I came to hearing Andy Griffith.
You have got to be shitting me. God has the voice of Matlock? I hate that show.
Apparently only if the afterlife consists of cheap, thin pajamas, with property of the V.A. Medical Center stamped above the right breast.
Brown tile floors; washed out brown walls, big, almost floor to ceiling windows, covered in large gauge steel mesh. Window fans that could power an air boat, slowly blowing hot air throughout the ward.
A thin antiseptic smell-pine sol- with a liberal dose of "end of the road."
At first I had no idea how...then snapshots of the day before, flashbulbs brightening brief memory.
My roommate, finding me, wanting to call 911.
Talking him out of it, promising I would go to the V.A. Throwing what I could in an overnight bag, including a carton of camels. Leaving the rest behind.
My ex-wife and my babies, picking me up. Driving to Waco. One of the largest V.A. nut hutches going. Tears.
Wind through an open window, and more tears.
The eyes of a kind, older nurse, calming me down.
A cupful of pills, washed down with diabetically sweet, warm, red kool-aid. Then dark.
The pills should have had me down for a full 24. I had no idea when I went out, or what time it was now. I simply knew it wasn't long enough.
I liked the dark, with no dreams. I wanted it again, because this reality was bullshit.
I heard crying, then sobbing and screaming.
Poor bastard, I thought. Someone needs to sedate that man. I wondered what nightmare drove him here.
Then I heard my children's names through the sobs.
No comments:
Post a Comment