MADMAN - John R. Suler, Ph.D. - copyright 1995
Chapter 27 - Down
Time to come back.I hear talking in the distance. I make no effort to discern what they are saying. My awareness rests gently on the tone and rhythm of their voices - on the warm air moving across my face and the soft cushion beneath me. It all feels comforting. It all feels right.
I open my eyes. It's a cozy room - dimly lit, with a pastoral painting on the wall and an EKG monitor tucked into the corner. Bright but soft fluorescent light gently spills in from the hall. I listen carefully as thoughtful, gracefully paced footsteps approach. A silhouette of a woman appears in the doorway, her face hidden in a halo of light.
"How are you doing?" she asks warmly.
"As good as new, I guess. But, uh..."
"You're in obstetrics. The emergency room is packed with people. All sorts of accidents today. We're right next door, so they moved you in here for a while... You had some adventure out there, didn't you? A twisted ankle, mild concussion - and a bad sprain to that finger. You're lucky you didn't get too deep into the woods, otherwise no one might have seen you. There's almost two feet of snow out there. You also threw up quite a few decongestants. You really should go easy on that stuff. But you'll be fine."
"Yeah," I answer, "I believe so." I still can't see her face, but I know she is smiling. I wonder what color her eyes are.
"Oh," she says, "there are some people here for you." She steps aside to let them enter, lingers a moment, then waves goodbye.
Fred, with his arm in a sling, and Marion walk into the room.
"Hey, cowboy," Fred says cheerfully, "how're you doing?" Marion stands beside my bed to rest her hand on my shoulder
"Fine, Fred. How're you?"
"Well, it'll be tough writing progress notes with my left hand, but I'll survive."
"Maybe we both could use a few days off."
He laughs. "Right! That was some heroic act you pulled up there - stupid, but heroic."
"It seemed right at the time. Is Mobin OK?"
"He's fine. They found him in the library, pulling magazines off the shelves and stuffing them into his pants. We're shipping him out tonight. A bed opened up at the state hospital."
"And what about Doe?"
"He's gone. He disappeared sometime during the fire. In the middle of the confusion, the nut actually took the trouble to sign himself out AMA. God knows where he got the presence of mind to do that. We alerted the police and they'll be on the lookout for him. Anyway, don't worry about it. He didn't seem to be suicidal or homicidal. Just an oddball character disorder with an identity disturbance to boot. It's not unusual for dissociative types like him to just disappear at the drop of a hat, especially during a crisis situation."
It doesn't seem important to disagree. I just smile.
"Anyway," Fred continues, "they say you should stay here for the night. In the morning, the roads will be clear and you can go home. How does that sound?"
"Just right, Fred, just right. And by the way, thank you. Both of you. Thanks a lot."
"Thanks for what?" Fred answers quizzically.
"Thanks for helping me, for tolerating me... for being here now. I appreciate it."
"Hey, it's my pleasure!" Fred says jokingly. "It's my job!" Marion just pats me on the shoulder, looks into my eyes, and nods. She knows. I reach up to take hold of her hand.
"Well, we better be going," Fred interjects as he moves towards the door, glancing at his watch. "It's time to cure some mental illness.... You take care of yourself. Take the day off tomorrow. Enjoy life, for one day that is, then you gotta get back to work." He chuckles as he slips out the room. Marion follows, more slowly. Before passing through the doorway, she stops and turns back to face me. "Enjoy life," she says, almost with a question in her voice. "That sounds like a good idea."
"I think so," I reply.
She smiles, and leaves.
I lay back in bed. The wind-blown particles of snow tap lightly against the small window high in the corner of the room above my head. I quietly listen to them, then reach for the phone. The tones I tap out sound more familiar and comforting than I ever remember them being.
"Hello?" she says.
"Hello, Mom."
"Thomas! How are you? I'm so glad you called!... It's funny, I was just thinking about you," she pauses, as if uncertain about continuing, "and about your father."
"Me too."
Outside the perimeter of the parking lots, the snow forms a smooth, crystalline blanket that covers the wooded landscape. Jon's booth pops up among the plowed banks of snow like a hermit's hut on the edge of civilization. I coast in and toot the horn. He's reading the journal Scientific American.
"Good morning, Jon!"
"My word, if it isn't the ox-herder himself," he exclaimed. "You're getting to be something of a legend around here. Say, how's that ankle of yours?"
"Not too bad - a little tricky working the clutch, but I'll manage. Fortunately, I wasn't seriously hurt."
"Fortunate is the word. You're looking mighty good all around. What's your secret?"
"Well, Jon, it goes something like this. I used to think that trees were trees and hills were hills. But then trees no longer seemed like trees, and hills no longer just hills. Now I'm back where I was to start with. Trees are trees and hills are hills. Only they look different... they look... NEW."
"Very curious logic, dear doctor. But that reminds me. An old dude came by here yesterday. He mentioned you. Can't remember what his name was, but a very interesting fellow. He was looking for the way to somewhere."
"The way where?"
"Hmmm, you know, he never made that clear. He didn't walk down the road, though. He cut right across the woods over there, towards the highway, I think."
I stretch my neck to see. "Are you sure, Jon? I don't see any tracks in the snow."
"I guess the drift must have covered them over."
"Did he say anything about where he was going?"
"No," Jon answers thoughtfully, then picks up an envelop from the counter. "But he left this. He told me to give it to the first person who asked where he went. You must be the lucky winner."
It's sealed - and feels rather light. When I open it, there's nothing inside except a single blank sheet of lined paper that was cleanly cut from a spiral notebook.
"What is it?" Jon asks.
"A new entry," I answer, smiling.
"An entry to what?" He's straining to see inside the envelop.
"Now that's a good question," I reply. "Say Jon, when you're done with that journal, the Scientific American, can I borrow it for a while, just in case there's something interesting in there?"
"It would be my pleasure."
"Thanks. See you later."
I gently gas the Old Nova to the edge of the hill, shift into neutral, and begin coasting down.