There
was urine in the air. Jonathon abandoned the cracks in the ceiling, rolling his
head to the left. The plastic covered pillow complained within its starched
cotton case. He could see a swollen yellow sack dangling from the chrome maze enclosing
the next bed. Muffled snoring blended with the smell of urine, iodine, and
medicine into the dissipating light; and the hum from air conditioning vents
seemed to orchestrate the other elements.
Jonathon
Wilder sat up in bed – slowly – to minimize the throbbing. The pains had more
or less settled in like a new tenant during the last few months. Now, just a
part of him. He’d be leaving soon…for where? A Corpsman’s white shirt glowed
from the single bulb in a desk lamp. But the light – the nurse’s station –
seemed enclosed in shadows that coagulated into a thick mass, pressing against
the windows in far corners of the ward. Jonathon threw back his sheet and
dropped his legs into slippers beside the bed. Each foot scratched across the
linoleum – the sound startling the Corpsman from his work. He raised his
glowing bronze face toward it. The face smiled at Jonathon as he emerged from
the shadowy backdrop of beds.
“You
still up?”
“Like
I said, I’m a night person…listen…Linton’s bag is full. If he drains anymore
it’ll explode.”
“I’ll
get it in a minute…I’ve gotta finish these charts.”
The
ventilator hum filled the silence between each comment.
“Thompson,
I can’t sleep…. Can I take a walk?”
“I
don’t know – I’d catch hell if…. He examined the patient in front of him.
“Where would you go?”
“Just
down to the beach – and then back.”
The
hum again. “All right. Put on some civvies. You can’t go like that.”
Jonathan
merged with the darkness as he walked to his bed. He pulled civilian clothes
from shelves in the bedside stand – levi’s, socks, a jersey, sneakers – and
began to dress. Thoughts were constantly being pushed back, deep inside his
head. Jonathan was tired of this place – not just the Naval Hospital in
Pensacola – every place.
On
the way out, Jonathan was stopped by the Corpsman. “Use the main entrance.
Everybody’s down in Emergency this time of night.”
Jonathan
nodded.
“Here,
this might help.” Thompson opened his hand revealing a lighter shade of skin
and a joint. Jonathan took it and nodded again. Five years earlier he would
have smiled, thanked the Corpsman, and meant it. He wanted that again.
Outside,
the gulf air was thick and humid from the day’s rain. Clumps and strands of
moss hung from the low trees like entrails. The night was bright – the moon
almost casting shadows on the asphalt road, still warm as it sloped down to the
Inland Waterway. A three inch tree roach skittered into the moonlight. He
stepped on it…crunch-squish, he thought. The dead roach, mosquitoes, and the
chirping crickets were all that was left on Earth.
Salt
and fish were in the air now, as he left the massy trees behind at the bottom
of the road. He crossed the grass and then the gravel lot – breakers – there,
he could see the sand, and the white foam surging toward him. Walking faster
now, sand spilled into his shoes, deep sand, then smoother, harder, until he
stopped. His feet gurgled inside wet shoes as he lit the joint and inhaled salt
and fish and escape.
The
moon – a full moon – glowed in the darkness over the gulf like Thompson’s
shirt; and clouds gathered around her – angel hair on a Christmas bulb.
Jonathan walked back to the firm dry sand and sat down with his arms on his
knees. He could hear faint laughter – and music – from far down the empty
beach. He smoked…hungrily, and watched a tiny flickering light which seemed to
make the laughter – pulsing with it – where the sand curved off to the sea.
Jonathan
stared at the pulsing flame with the joint held just beneath his nose. The
distant ventilator hum blended with breakers as a rhythmic rushing flow. No
thoughts, here – emptiness. He winced and tossed the hot ash into the sand.
There, where it landed, was a glob of luminous gelatin…a jellyfish.
Looking
up, he saw the moon reflected in the rolling water. The clouds around the moon
were the only ones in the sky.
…and
the stars – like flames on some other distant beach…but the clouds…they seem…they
have shape – moon in the center – a splotch of white above – squarish shapes on
the left and right - like benches…court benches…heads rising above…heads…that’s
a head in the middle…over the moon…a ram?...horns – and the others…grotesque
faces…faces…all the faces measuring us….
He
vomited in the sand, tasting the bile in his nose – but - like it wasn’t from
him…like it wasn’t from him.
Jonathan
ran back to the ward. He washed and rinsed his mouth. He stowed his clothes and
put his gown back on and stretched back on his bed.
And
he went back to the cracks…cracks that needed to be filled and smoothed and
coated with fresh paint.
