasped.
“Dave? It’s Joe. I think I speak for all Americans, even the ones who didn’t vote for me, that we’re all so relieved that you’ve pulled through. The U.S. needed this win, Dave. Thank you, and god bless.”
“He’s having trouble speaking right now, Mr. President,” said Jennifer.
“No, I understand. Take care, Dave. Come by the White House when you’re able. The next batch of wings are on me.”
Dave winced at the mention of “wings.” His stomach knotted, but the President hung up before he groaned.
“He’s not wrong, Dave,” came another voice from the room. It sounded familiar. Dave turned towards it. No, was it really …
“Yes, Dave. I read about your story in an Instagram post. That’s right: I read the captions and all of the comments, too. And I immediately fell in love with you and needed to be by your side.”
Dave looked over for his wife. Jennifer smiled.
“And I’m perfectly okay with it. In fact, she’s not the only one.” Jennifer motioned toward the door. Shakira and Lucy Liu were standing just outside the ICU entrance. “J-Lo’s out in the parking lot, breaking back up with Ben Affleck, but she saw my text and will be up soon.”
“Batfleck … What’s going on? How are you okay with this?”
Jennifer took his hand in both of hers, carefully avoiding his IV input.
“Dave, when you ate the hottest chili pepper wings in the world, I knew right then that you would either die or belong to the world. I figured that, either way, I had a choice to make: lose you or love you with everyone else. And I’m just so glad that I didn’t lose you.”
Everything went watery-blurry again as Dave heaved sobbing tears. His nose ran freely into his beard and mouth, much as it had when he ate his twelfth Satan’s Jizzberry Napalm Death Wing.
“So, yes,” Jennifer continued. “I love you. And so does Zendaya. And Shakira. And J-Lo. And Helen Mirren, too. And we’re all ready to take care of you.”
Dave couldn’t believe it. He really had eaten the hottest wings in the world, survived, and now he would live the rest of his days with the hottest women in his surprisingly milquetoast internet search history. He could almost get up to dance …
His legs would not move. Or hips.
“Honey, am I tied down to the bed?”
Tears welled up in both Jennifers’ and Emily’s eyes.
“The capsaicin burnt through your nervous system,” Jennifer said. “You can’t feel anything from the ribs down.”
Dave began crying again, looking from Jennifer to Jennifer to Zendaya to Shakira, wondering now if he had truly survived. As his doctor walked in, he swore he saw two sets of eyelids blink.
