And
we can’t go again.
We climb
into office buildings; we climb into cars, busses and trucks. We crawl around this life as would insects,
keeping our secrets, playing with our food, ever mindful that once the ink
stamp on the back of our hand fades - the ride is over.
The
Plan Isn’t Working.
It’s all
busy work designed to keep us occupied, keeping us from pestering each
other. We shuffle papers, file them,
retrieve them, and flash their charts upon the wall and point at them.
"The cuffs on that suit, they are too
large. Are you a salesman, because if
you are - you shouldn’t be wearing cuffs that draw such attention. I find they distract. My attention has been drawn from that chart
you’re pointing at down to your cuffs."
“What do
you mean, I’m pestering you?”
A Fragile Balance
During
Tuesday night’s dinner the mechanic’s potatoes were touching his green
beans. This was all too much for him to
deal with and harsh words fell over the evening like a heavy blanket.
A
recollection of that event was written onto line twenty-four of the FAA report
following an investigation of what should have been a routine fuel line
replacement that following day.
Moments in Reflection
I was
across the street from the barbershop and the Sunlight was hitting the window
at such a peculiar angle that I would have sworn there was a French Poodle
sitting in the first chair getting a haircut. I had to
be sure of what I was seeing and without thinking I stepped out to cross the
street.
Just as the
wide chrome bumper of the bus caught my leg and sent me sprawling to the
pavement I noticed my cuffs. They were in fact too big.
Destined to be Neighbors
There were
contraptions with straps, springs and various sized handles here and
there. There were two clipboards at the
end of the bed and a Morphine drip operated through a black box
flashing several small lights.
What seemed
like a constant blur of nurses poked, charted and measured my roommate's progress throughout the night
until one of them said she had come into the room to check on me.
“I’m fine
in comparison, I said, pointing to bed 28b.
I was only hit by a bus.”
During
Thursday’s visitor hours, a lady entered and sat along side 28b holding an
array of flowers. Looking over at me
she asked if he had woken up yet.
“I don’t
believe so, I replied. Can I ask what
happen?”
She laid
the flowers on the empty chair across from her and looked back at me. “He’s my husband. He survived the plane crash last week. I knew he was due in from his trip on the
afternoon flight so I was running all my errands in the morning. I wanted everything to be perfect when he got
home. I even had the barber in town trim
up Beebe’s hair. He love’s his Poodle”.
A
Change of Menu
Being removed
form intensive care meant a new room, a new roommate and closer to being
released. The only fly in the ointment –
it was a full house. The only available
bed was down in the Crackers Ward.
That’s what the nurses called the Psych Ward whenever the Doctor’s
weren’t around to hear them.
Mental patients
were not plentiful here but they did warrant their own area.
“You’ll be
fine in here for a few days.” The Orderly whispered, as he rolled me over to
the bed by the far wall. “You’re
roommate has been sleeping all day but I expect they’ll wake him for dinner”.
It was like something you’d
see on TV. I awoke kind of blurry-eyed
to a circle of Doctors looking down at me.
“What
happened?” one of them asked. “Do you
remember?”
“Only a
little,” I said. “I remember the Candy
Stripers bringing in our dinner trays.
My roommate was sitting up and all seemed fine. Then, as if someone had twisted the wrong
two wires together, he started screaming that his applesauce was spreading out
on his dinner plate and was about to touch his carrots.
He began
ripping plugs out of the wall, knocking over equipment and then something
exploded - knocking me down to the floor.
That’s the
last thing I remember.”
Guilty – with an explanation
Welcome
Mitch. How was your transition?
“Transition?”
Yes
Mitch. You have left the life you once
knew. You are now here at the Pearly
Gates. I see by your chart that you were
an aircraft mechanic.
“Yes.”
You can
relax Mitch. There are just a few things
we have to cover and then you can go in.
“OK.”
It looks
like you had a few issues you were dealing with on Earth. One in particular dealt with food.
“Could I go
back and try again? I think I can get it
right if…”
Sorry
Mitch, but your hand stamp is completely worn off. That ride is over.
“But I can
explain. The applesauce - it was moving
on its own - heading straight for the carrots.”
