three dislocated ribs. There were no fractures, but even if there had been, the medics couldn’t cast that area. The ribs just needed time to heal. I had to ride it out. The doctor did give me a prescription for some heavy-duty painkillers.
“You’ll have to spend a few days with us here in the ward for observation,” he said. “Plus, we don’t want to put you back in the unit until we file a report.”
Sounded good to me. I was actually looking forward to some down time. I hoped I’d get a room to myself and that it would be quiet.
As it turns out, I got both of my wishes, although I didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. I did have a room to myself and it was quiet – too quiet. It was like I had an entire wing of the hospital to myself. The room itself had a floor, ceiling, and walls made of cement. The ceiling was really high and the there was a window near the top. The window was too high to look out of, or for anyone outside to look in, but did give me natural light and some indication of what time it was.
Despite the cold surroundings, the high ceiling made the room feel larger than it was. The bed was OK and I had my own toilet.
I was a little confused by the room. I kind of liked it. It was nice to be someplace that was not cramped or crowded or smelled like guys for a change. Still, there was something odd about the place. I couldn’t tell if I was in a hospital room that resembled a holding cell, or a holding cell masquerading as a hospital room. I tested the door. I was locked in.
For days, I did nothing but rest. I was even allowed to go out and exercise in a small, walled courtyard. I still couldn’t tell if I was a prisoner or a protected patient.
At first, it was nice not to have to think about anything. This was a good break. But soon, the lack of stimuli or anything to do got boring. I felt a tinge of fear when I had to admit to myself that my worse fears were confirmed. I was a prisoner. I was being held for some reason. I had nothing to but wait and think, and without the daily distractions the Army and life in general usually provided, memories I thought I had safely buried resurfaced. Things I tried not to think about returned, and the memories were as clear as ever.
–––––
OK. I’m just going to say it. In high school, I did a lot of drugs. It might be easy to dismiss what I tell you as the delusions of someone who was tripping, and believe me, I tried to do that too. I’m just going to tell the story the way I remember it. You can think I’m crazy or call me a liar or whatever, but it’s all true.
A few years ago, when I was in high school, my dad got a promotion. Sometimes, his new job required him do long commutes into the city to deal with union bosses, which he said “was like working with the mob.”
Around that time, he mentioned seeing “something weird in the woods.” I don’t know what that was all about or what he was afraid of. Whatever it was scared him enough that he started carrying around a gun.
I came home from school one day and I got a call. Dad was calling me from jail. Cops in the city busted him for carrying a concealed weapon. When he went to court, I was there. A disgustingly fat judge named Tubb (yeah, really) threw the book at him. Dad went to county, and I was on my own. I think Dad must have lied about me being 18 (instead of 16) at the time, so that left me and Sampson, my German Shepard, alone at our house in the field by the woods.
Two nights later, I was smoking some shit on our back deck overlooking the valley. A star in the sky seemed to get brighter until it shone down on me like a police spotlight. It dimmed to a comfortable level so I could look right at it.
I was starting to freak out. My first thought was Cops!, but I then I started thinking alien abduction. Either way, I was screwed.
A deep voice spoke. It came from nowhere and everywhere at once.
“Jacob, I’ve been watching you.”
I tried to
“You’ll have to spend a few days with us here in the ward for observation,” he said. “Plus, we don’t want to put you back in the unit until we file a report.”
Sounded good to me. I was actually looking forward to some down time. I hoped I’d get a room to myself and that it would be quiet.
As it turns out, I got both of my wishes, although I didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. I did have a room to myself and it was quiet – too quiet. It was like I had an entire wing of the hospital to myself. The room itself had a floor, ceiling, and walls made of cement. The ceiling was really high and the there was a window near the top. The window was too high to look out of, or for anyone outside to look in, but did give me natural light and some indication of what time it was.
Despite the cold surroundings, the high ceiling made the room feel larger than it was. The bed was OK and I had my own toilet.
I was a little confused by the room. I kind of liked it. It was nice to be someplace that was not cramped or crowded or smelled like guys for a change. Still, there was something odd about the place. I couldn’t tell if I was in a hospital room that resembled a holding cell, or a holding cell masquerading as a hospital room. I tested the door. I was locked in.
For days, I did nothing but rest. I was even allowed to go out and exercise in a small, walled courtyard. I still couldn’t tell if I was a prisoner or a protected patient.
At first, it was nice not to have to think about anything. This was a good break. But soon, the lack of stimuli or anything to do got boring. I felt a tinge of fear when I had to admit to myself that my worse fears were confirmed. I was a prisoner. I was being held for some reason. I had nothing to but wait and think, and without the daily distractions the Army and life in general usually provided, memories I thought I had safely buried resurfaced. Things I tried not to think about returned, and the memories were as clear as ever.
–––––
OK. I’m just going to say it. In high school, I did a lot of drugs. It might be easy to dismiss what I tell you as the delusions of someone who was tripping, and believe me, I tried to do that too. I’m just going to tell the story the way I remember it. You can think I’m crazy or call me a liar or whatever, but it’s all true.
A few years ago, when I was in high school, my dad got a promotion. Sometimes, his new job required him do long commutes into the city to deal with union bosses, which he said “was like working with the mob.”
Around that time, he mentioned seeing “something weird in the woods.” I don’t know what that was all about or what he was afraid of. Whatever it was scared him enough that he started carrying around a gun.
I came home from school one day and I got a call. Dad was calling me from jail. Cops in the city busted him for carrying a concealed weapon. When he went to court, I was there. A disgustingly fat judge named Tubb (yeah, really) threw the book at him. Dad went to county, and I was on my own. I think Dad must have lied about me being 18 (instead of 16) at the time, so that left me and Sampson, my German Shepard, alone at our house in the field by the woods.
Two nights later, I was smoking some shit on our back deck overlooking the valley. A star in the sky seemed to get brighter until it shone down on me like a police spotlight. It dimmed to a comfortable level so I could look right at it.
I was starting to freak out. My first thought was Cops!, but I then I started thinking alien abduction. Either way, I was screwed.
A deep voice spoke. It came from nowhere and everywhere at once.
“Jacob, I’ve been watching you.”
I tried to
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