Saturday, July 18, 2015

Where’s Home? Chapter 11: Post 1

“UMmmm…Daisy, come on, give me some grace here. I’ve been to hell and back, no pun intended, what with the Lower Peninsula being called that by Big Nob."

“Sure, I get it,” she said, standing next to me with hands on her hips. “I know your body and mind have experienced trauma. I’ve had plenty of years to witness people coping with it and know too well the odd symptoms exhibited. Still, I’m curious as to the association or connection that brain of yours is making between her and me.”

“Dammit all, don’t make me think about it Daisy. The only thing distracting me from all my discomfort is the thought of getting home. And, when I say all my discomfort I mean in every part of my being. I’m telling you, when I feel better I’m gonna off load a whole lot of craziness I experienced in less than a week.”

The ventilation duct spewed nasty air. Sunshine baked a big splat of bird crap on the window. Mocking me, the poop resembled the image of my first brain scan. Typically not squeamish, I gagged twice and pointed at the window.

“Get me some pajama bottoms to wear home,” I said. “I’m getting out of this cursed room while I wait to be freed.”

“Fine,” said Daisy, and walked away in a huff.

Struggling to keep my balance, I stood and used the wheeled tray to make my way to a small cabinet against the wall by the bathroom. Except for the blood-soaked pants and a sock that were cut from me, the rest of my clothes were in a clear plastic bag. Hospital ankle socks would suffice. 

Daisy returned and yelled at me.

“Sit your ass down mister! Do you want to fall and get stuck here longer? What the hell were you thinking? Never mind, don’t answer. You weren’t thinking. What was I thinking by asking you that?”

There it was again. Daisy wasn’t one to cuss and her doing so added weight to my troubled soul. I plopped into the chair so she could get the pajama bottoms on me and slip my shirt on.
“This shirt stinks of fish,” said Daisy, “but, I’m done fighting you.”

I sighed, apologized, and sniffed my shirt. The aroma coaxed a tiny smile from my lips until shame slapped it away.

“Clay caught a nice trout,” I said. “I got my limit in Brookies. Yah, but now they’re gone, just like Clay maybe, and I failed him Sweety.”

The feeling of death come calling but I was too weary to resist or challenge. Putting my hands to my head, I clutched at my hair and clenched my teeth.

“You no good bastard,” I said aloud as Nurse Macy came in.

“Me oh my, you love me that much,” she said.

“Not you Macy,” I said, eyes blood shot and forming shiny tears. “Death was who I was addressing. I feel it doing a sneak-up and wanting to take someone captive.”

“Not you Mr. Thunder. You’re doing great,” said Macy.

Daisy stared out the window and I swear she smiled.

“Am I?” I asked, “Am I doing great?”

“You’re alive.”

“I’m not so sure, Macy. Something isn’t right but I’ll be damned if I hang around while thinking about it.”

“You’re free to go, and wow, ready to go. Expect good things,” said Macy. She hugged us and left.

After all the release protocol was followed we were finally in my wife’s SUV. A bell chimed 3 times in a tower at the nearby university. Brief as it was, the morning storm had refreshed and rejuvenated everything and everyone but me. Grime from camping, a car wreck, and spiritual muck raking, clung to me inside and out. 

As we passed a sign saying thank you for visiting Marquette, I leaned my head against the vehicle’s passenger window.

“Daisy?” I asked. 

“Yes, dear.”

“I was so anxious to get home but I gotta tell ya, I’ve never felt at home anywhere. I guess, for me anyhow, no place or any place might be home.”  

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