by Pa Rock
Hallucinator
Yesterday I had some surgery
at Research Hospital in Kansas City which,
although the surgery was
completely successful, required spending the night at the hospital for
observation. The nurse came in around
9:00 p.m. with some meds, including two kick-ass pain pills (percocets), and
soon I was snoozing peacefully, and deeply, while visions of sugarplums danced
in my head.
The lights in my room were
off and I couldn’t see the clock, but it was somewhere close to the midpoint of
the night when I felt a strange presence hovering over me. There was just enough light seeping in around
the door to reveal a relatively short man wearing an old military uniform and
wire–rimmed glasses.
“Sir,” my visitor said,
“I'm off to make rounds and check on the sentries.”
Although the effects of the
surgery had worn off, apparently the Percocet had not.
Bewildered and trying to
clear the sleep from my head, I managed to mumble, “Are you my nurse?”
“Nurse? Nurse!
Hell no - sir!” He clicked his bootheels
together smartly and issued a sharp salute.
“Captain Truman, Harry S., reporting as ordered, General Pershing!”
“Harry Truman?”
“Captain Harry Truman, CO of
Battery D, 129th Field Artillery.”
“Captain,” I said trying to
gain some control of the situation, “I think you are a little confused. Do you know where you are?”
“We’re in a hospital,
General.”
Me, hopefully, “That’s
right!”
“A field hospital in the
Argonne Forest – and outside is France, as far as the eye can see!”
“Actually, Captain Truman,
we’re on the sixth floor of Research Hospital in Kansas City.”
“Kansas City! Why I grew up in Kansas City, and my
sweetheart, Bess, lives there now. But
I don’t remember any six-story hospitals.”
“It’s actually seven
stories,” I elaborated. “And you have
been here before. In fact, you spent
quite a bit of time on this very floor.”
“I did?”
“Yes, Captain, you did. In fact, sir, you died here, just down the
hall and around the corner.”
“Died?”
I’m afraid so, Captain. More than forty years ago.”
“But I’m only thirty-four
years old!”
“You were eighty-eight when
you passed away.”
A cloud of bewilderment
slowly crossed the face of the nocturnal visitor, and with its passing he aged
into the elder statesman that America knew and loved so well. “So that’s it,” he said with more than a
little regret in his voice. “Life ran
off and left me – and I don’t have anything to show for it.”
‘You had four fine grandsons
and your own library.”
“A library! I had a library? I’ve always loved to read!”
“Yes Captain, a beautiful library,
just over in Independence. Maybe you
should go haunt that.”
Haunt? You mean I’m a ghost?”
“Either that or a
drug-induced hallucination. “
He turned and opened the door
to leave. “Well, if that’s the case, I
believe I will go find that library. I probably have a lot of history to catch up on.”
“Indeed you do. Head east, Captain. Your library is in Independence.”
“Thank you, sir, I
will.” And with that he snapped his
heels and popped another sharp salute.
“Good evening to you, General Pershing.”
“Percocet,” I replied dully.
“Excuse me?”
“General Percocet.”
“Yes, sir. If you say so, sir. Good evening, General Percocet.”
“And a very good evening to
you, Captain Truman.”
Then he was gone – more gone than me!
1 comment:
Glad to know that your surgery went well. The story caused by the effect of sleep inducers was really amusing. It read too orderly to be a real dream, but it must have been a good dream in which you had a conversation with a young person to become a president later while you were conscious that it was a dream and your knowledge and subconsiousness created the appearance of such a character. Please take care, and get better. I hope after you go home, your pain you suffered from for quite a long time will be gone.
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