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my
life that I dared not lose.
    With the three hour blackout weighing heavily
upon my thoughts, I began keeping a log in a paper notebook which I
kept on my person at all times. Every time I would notice lost
time, I decided I would record it. I shared this with the
psychiatrist, but it didn’t help her to discover the cause of my
problem at all.
    The next three weeks passed without incident.
At least, without the incident of a blackout. On May 19th, I
received a call at work that my mother had been rushed to the
hospital by ambulance and was forced to leave right away.
Ironically, they took her to the same hospital where I’d taken all
of those meaningless tests. By the time I arrived, the doctors
already had her in stable condition and were telling me that she
would be fine, or at least as fine as she had been the day
before.
    Sobbing, I called Jeremy and told him what
had happened. Whether he cared less or he was just so stunned by
the fact that I was crying, he took the news emotionlessly. The
conversation was clipped and short until he asked, quite politely,
if there was anything I needed from him or Wyatt. That was the way
it was with the two of them. They were free to speak for each other
at any time. I suppose he didn’t expect me to accept his offer. I
never did. After all of those years, I knew that they preferred
their separation from the family. But I was on the verge of truly
breaking down and I not only accepted his offer, I begged him for
help. Even without the after-work hospital visits, I was truly at
the end of my rope. I could feel the layers peeling off of my
psyche and my psychiatrist, as good as she was, was not helping.
The futility of those visits just made things even worse.
    I went home that evening, drew the shades,
turned on the television, and prayed that I would get no phone
calls. A news magazine show was running a story on the new face of
the Arab Nation. Normally, I am not a political animal, but just
this once I thought it might be a good idea to see that the
problems of the world were greater than my own. A man by the name
of Abdelaziz had formed what he was calling the United Arab Nation.
Through tremendous charisma and knowledge of his people and their
religious beliefs, he had been sweeping through Middle Eastern
countries and uniting their governments against Muslim terrorism.
In the space of a few short months, he had made great strides
toward accomplishing what America had not. And he was very vocal
and very public about it. The show was focusing on the world’s view
of Abdelaziz and his Nation. Many people glorified the man. They
were ready to give him a Nobel Peace Prize. But there were those
that were afraid. Continued presence in the Middle East by a
growing population of United States troops was creating more and
more anti-American sentiment throughout the world. Though Abdelaziz
himself never spoke of America in anything but a neutral manner,
there was fear that he would simply turn on us when he had the
support of the rest of the world and crush our way of life.
    It all seemed very large and unlikely to me,
if not a little surreal. I had never been able to conceive of the One-Man-Can-Change-The-World theory despite history’s
teachings. For me the idea of stepping up and taking charge of
anything was completely alien.
    I must have dozed off shortly into the
program because I came to with a start with little memory of
anything but a series of introductory clips. There was something
completely different on the television and the clock read 8:56.
Rubbing my eyes, I got out of the chair and went into the bathroom
to wash up. As I turned off the water, I heard the phone and
silently pleaded for peace.
    “Hello?”
    “Mathew?” It was my boss.
    “Yes?”
    “Are you sick?”
    That was an odd question. “No.”
    “It’s after nine.”
    Some extra sense put me on my guard. From the
living room, I could hear the television spitting out the traffic
report. But there’s no news