| Questions should have answers, I say. There's simply no point in having a question if it doesn't have a ready little answer, all set to spring forth into knowledge the moment it's called for. But no. We get questions without answers. At what exact point past the linoleum does a floor become the ceiling to the room below? What percentage of the ocean water on our beautiful sandy beaches has recently passed through a whale? What the Hell am I doing here? I am a mere mental patient, not some robed guru atop a Tibetan peak, although, I have to say, that would be cool. I wonder if you can get Pizza up there? I bet you'd have to give a heck of a good tip. Well, Hell, if you were a robed guru atop a Tibetan mountain peak your tip might be, "Look both ways before crossing the street" and you could get away with it. Unless the driver was one of those redneck rough-boys with a tattoo on his arm... then I'd probably just go with money. But I digress. Often times, when I am burdened by the events of the day, it is my good friend Mordenstien who comforts me. The fact that he is an ant does not color my perception of his wisdom, nor does the fact that he is dead. Mordenstien is a fountain of knowledge previously unheard of on this planet. Whether his lack of fame is due to his death, the fact that I alone know of his existence, or just the fact that ants are not widely regarded to have names is a debate of logic far beyond me. Just the sight of Mordenstien's tiny black head and his dry, crumpled legs fill me with a feeling of deepest respect and true love. Not the kind of love you can go out and buy for fifty bucks on a Saturday night, real love (though, being confined to C Ward is not conducive to the fifty bucks on a Saturday night kinda love, so you take what you can get). It is my own deepest belief that everyone should have a dead ant of their own. One day I was talking to Mordenstien about how difficult it was for me to get out of bed in the morning. In an unprecedented burst of wisdom, Mordie replied, "gave it up, myself." His tiny recumbent body a testimony to his words. Well, needless to say I was floored. And the floor being hard, it hurt. But I was only unconscious for an hour or two, and I lost very little blood. The nurses patched me up and I returned to my glorious debate with the always patient Mordenstien, who had remained just where he was without complaint. My little friend had given up getting up in the mornings, and now his days were obviously much happier. It was then I decided to follow his heroic lead and remain in bed for the rest of my life. However, the staff here at the "Yes, I'm crazy, but you're ugly and I can always go see a shrink Mental Hospital" was less than pleased with my decision. The selfish fools wanted me to participate in life. Fools! If we all just stayed in bed, there would be no wars, no accidents (well, no automobile accidents), and no crime. There would be no lines at the bank, traffic would be a breeze, thus enabling MUCH faster pizza delivery. Of course, they would have to invent the bed-car so that the pizza man could actually bring that magic circular food. We'll work on that one. We have some smart people here in C Ward. Nurse Fatbelly (a term of affection, I swear) even threatened me with a pair of surgical sheers. Cleverly, she was across the room and cutting a thread of old man Hoggenstock's drawers, but I saw the gleam in her eye as she glanced my way, and I knew what that gleam meant. I might not be able to speak Swahili the way I should (which is a shortcoming that burdens my soul) but I do know gleams. Eventually, it was the thirty seven glasses of water I drank prior to beginning my new life that convinced me to get out of bed. I'm going to have the think tank work on some kind of reservoir while they work the bugs out of the bed-car. We're going to need that too, I think. Lying in a pool of your own issue makes the whole bed existence remarkably less appealing. I relieved the unwieldy call of my bladder, and was wandering back to C Ward when I was pulled to the floor by two burly interns I have affectionately named Nim and Rod. Now, just because my wandering sojourn took me on a brief excursion into the suspended ceiling over the women's restroom is no reason to be harsh with me. I'm sure lots of folks journey the same route, and there are certainly no 'off-limits' signs or anything. Anyway, they informed me that Dr. Beelzebub (yet another in a long line of homage to the kind and trusting nature of my caretakers) wanted to see me. I asked the interns if a picture would do, because damn if I couldn't draw one, but they said no. Dr. Beelzebub wanted to see me in person. Alas. They tossed me inconsiderately into the good Doctor's waiting room and I availed myself of one of his factory hardened wooden chairs. The sun rose and set. Days turned to weeks. Wars were fought and won, babies turned old and decrepit. It was when Satan began pushing a snowblower around that I decided to pick up a magazine, 'Highlights for Children' which is actually a pretty good political/ global socio-ecological magazine, if you want to know the truth. I learn much from it. For example did you know that if you put all the people in the world in a box, it better be one big box, otherwise the tape on the sides better be real strong, because if it�s not the sides are going to split and THEN you'll have some kind of mess, mister, let me tell you. The Doctor sure knew how to keep a man waiting. "Mr. Alvin." He said, announcing his presence at the door. "Francis," I said. "Francis," He said. "Frank?" I said. "Frank." He said, he seemed to be getting annoyed. "Please don't call me Frank, Doctor B.," I said, walking into his office. "Francis," he continued, "Do you know anything about a missing stapler?" How much the Doctor knew or didn't know, I didn't know. But I did know that if he didn't know I knew, I'd be OK. However, if he knew I knew what I knew about what I knew, then I know we both know how much trouble I'd be in. So I decided to play it very cool. "What the HELL are you talking about, you half-baked Quack!" The Doctor did not seem to appreciate my subtlety, so I altered my response by traveling back in time and replacing myself at this exact moment with another me which took a more aggressive tack. Hopefully the Doctor would not notice my broad sweeping powers over the space-time continuum. If he knew, I'd be favor-boy forever. "Mr. Alvin could you get my wife a present for her birthday yesterday?", puh-leez and no thanks. Anyway, my train of thought was proceeding on it's own so I jumped off at save your ass before the Doctor kills you pass and continued with my conversation. "Stapler, eh? No Doc, I know nothing about any, what do you call, "Stapler"... why do you ask?" I asked. "Well, Mr. Alvin," The doctor continued, brushing my feet off his desk, "It's mainly due to the fact that you have your hair stapled together in clumps." I had forgotten about that. "Oh! Stapler," said I, "I'm sorry, I thought you said ... uh... refrigerator. Come to think of it there WAS a stapler under my mattress this morning but I'll be damned if I know how it got there." I was pleased with my ability to mislead the doctor, but I would have preferred to go back in time and put the stapler back on his desk. However, for a super-power, that time-traveling thing sure does peter out there's physical proof involved. Despite this, the Doctor was well pleased with me. I know this because he offered me an award for my honesty. He summoned the two tow-headed Neanderthal goons that had brought me in and ordered them to take me to electroshock therapy. Oddly, they seemed nearly as cheerful as I was, and for one afternoon, all was right with the world. I was strapped to the cold metal table that is my paradise. A shiver of glee ran through me. A shiver of cold ran through me too, and they raced. The glee shiver won by a nose at my toes, but it was a close finish. I was certainly glad that I had already relieved myself of my urinary burdens, it's always embarrassing when you have to stay after shock-therapy to clean up your own mess. Nim and Rod finished my preparations in no time and we were ready to go. Zap. Puh-LEEZ! I might as well go rub my stocking feet on the floor and chase doorknobs. I could have gotten that from a five cent joy buzzer. It simply wouldn't do. "If you guys are going to make love to each other after this, like you always do, be sure to submit your findings to the evolutionary sciences. It's important we find that missing link before it finds us." That ought to do it. It took them only a few minutes to look up the word evolution in their mental rolodex, and when they did, the voltage was upped. Zap! Better, but damn it, I'm a man of tastes and that just wasn�t going to be enough. I might not have a chance to get in here for weeks, so I decided to make this one for the books. "Weren't you guys just over in the animal research center?" "yeah, so?" they grunted. "Hmm... I knew it. I knew I smelled monkey on your breath." The voltage meter found a setting previously reserved for Detroit, and a button was pushed. Now, I know that I can be demanding and sometimes even downright unpleasable. But let me tell you when that fine silky electricity coursed into my body and the leather straps buried themselves into my wriggling body, I knew joy. You know how sometimes during a thunderstorm, there will be a stroke of lightning so intense that all the hairs on the back of your neck stand and point to it? Let's just say that all the hair in the county pointed to me that day. Some poor unfortunate rodents with low body weight, tragically found themselves flying in my direction. The red splotches on my window the next morning made me sad. When I went to clean them, I noticed a (supposedly the world's smartest creature, certainly smarter than you or I) dolphin trying to cross the street. He was obviously out of his element, and it was all he could do to flip and toss his body through traffic. I don't have the heart to record how this story ends, but let me say this... I simply never get tired of seafood. It does make one wonder, however, as I prepare a home-made tartar sauce, what kind of world this is. Sometimes I think the world is flat. On those days, I'd like to pull it over, whip out the spare, and change the world. But it's never that easy. It's an every man for himself kind of world, and, quite frankly, that is just fine by me. There's no one better to take care of me than me. |
| Francis Alvin |