I was not sure if I was either anesthetized or oxidized but I felt paralyzed, permanently attached to this bed but I could hear voices chanting the Rosary. I could not see any faces, just ten candles slowly approaching, growing brighter. Suddenly my eyes opened.
On Saturday I climbed out of bed around six o’clock in the morning. I always find waking to be a mysterious process of reality erosion as my dreams fade and disappear into a waking reality. This morning I was the perfect stereotype of the smart, prepared, time conscious sidekick/boy-next-door embarking on my own personal adventure.
I shaved, showered, dressed, combed my hair, didn’t look at television, checked the weather online, didn’t eat a thing, picked up my cell phone, picked up my iPod, put on my leather jacket which should be repaired, and left my apartment.
If I am awake and functioning before seven I am in some type of neuralgic distress. I have displayed lunatic tendencies, cajoling chaos out of oxygen molecules and sometimes freezing hot air with just a glance and well displaced sigh previously at this uncivilized hour. I knew my destination, my route, my time estimation. I imagined all types of tragic and comedic imbroglios which might delay my progress.
How savage the world was that morning! How malnourished and uncaffeinated the other pedestrians looked! Yes, there were other pedestrians! Little women in high heels pulling heavy pieces of luggage. Men in sweatpants carrying newspapers! I had a sense of accomplishment as I listened to music to keep my mind occupied and my pace steady.
And I arrived at the meeting place early. I was so pleased with myself. I had envisioned being late or abducted by aliens or stumbling unaware into some grizzly crime scene like some unaware character in a police procedural television show.
I arrived in good spirits filled with a healthy mixture of anxiety, anticipation, and amiability. On Friday night I must have somehow been marinated in hope, love, and humility while I was recumbent. Maybe I was on some type of spiritual rotisserie which drizzled peace, social justice, compassion, charity into my character. I was calm! I was happy! I was standing near the Foggy Bottom metro station, waiting patiently, watching the people enter and exit the hospital, watching cars speed up and slow down at the stop light in front of me.
And finally I had to turn off the iPod and climb into a shiny SUV. Somehow I was sitting in the middle and there was a vague queasiness as I imagined that the two men on either side of me were mob enforcers and I was about to be rubbed out and tossed into the East River which was quickly changed into the Anacostia River because of budget restraints and I wondered if I would still get my pair of cement shoes.
My imagination turned itself off. My tongue was on mute. My mouth was on holiday. My ears were on high alert, listening to the conversation, listening to the outside sounds, listening to the cadence of the silence. I personally do not like talking before ten o’clock in the morning but I can be a spirited and active listener.
The drive across town was drenched with enthusiasm and good cheer. I think I mumbled a couple of inaudible sentences lacking in both enunciation and pronunciation.
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