Chapter 1: Where Am I?

Sunday Night, May 11^th

“Owww! Not Good!” I thought to myself as I squeezed my eyes closed. It took me a little eye-blinking to be able to keep them open them. But slowly, my eyes finally adjusted to the dimly lit room.

“Damn! This place is old,” I thought as the images began to register in my brain. Everything looked like it belonged, but something didn’t seem quite right. I automatically began to inventory the small room, taking in the old-fashioned décor and the antique appearance of most of the things in the room.

An old-style CRT television hung on a bracket mounted to the wall above a typical hospital chair, occupying the right corner. On the wall behind my head was a florescent light, mounted horizontally. Another one was to my left. Under it, in the space where you would normally expect a bed, sat a cart containing some sort of medical equipment, with wires coming from it that led to my body. I suddenly became aware of the sensors attached to my chest.

Between the equipment and the bed, was a metal nightstand next to a chrome pole holding up two inverted glass bottles, both with tubes leading to my left arm. Cautiously, I tried to move my arms. They were heavy. Then I saw that both of my wrists were wrapped in old-fashioned plaster casts. “No wonder they’re so heavy!” I thought.

Ever so gently, I raised my right arm, flexing my fingers over the ends of the casts. At least I could still use my fingertips, which I immediately did, grasping the thin sheet that covered my body. Lifting it slowly, I peered down to where the sensors were attached to my chest. It was smooth, I noted; slightly larger than I was accustomed to seeing, with only a stray hair or two. The stomach below the chest was flat; no spare tire circled my waist like I was used to. As I looked on down my body, I vaguely noted the tube stuck in the tip of my penis.

My mind was having a hard time understanding all that my eyes were seeing. And speaking of seeing, I suddenly realized everything was crystal clear; not blurry, like I was used to.

“Would you look at that! I can actually read those little numbers on the TV dial from here!” I thought excitedly.

Numbly, I closed my eyes only to become aware of the sounds; the beeping of the monitor, the soft buzz of the florescent light, the hum of the air conditioner. This was fantastic! My hearing had been gradually fading for the last several years.

As the fog in my brain continued to clear, I recalled trying to kill myself. Obviously, I hadn’t succeeded, had I? Suddenly, I could feel myself sinking back into those all-too-familiar feelings of depression

“So! It looks like I screwed up my own suicide and now they’ve gone and stuck me in this museum of an institution. But what in the world have they done to my body? Is it hallucinatory drugs?” I wondered. “Or could they be using me for some sort of experimental body transplant?” The ideas kept running through my mind, growing wilder and crazier.

Finally, I decided that this must be hell. I mean, deep down inside, I knew it was still me; Phil Brown, fifty-six-year-old loser. And I had always heard that people who commit suicide aren’t supposed to get into heaven. So I figured that this must be some sort of weird, unfathomable, perverse kind of hell.

“Al-l-l-right!” I thought with immense satisfaction. “If this is hell, that means that I DIDN’T screw up killing myself.”

I guess it’s only natural to be a little goofy when you wake up after killing yourself, but that last thought sure proves it.

It was at that moment I heard the door open. A man in a dark, out-of-style suit with a white shirt and an old-fashioned narrow tie appeared, casually looking towards the bed. When he saw that my eyes were open, he did a quick double-take before his eyes returned to mine, staring at me with a look of utter amazement on his face.

“Michael?” he whispered.

I stared back at him. “Is he talking to me?” I wondered. I opened my mouth to answer, but nothing came out.

Without letting his eyes leave mine, the man in the out-of-style suit walked around my bed and picked up the antique phone on the stand beside my bed. Speaking in a voice that was commanding but not loud, he told whoever answered, “I think you need to get in here. Now!”

I could sense the urgency in his words.

Then, stepping back to the end of the bed, he asked, “Michael, can you hear me?”

“Okay. He definitely called me Michael,” I thought to myself, forgetting to reply.

Moments later, I began to wonder if maybe this was heaven because the figure that had just entered the room was definitely an angel.

I couldn’t help but stare at her.

Twenty-something, slender, and wearing a white uniform that, while somewhat outdated, was complete; from the funny little cap on her head down to the white shoes with white rubber soles on her feet. Just like nurses used to wear a long time ago.

Suddenly I found myself wishing I was thirty years younger.

“What’s wrong, David? Did the monitor quit working again?” the angel asked the guy in the out-of-style suit as she looked first at the monitor, then back at the man in the suit. Finally, she followed his gaze towards the bed.

“You’re ... you’re awake?” she gasped in amazement.

This time, I turned my face towards her and raised my fingertips in the general direction of my throat as I rasped, “Hurts ... to ... talk.”

She stared at me for a moment, and then a big smile lit up her face. Immediately, she began barking out orders.

“David! Go to the nurse’s station and tell Bea to call Doctor Bales’ service and let him know the Wagner boy is awake. Tell her to ask him to call us back with any new instructions. Then ask Bea to call Sarah at home. Sarah’s home number is on my clipboard next to the phone. I promised I’d let her know if he ever woke up. Then, go behind the counter and get me a small cup of ice.”

“The Wagner boy? Ever woke up? This has got to be some crazy nightmare!” I thought, squeezing my eyes shut tight and willing myself to wake up. But when I opened my eyes, everything remained the same.

I noticed the man she called David stiffen slightly at her orders. But then she grinned at him, adding a “Pl-e-e-eas-se,” that she turned into a four-syllable word. I got the impression that he was used to giving orders rather than taking them, but he seemed to relax when she smiled at him.

“Okay. But I’ll take care of calling the family when I get back,” he told her as he headed for the corridor.

The young nurse turned her attention back to me. Opening the drawer in the bedside table, she pulled out an antique glass thermometer, shook it with a practiced flick of her wrist, then asked, “Michael, can you open your mouth so I can take your temperature?”

“Now SHE’S calling me Michael, too,” I sighed in confusion.

Placing the thermometer under my tongue, she reached for my neck to take my pulse, keeping up her stream of chatter.

“I’m so happy you’re awake. You’ve been in a coma for quite a while now, so just take it easy until we can get the Doctor in here. He should be here pretty soon; he doesn’t live that far away. David is gonna call your family in a few minutes and...”

BLAM!

The moment she touched me, I felt an intense spark, followed by a strange tickling sensation. Then a wave of emotions washed over me that I instinctually knew weren’t mine. Along with those emotions came snippets of thoughts swirling around faster and faster. My instinctive recoiling from her touch caused the heavenly nurse to look up from her watch. The expression on her face, along with the emotions I was feeling from her, quickly changed to worry.