But I digress...
While I await literary fame and fortune, I am parking a couple of short stories here that I wrote recently. Like some of my paintings before they leave the studio, they too will undoubtedly be somewhat altered over time.
Here they are... and please do let me know what you think. [email protected]
For your convenience feel free to copy or download these stories into any personal electronic device.
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The Real McCoy
Imagine finding yourself transported to an astonishingly white shimmering plateau more beautiful than anything else that could possibly exist. In the distance are the majestic Pearly Gates glittering amidst slivers of golden light.Between you and the Gates is an enormous gathering of magnificent winged angels that stretches far and wide throughout this dazzling plateau. At the farthest reaches of this angelic gathering are towering bleachers populated by rows and rows of wingless observers who are clothed in many shades of off-white and pale grey tunics.
Powerful booster speakers kick in with a piercing electronic squeal that spikes briefly as a clear voice is heard to resonate:
“Sam, this is the final step. Explain to the assembly why you should be permitted to pass through the Gates.”
This simple directive is intoned by a speaker who bears a striking resemblance to the British actor, Peter O’Toole. His refined voice sounding very much like the character he played in the film “Lawrence of Arabia”.
This was one of many curious scenarios that would occasionally flit through Sam’s mind while waiting in line at the hospital’s coffee bar.
In his defense, what could Sam say? What would be his compelling opening statement? What evidence could he possibly present to the guardians of the Big Gate that would allow him to enter heaven…into paradise?
For this heavenly scene, Sam tried to envision the opening slide of a PowerPoint presentation with shimmering golden bullet-points gradually emerging from a soft white background. He pictured individual letters slowly drifting to the surface forming words against a pale cerulean blue background. The success of his argument would hinge on these first few words. It would be a challenge but Sam knew he would definitely open with…
“NEXT!” called the lady at the coffee bar, interrupting his chain of thought. He moved forward.
Sam had started going to the cancer hospital a few months ago. He just wanted to get a cup of coffee while waiting for an appointment. His appointment, however, was not actually at the cancer hospital. It was next door at the General hospital. He found it was easier to buy coffee at this hospital than to buy it next door at the General. It was simply a question of convenience, bypassing large crowds.
This was a clever move since he could skip having to stand in the never ending lineup of the General’s basement cafeteria. It also saved Sam from a lot of extra walking and interminable waiting for an elevator that always seemed to be going in the wrong direction.
In this new strategy, all Sam now had to do was to get off the bus, enter through the front entrance of the cancer hospital, turn left where the coffee stand is, get his coffee, then walk through the winding ground floor to the rear exit onto the street, turn left again and “boom” - enter the rear entrance of the adjacent General hospital. Brilliant! One smooth move. Didn’t know why he hadn’t thought to do this a year ago when he first began going to the General?
When he first entered the cancer hospital, Sam felt uncomfortable and maybe even a bit guilty about using that hospital as a shortcut for a cup of coffee. At the beginning, he would enter through the hospital’s front door; purchase his coffee; leave the same way he entered and then walk next door to the main entrance of the General. He really had no business using the cancer hospital like this. Was he being disrespectful? …cheating? It’s not like he was getting free coffee. Such a trivial thing yet it bothered him.
After the first couple of times when he bought coffee, he tried walking down the hallway searching for the rear exit. He moved awkwardly - tentatively - looking downward, barely seeing his surroundings. Sometimes he tried to look nonchalant - like he visited there all the time. But Sam was inwardly nervous. He worried that he might get carded by security.
“Hey you! Stop! Let’s see your health card!” The security guard would then scan it with an electronic reader strapped to his snug fitting armoured vest.
What craziness! He was just taking a short cut through a public place for a cup of coffee…as if anyone would notice or care. On the other hand, prior to appointments, patients were often challenged these days by admin staff wearing white masks…the kind that covers nose and mouth. They would be asked whether or not they or family members had returned from an overseas country where a variety of terrible diseases were raging. Certainly this had happened to Sam a number of times next door at the General. Of course security staff did not perform this duty. It happened only at the appointment desk or nursing station. But still…he didn’t know the workings of the cancer hospital.
The long narrow hallway meandered a little, but Sam easily found the rear exit. It was actually a no-brainer. The ground floor is not very large. Even though the hospital is quite big on the outside, he was surprised to see how small and confined it seemed on the inside. He passed glass enclosed clinics jammed with waiting patients; a couple of huge racks and tables overflowing with brochures set up in a corner alcove. He didn’t stop to look at these. He didn’t need to see what they were about – he could guess.
He passed a much more elaborate coffee and lunch café with tables and chairs spilling out into a bright open space where he could see a street beyond. As Sam turned to go back to where he had entered, he caught a glimpse of a brown wooden door with a small sign. It was the chapel. The door was closed. Even though there was a welcoming notice beside the door, he could almost sense the misery and pleading that must happen inside. After all, why stop at a chapel for divine guidance if everything is hunky dory?
He soon discovered that the exit to the street at the rear of the hospital was actually a busy major entrance with a semi-circular ramp for cars to drop off and pick up people as well as Wheel-Trans that quietly came and went. Sam stood for a while looking out at the activity going on outside. He didn’t use this exit the first time when he located it. Outside the doorway he had witnessed what looked like a family helping someone out of a car. It looked so painful – faces filled with anguish. So slow moving. He decided to walk back to where he purchased his coffee at the front entrance and exit the way he had entered.
In the days ahead, Sam remained self-conscious as he walked through the hospital and eventually began exiting through the rear entrance. As he moved along the hallway with his coffee, it sometimes seemed as if people were watching him. Maybe they were simply gazing at him without seeing. After all, he was just another person walking along the corridor. Nevertheless, he still felt he was an intruder.
Sam tried to not look directly at the people sitting along the hallway adjacent to waiting areas. At first he tried averting his eyes – pretending not to see. He was afraid he might see something dreadful…a face without a nose…a grotesque facial growth. Worst of all, he might see bald heads of little kids. He remembered vividly the TV fundraising ads with small children laughing …and their bald heads – beautiful, innocent faces… with bald heads! It’s an image that Sam couldn’t get out of his mind for some time. He finally sent $25 to whatever the institution was that created the ad just to ensure good karma and erase the images from his mind. Now he’s on their mailing list and feels compelled to donate every year.
Sam began to notice that the people sitting along the hallway seemed weary, washed out, looking exhausted. Some chatted quietly. Others were looking at newspapers and magazines. Some were visibly agitated – checking the time repeatedly. So many old people…in fact most of them seemed elderly! He had the eerie feeling some of these people were reaching out…their hands grasping… “Help me!” they pleaded…as if he was in a really bad horror movie. Sam was spooked. He caught himself and bit down on his lip to end this irrational train of thought.
Were these people waiting for news from a doctor? Were they patients or visitors waiting to see loved ones? Maybe they were just old folks looking to sit down and rest for a while. There are hardly any benches on the streets where people can pause and catch their breath. You can’t even sit while waiting for a bus or a taxi. Even public washrooms are difficult to find. Sam knew first hand that there are two basic things older people keep an eye out for: a place to sit and a washroom.
Familiar donut shop signs seem to boast “Restrooms for the use of customers only”. They lock the doors of bathrooms and you have to ask for a key or a code. It’s as if to say “Unless you’re doing business here, keep moving!” Yet many coffee shops are chocked full of people sitting for hours with open laptops…taking up an entire table… even lounging on a couch. Sam really felt this was wrong in so many ways. Sometimes he had the impulse to retaliate with the ridiculous fantasy of adapting the classic prank of ringing a door bell and leaving a burning bag of dog poop on the front step. He even had taken this idea further by trying to figure out how to enlist a guerrilla group made up of elderly people to cooperate in ending this locked bathroom thing. Such foolishness! Once again Sam had to nip at his lip to end this chain of thinking.
Hospitals, on the other hand have lots of sitting space, bathrooms and even entertainment. A small sign near the back entrance to the cancer hospital announced Noon Hour Concert this Tuesday. “So civilized.” Sam thought. Apparently performances are held in the hospital’s brightly lit foyer. Sam guessed his timing was off – he never did see a concert although he did notice a baby grand piano all set up in the corner!
In his frequent walks through the hospital, Sam sometimes sat down – his back sore – needing to relieve the pressure, and rested with his back to the wall, facing the hallway just like everyone else … quietly sipping coffee. If possible, he tried to sit slightly apart from the others. Not so distant as to draw attention to himself but not so close as to appear intrusive. He still felt uneasy about being there illegally.
Sam is a people magnet and he knows it. Kooks inevitably gravitate towards him. If there is a needy person in a crowd, they make a bee line towards him. Here at the cancer hospital, he took pains to minimize this effect by sitting next to a table, blocking one side and crossing his legs in such a way as to partly overlap the seat on his other side. A smart soldier protects his flanks!
Inevitably, someone attempts to sit near him – even scooting a chair over as if to get closer to him. Occasionally he speaks with them if they say something that requires him to respond. Otherwise, he doesn’t engage anyone but at the same time is careful not to appear rude. Usually he finds it’s someone taking a break from visiting or they are waiting for someone they had brought in for treatment. They look at him in that certain way as if to ask “So what brings you here?” Sam would lie a little by saying “just visiting a friend”. Once a lady called him on this by asking what was wrong with his friend. Sam almost choked on his coffee but recovered by gravely shaking his head and putting on a sad face. He changed the subject by pausing and segueing to the weather … mentioning how miserable outside it seemed that day.
The weather is the ultimate game changer…easily inviting comment and beginning a whole new thread. After a while he excused himself, murmuring that it was time for him to go. He wished her well with the universal “Have a nice day!” stood up; disposed of his almost empty cup and went next door to his appointment. As he departed through the hospital’s back entrance, he wondered what he would say if someone recognized him while leaving the cancer hospital.
In answer to the unasked question, Sam might respond, “No, I don’t have cancer!” barely suppressing his annoyance of having been mistakenly identified as a cancer patient.
He understood why he felt the way he did about the possibility of being caught leaving the cancer hospital or for that matter even being seen entering it.
To understand his view of cancer, you need to go back to over 70 years ago to a time when the word cancer was never said aloud. It was one of those mysterious and foreboding words you hardly ever heard spoken. If it was referred to at all, you might hear the “real McCoy”… never “CANCER”, not the actual word.
“Christ, I hear she’s got the real McCoy! What a shame…hadn’t even turned 60 yet!” someone might furtively whisper to another. The assumption being that she was already dead. The Real McCoy will get you every time. When it shows up, you’re a goner!
When he was a kid, one of Sam’s favourite uncles had it. No one ever saw him leave his flat. Some of the kids used to whisper that they heard there was a hole in his back and you could even see his lungs moving inside his body. Sadly, he died quickly and his illness was never referred to again.
With this attitude, it was no wonder Sam moved briskly while exiting the rear entrance of the hospital, striving not to be noticed; making himself as invisible as possible – only slowing down and finally relaxing once he entered his familiar and welcoming General. “Safe at last!” Sam thought as if he had successfully pulled off another caper. Like stealing home plate.
This went on for sometime...week after week.
Things changed when test results from a biopsy came back from the lab. He was given an appointment to see a doctor on the second floor of the cancer hospital. “God help me!” Sam panicked, ”I’m finished!”
“This is the Real McCoy!” he silently cried out. The doctor was speaking but Sam didn’t hear a single word he said while holding the report on a single sheet of paper in front of him …“Cancerous cells were observed…”. Sam felt the edges of the room blur a little. The air in the small office wavered like a bowl of jelly as he fought to comprehend what the doctor was saying. Sound seemed to be suspended then burst outwards with a roar.
He heard the physician saying that this was the very best possible cancer to get. Sam actually felt like laughing. The best possible cancer? “Why not just drill a hole through my brain and get it over with?” Sam bitterly thought. “I’m done!”
For the first time in his adult life, Sam realized he knew nothing of what lay ahead. Now everything was moving too quickly. He couldn’t see where he was going. He felt desperately alone. He also felt so very old…so…so vulnerable…so exhausted. He tried biting his lip…then his tongue…to no avail. Dark thoughts continued to cascade and threaten to drown him.
He found himself at the front door of the hospital. He made an abrupt about turn and re-entered, and then as if in slow motion, walked down the corridor to an alcove where he picked up every brochure on the subject.
In the next few hours, he examined what cancer meant to him…to his existence…his past…his future. As he furiously skimmed through the brochures, Sam recalled the sunburns he sometimes got during the summer when he was a kid. By nightfall, his shoulders would be fiery red. It would really hurt. Those were the carefree sunny days when he and his buddies played ball outside with no shirts …no hats. It was a time before sun screen had even been invented.
Years later when Sam was in the army, he recalled that he and his comrades at arms never complained of sunburn. You could be charged with the offence of causing a self-inflicted wound.
In a scene from “Lawrence of Arabia”, the young army officer, Lieutenant Lawrence, has just extinguished a burning matchstick with his bare fingers. William Potter, an English soldier, watches him do this and tries to imitate him. He winds up burning his fingers… “Ooh! It damn well 'urts!”. When Potter asks Lawrence what’s the trick, Lawrence replies “The trick, William Potter, is to not mind the pain.”
Sam remembered the cooling baby oil and witch hazel his mother would gently dab on his shoulders, his back, his forehead… while gently admonishing him with “You should be more careful, Sammy. Don’t play outside the whole day. Stay inside for a few days and read your comics. You’ll be fine.”
He also remembered the inevitable unsightly patches of skin peeling off his shoulders and forehead as his skin healed. He specifically remembered scaring the bejesus out of his sister with a thin onion skin swatch of freshly peeled skin that he dangled in front of her face. “Whoo – I’m dissolving…falling apart…help me…Arghh!”, he moaned in a spooky voice. She ran away from him screaming a long drawn out, “Ma…”
Sam was inundated with fragments of disparate memories. They were like frames from a comic book – individual scenes with no intact story line. “Why is all of this happening…so many years later?” he wondered. “Is this how it goes…the new normal?”
“Damn it! It’s true.” he thought. You might forget what you had for breakfast that day…or whether or not you took your meds in the morning…but you could vividly remember scaring the hell out of someone 70 years ago.
He recalled what the doctor had said to him just before he left. “We’ll keep a close eye on you – You’ll be fine – We’ll see you again in a couple of months for follow up.” Sam latched onto those comforting words “you’ll be fine”.
“So this is my hospital now!” Sam mused. “The birds have come home to roost.”.
“What the hell”, he muttered to himself. At least he could now finally buy a cup of coffee and not feel like he was cheating.
Time passed and the late afternoon shadows reached further across the pavement in front of both hospitals… they seemed to crowd one another.
When he arrived for his fourth treatment the day after Thanksgiving, Sam once again took up his familiar spot in the corridor and sipped his coffee. By now he pretty well had the routine down.
Sam still sometimes reached for his hair brush after toweling off in the morning. Friends had been kidding him about his bald head…”Let’s face it Sam, you were almost there anyways.” He actually didn’t mind this new look. For some reason he felt strangely at peace.
Sam tried to remember if there would be a musical performance that day. He started to crane his neck around to see if there was a sign up. Instead he turned to one of his neighbours and asked if they remembered what the schedule had said. Someone sitting near him always seemed to know when there would be music.
He also thought about maybe sliding over to the chapel and rehearsing his speech to the assembly at the Golden Gates in case he was called upon.
Sam had just stood up to make his way along the corridor to the chapel when he saw a vaguely familiar face sitting by himself sipping a cup of coffee. Sam wondered if this fellow had simply found a smart way to get a cup of coffee or…?
By now, Sam no longer fixated on his fear of cancer. He felt he was in good hands…”I’ll be fine.”
He changed his mind about the chapel and decided to sit down and chat.
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If you enjoyed that story...here's another one!
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Something Just Beyond the Trees
The boys were gathered along the tree line separating the playground from a low rise housing complex. It was Sam who made the discovery. Two boys immediately followed him. Soon after, some little kids joined them.
From a distance, it looked as though they might have been searching for a lost ball. However, the orange ball they had been kicking back and forth was sitting on a grassy slope in the clear – easily visible. They had travelled a little past the ball and seemed to be gazing through an opening in the trees towards one of the nearby buildings.
Occasionally one of them gently pressed forward as if to better see or hear something. A wire mesh fence separated the playground from the building complex.
Ben, Sam’s grandfather, was watching from a bench where he had comfortably perched himself. It seemed to him that if these boys had been a couple of years older he might have guessed that they had caught sight of a woman undressing in front of a window and they were standing there watching…totally spellbound. This should normally have been followed by much giggling. In this case, they were silent as if participating in a kind of vigil…mesmerized by something they could only half see and not quite fully comprehend.
Alternatively, Ben wondered if they had stumbled across a dead animal. But none of the boys was using a stick to poke it – that being the international children’s response to finding something unusual lying on the ground.
Ben vividly remembered being about their age when he was in either grade 2 or 3 of a downtown school. He and a group of his pals trapped a rat in the corner of the school yard. Within minutes everyone had found a poking stick. Somehow, he recalled, the rat was able to escape from this intrepid pack of hunters!
By now, a small knot of at least a dozen boys had gathered together in that one spot. They stood silently, crowded tightly together in what looked like a choir with two or three rows. The smallest kids were in the front, closest to the fence. Everyone was staring straight ahead.
They continued to stand stock still which is unnatural for a group of boys in a play ground. Ben could plainly see them in the distance. He was puzzled by this odd tableau. It was like watching YouTube when the computer screen suddenly becomes frozen – no motion – no sound.
Except for a few little girls giggling around the distant swings, the play ground had grown still.
Where the boys were standing, the only sound they heard at first were the leaves rustling in the breeze…and then something else the boys couldn’t quite make out.
It was eerie to see so many boys herded together all looking towards the same thing…unmoving.
They were so quiet – compared to just short moments earlier when everyone was shouting and screaming with urgency for their turn to kick the ball or run with it until someone caught up and grabbed it.
A sprinkling of parents kept a loose eye on them and the other eye on whatever they were doing with their handhelds.
It was a glorious late summer afternoon. The morning had begun with some ground fog and a possibile threat of rain. By mid-afternoon the sun was out in full force framed by a bright blue sky, only occasionally hidden for a moment or two by large puffy white clouds.
The afternoon was well advanced and moms had begun calling to their children to start thinking about leaving the park and going home. Some of the clouds drifting by were becoming a bit darker at their centre. Long shadows moved rapidly across the ground before evaporating.
Still it was a beautiful late afternoon and the boys appeared reluctant to leave.
The girls, playing separately from the boys, had pretty much stopped swinging and were generally heeding their mothers’ call.
Even with repeated calls, the boys seemed to not hear the call for them to quit and start home.
Ben’s interest was first piqued earlier when the noisy din of children playing had gradually begun to wind down.
One of the moms impatiently moved forward to better get her son’s attention. She approached the fence where they were all clustered, calling for her son to mind her. As if on cue, the vigil abruptly ended and the boys turned back towards the play ground.
The spell had broken like a soap bubble collapsing.
Ben could hear one of the moms asking her son what he was looking at by the fence. Not surprisingly, his reply was a simple “nothin’” as he and the other boys burst into excited laughter and raced ahead along the pathway out of the park.
Ben had been keeping watch over his grandson Sam.
Sam was a cute freshly minted seven year old who had much to say and question.
Since Ben only saw Sam for a few short hours every couple of weeks, he really relished his time with him. He probably appreciated contact with his grandson even more than he had with his own kids fifty years earlier.
In those early days, Ben struggled like most young dads who worked hard at trying to balance a career, being a good husband and father, providing for his family and being a responsible citizen.
As a grandfather, most of the stress that had accompanied him in earlier years was now long gone. He could readily enjoy playing with his grandson and was able to totally focus on him and him alone when they were together.
He enjoyed observing his grandson’s behavior. For example, he noticed the way Sam played well with the other kids. Sometimes though, when Sam felt the competition was a little too tough in the play ground, he would sit beside his grandfather and chat...or share a fart joke and laugh insanely like most seven year old boys.
At other times, he threw himself into the mix and went at it hard…with all of his might…rapidly becoming soaked in sweat…not even caring if he had a bloody nose.
With boys his own size or a bit smaller, he would frequently surface as the leader – determining the rules of a game which seemed to be in a perpetual state of change. Some of these games had rules so complex Ben wondered what they would look like as an algebraic expression…with several unknowns including a variable time line. Despite their complexity the games seemed to work fine.
Sam could also be remarkably kind when quietly cautioning the smaller kids to be careful as they climbed high up on top of the monkey bars or when they got in his way or that of the bigger kids.
He seemed to know how fragile little kids can be. Ben was amazed when Sam once invited a shy kid to join in on the fun. Somehow Sam had acquired a dollop of grace – most likely inherited from his mother.
A small platform joining an array of ladders and slides topped the monkey bar pipe setup. It seemed to act as a staging ground for a game involving the orange ball. The aim of this newly invented game seemed to be who could first grab hold of the ball and shoot it down a spiral slide. The boys were fascinated by the way it quickly descended in a tight spiral, momentarily spinning out of sight as it curved one way, then the other – finally shooting out from the bottom. Some of the kids would slide down an adjacent straight slide then race around to the bottom of the spiral slide with hopes of grabbing the ball first as it rolled along the ground.
Some of the smaller boys forgot how high up they were and would recklessly lunge for the ball. The parents became anxious when one of the smaller kids copied an older boy as he plunged head-first down the slide, tumbling onto the ground. The little boy went head over heels and landed on his back.
He lay still for a breathtaking moment… and then leaped to his feet laughing riotously.
With this, one of the mothers who had been chatting with another became alarmed and jumped up – moving swiftly to the monkey bars and slides shouting to her son to be careful or he would be going home. That’s when Sam singled out a pair of little guys and cautioned them that they could hurt themselves if they fell.
Shortly after that, perhaps feeling a bit chastised by an adult and under too much scrutiny, most of them eventually climbed down from the monkey bars and slides. They took off for the large grassy field of the play ground some distance away.
Watching this from his bench, Ben chuckled at how kids seem to know how to instinctively disappear from a parent’s direct line of sight without creating a lot of fuss.
Now the boys tried a new game of seeing who could kick the orange ball the farthest. The parents visibly relaxed as did their vigilance and they resumed whatever they had been doing.
It was near the fence when Sam racing ahead for the ball, hesitated... slowly coming to a halt. Something unusual had caught his eye. He trotted past the ball and stared at it through the trees. By now a couple of the other bigger boys caught up to him to see what he was looking at.
The smaller boys seized this opportunity to grab the ball and with whoops of victory ran off with it. When they realized they were on their own, they slowed and looked back somewhat disappointed and puzzled. The bigger kids weren’t pursuing them. They must have wondered what the others were looking at because they ran over to see what they were missing. One of the small boys was clutching the orange ball. Pressing forward to the front, he leaned against a small tree close by the fence, blinking.
At first he couldn’t see anything except for the building on the other side of the fence. He didn’t know what to look for or where to look. Sam reached down and gently turned him ever so slightly. The boy then saw what looked like a light.
He too stood enthralled.
The orange ball slowly fell from his hands, rolling slightly forward until it came to a stop at the bottom of the wire fence…forgotten.
The light seemed to glow brighter. The smaller boys nearest the fence were the first to feel its tingly warmth.
As one of the moms approached fairly close to where the boys were standing, the strange light abruptly vanished.
The boys exploded into action and ran off. One of the younger boys hesitated for a second, glanced back over his shoulder towards the trees, and then ran off with the others.
The boys had received the message.
Sam ran excitedly to where his grandfather was sitting.
He had a lot to talk about.
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Imagine finding yourself transported to an astonishingly white shimmering plateau more beautiful than anything else that could possibly exist. In the distance are the majestic Pearly Gates glittering amidst slivers of golden light.Between you and the Gates is an enormous gathering of magnificent winged angels that stretches far and wide throughout this dazzling plateau. At the farthest reaches of this angelic gathering are towering bleachers populated by rows and rows of wingless observers who are clothed in many shades of off-white and pale grey tunics.
Powerful booster speakers kick in with a piercing electronic squeal that spikes briefly as a clear voice is heard to resonate:
“Sam, this is the final step. Explain to the assembly why you should be permitted to pass through the Gates.”
This simple directive is intoned by a speaker who bears a striking resemblance to the British actor, Peter O’Toole. His refined voice sounding very much like the character he played in the film “Lawrence of Arabia”.
This was one of many curious scenarios that would occasionally flit through Sam’s mind while waiting in line at the hospital’s coffee bar.
In his defense, what could Sam say? What would be his compelling opening statement? What evidence could he possibly present to the guardians of the Big Gate that would allow him to enter heaven…into paradise?
For this heavenly scene, Sam tried to envision the opening slide of a PowerPoint presentation with shimmering golden bullet-points gradually emerging from a soft white background. He pictured individual letters slowly drifting to the surface forming words against a pale cerulean blue background. The success of his argument would hinge on these first few words. It would be a challenge but Sam knew he would definitely open with…
“NEXT!” called the lady at the coffee bar, interrupting his chain of thought. He moved forward.
Sam had started going to the cancer hospital a few months ago. He just wanted to get a cup of coffee while waiting for an appointment. His appointment, however, was not actually at the cancer hospital. It was next door at the General hospital. He found it was easier to buy coffee at this hospital than to buy it next door at the General. It was simply a question of convenience, bypassing large crowds.
This was a clever move since he could skip having to stand in the never ending lineup of the General’s basement cafeteria. It also saved Sam from a lot of extra walking and interminable waiting for an elevator that always seemed to be going in the wrong direction.
In this new strategy, all Sam now had to do was to get off the bus, enter through the front entrance of the cancer hospital, turn left where the coffee stand is, get his coffee, then walk through the winding ground floor to the rear exit onto the street, turn left again and “boom” - enter the rear entrance of the adjacent General hospital. Brilliant! One smooth move. Didn’t know why he hadn’t thought to do this a year ago when he first began going to the General?
When he first entered the cancer hospital, Sam felt uncomfortable and maybe even a bit guilty about using that hospital as a shortcut for a cup of coffee. At the beginning, he would enter through the hospital’s front door; purchase his coffee; leave the same way he entered and then walk next door to the main entrance of the General. He really had no business using the cancer hospital like this. Was he being disrespectful? …cheating? It’s not like he was getting free coffee. Such a trivial thing yet it bothered him.
After the first couple of times when he bought coffee, he tried walking down the hallway searching for the rear exit. He moved awkwardly - tentatively - looking downward, barely seeing his surroundings. Sometimes he tried to look nonchalant - like he visited there all the time. But Sam was inwardly nervous. He worried that he might get carded by security.
“Hey you! Stop! Let’s see your health card!” The security guard would then scan it with an electronic reader strapped to his snug fitting armoured vest.
What craziness! He was just taking a short cut through a public place for a cup of coffee…as if anyone would notice or care. On the other hand, prior to appointments, patients were often challenged these days by admin staff wearing white masks…the kind that covers nose and mouth. They would be asked whether or not they or family members had returned from an overseas country where a variety of terrible diseases were raging. Certainly this had happened to Sam a number of times next door at the General. Of course security staff did not perform this duty. It happened only at the appointment desk or nursing station. But still…he didn’t know the workings of the cancer hospital.
The long narrow hallway meandered a little, but Sam easily found the rear exit. It was actually a no-brainer. The ground floor is not very large. Even though the hospital is quite big on the outside, he was surprised to see how small and confined it seemed on the inside. He passed glass enclosed clinics jammed with waiting patients; a couple of huge racks and tables overflowing with brochures set up in a corner alcove. He didn’t stop to look at these. He didn’t need to see what they were about – he could guess.
He passed a much more elaborate coffee and lunch café with tables and chairs spilling out into a bright open space where he could see a street beyond. As Sam turned to go back to where he had entered, he caught a glimpse of a brown wooden door with a small sign. It was the chapel. The door was closed. Even though there was a welcoming notice beside the door, he could almost sense the misery and pleading that must happen inside. After all, why stop at a chapel for divine guidance if everything is hunky dory?
He soon discovered that the exit to the street at the rear of the hospital was actually a busy major entrance with a semi-circular ramp for cars to drop off and pick up people as well as Wheel-Trans that quietly came and went. Sam stood for a while looking out at the activity going on outside. He didn’t use this exit the first time when he located it. Outside the doorway he had witnessed what looked like a family helping someone out of a car. It looked so painful – faces filled with anguish. So slow moving. He decided to walk back to where he purchased his coffee at the front entrance and exit the way he had entered.
In the days ahead, Sam remained self-conscious as he walked through the hospital and eventually began exiting through the rear entrance. As he moved along the hallway with his coffee, it sometimes seemed as if people were watching him. Maybe they were simply gazing at him without seeing. After all, he was just another person walking along the corridor. Nevertheless, he still felt he was an intruder.
Sam tried to not look directly at the people sitting along the hallway adjacent to waiting areas. At first he tried averting his eyes – pretending not to see. He was afraid he might see something dreadful…a face without a nose…a grotesque facial growth. Worst of all, he might see bald heads of little kids. He remembered vividly the TV fundraising ads with small children laughing …and their bald heads – beautiful, innocent faces… with bald heads! It’s an image that Sam couldn’t get out of his mind for some time. He finally sent $25 to whatever the institution was that created the ad just to ensure good karma and erase the images from his mind. Now he’s on their mailing list and feels compelled to donate every year.
Sam began to notice that the people sitting along the hallway seemed weary, washed out, looking exhausted. Some chatted quietly. Others were looking at newspapers and magazines. Some were visibly agitated – checking the time repeatedly. So many old people…in fact most of them seemed elderly! He had the eerie feeling some of these people were reaching out…their hands grasping… “Help me!” they pleaded…as if he was in a really bad horror movie. Sam was spooked. He caught himself and bit down on his lip to end this irrational train of thought.
Were these people waiting for news from a doctor? Were they patients or visitors waiting to see loved ones? Maybe they were just old folks looking to sit down and rest for a while. There are hardly any benches on the streets where people can pause and catch their breath. You can’t even sit while waiting for a bus or a taxi. Even public washrooms are difficult to find. Sam knew first hand that there are two basic things older people keep an eye out for: a place to sit and a washroom.
Familiar donut shop signs seem to boast “Restrooms for the use of customers only”. They lock the doors of bathrooms and you have to ask for a key or a code. It’s as if to say “Unless you’re doing business here, keep moving!” Yet many coffee shops are chocked full of people sitting for hours with open laptops…taking up an entire table… even lounging on a couch. Sam really felt this was wrong in so many ways. Sometimes he had the impulse to retaliate with the ridiculous fantasy of adapting the classic prank of ringing a door bell and leaving a burning bag of dog poop on the front step. He even had taken this idea further by trying to figure out how to enlist a guerrilla group made up of elderly people to cooperate in ending this locked bathroom thing. Such foolishness! Once again Sam had to nip at his lip to end this chain of thinking.
Hospitals, on the other hand have lots of sitting space, bathrooms and even entertainment. A small sign near the back entrance to the cancer hospital announced Noon Hour Concert this Tuesday. “So civilized.” Sam thought. Apparently performances are held in the hospital’s brightly lit foyer. Sam guessed his timing was off – he never did see a concert although he did notice a baby grand piano all set up in the corner!
In his frequent walks through the hospital, Sam sometimes sat down – his back sore – needing to relieve the pressure, and rested with his back to the wall, facing the hallway just like everyone else … quietly sipping coffee. If possible, he tried to sit slightly apart from the others. Not so distant as to draw attention to himself but not so close as to appear intrusive. He still felt uneasy about being there illegally.
Sam is a people magnet and he knows it. Kooks inevitably gravitate towards him. If there is a needy person in a crowd, they make a bee line towards him. Here at the cancer hospital, he took pains to minimize this effect by sitting next to a table, blocking one side and crossing his legs in such a way as to partly overlap the seat on his other side. A smart soldier protects his flanks!
Inevitably, someone attempts to sit near him – even scooting a chair over as if to get closer to him. Occasionally he speaks with them if they say something that requires him to respond. Otherwise, he doesn’t engage anyone but at the same time is careful not to appear rude. Usually he finds it’s someone taking a break from visiting or they are waiting for someone they had brought in for treatment. They look at him in that certain way as if to ask “So what brings you here?” Sam would lie a little by saying “just visiting a friend”. Once a lady called him on this by asking what was wrong with his friend. Sam almost choked on his coffee but recovered by gravely shaking his head and putting on a sad face. He changed the subject by pausing and segueing to the weather … mentioning how miserable outside it seemed that day.
The weather is the ultimate game changer…easily inviting comment and beginning a whole new thread. After a while he excused himself, murmuring that it was time for him to go. He wished her well with the universal “Have a nice day!” stood up; disposed of his almost empty cup and went next door to his appointment. As he departed through the hospital’s back entrance, he wondered what he would say if someone recognized him while leaving the cancer hospital.
In answer to the unasked question, Sam might respond, “No, I don’t have cancer!” barely suppressing his annoyance of having been mistakenly identified as a cancer patient.
He understood why he felt the way he did about the possibility of being caught leaving the cancer hospital or for that matter even being seen entering it.
To understand his view of cancer, you need to go back to over 70 years ago to a time when the word cancer was never said aloud. It was one of those mysterious and foreboding words you hardly ever heard spoken. If it was referred to at all, you might hear the “real McCoy”… never “CANCER”, not the actual word.
“Christ, I hear she’s got the real McCoy! What a shame…hadn’t even turned 60 yet!” someone might furtively whisper to another. The assumption being that she was already dead. The Real McCoy will get you every time. When it shows up, you’re a goner!
When he was a kid, one of Sam’s favourite uncles had it. No one ever saw him leave his flat. Some of the kids used to whisper that they heard there was a hole in his back and you could even see his lungs moving inside his body. Sadly, he died quickly and his illness was never referred to again.
With this attitude, it was no wonder Sam moved briskly while exiting the rear entrance of the hospital, striving not to be noticed; making himself as invisible as possible – only slowing down and finally relaxing once he entered his familiar and welcoming General. “Safe at last!” Sam thought as if he had successfully pulled off another caper. Like stealing home plate.
This went on for sometime...week after week.
Things changed when test results from a biopsy came back from the lab. He was given an appointment to see a doctor on the second floor of the cancer hospital. “God help me!” Sam panicked, ”I’m finished!”
“This is the Real McCoy!” he silently cried out. The doctor was speaking but Sam didn’t hear a single word he said while holding the report on a single sheet of paper in front of him …“Cancerous cells were observed…”. Sam felt the edges of the room blur a little. The air in the small office wavered like a bowl of jelly as he fought to comprehend what the doctor was saying. Sound seemed to be suspended then burst outwards with a roar.
He heard the physician saying that this was the very best possible cancer to get. Sam actually felt like laughing. The best possible cancer? “Why not just drill a hole through my brain and get it over with?” Sam bitterly thought. “I’m done!”
For the first time in his adult life, Sam realized he knew nothing of what lay ahead. Now everything was moving too quickly. He couldn’t see where he was going. He felt desperately alone. He also felt so very old…so…so vulnerable…so exhausted. He tried biting his lip…then his tongue…to no avail. Dark thoughts continued to cascade and threaten to drown him.
He found himself at the front door of the hospital. He made an abrupt about turn and re-entered, and then as if in slow motion, walked down the corridor to an alcove where he picked up every brochure on the subject.
In the next few hours, he examined what cancer meant to him…to his existence…his past…his future. As he furiously skimmed through the brochures, Sam recalled the sunburns he sometimes got during the summer when he was a kid. By nightfall, his shoulders would be fiery red. It would really hurt. Those were the carefree sunny days when he and his buddies played ball outside with no shirts …no hats. It was a time before sun screen had even been invented.
Years later when Sam was in the army, he recalled that he and his comrades at arms never complained of sunburn. You could be charged with the offence of causing a self-inflicted wound.
In a scene from “Lawrence of Arabia”, the young army officer, Lieutenant Lawrence, has just extinguished a burning matchstick with his bare fingers. William Potter, an English soldier, watches him do this and tries to imitate him. He winds up burning his fingers… “Ooh! It damn well 'urts!”. When Potter asks Lawrence what’s the trick, Lawrence replies “The trick, William Potter, is to not mind the pain.”
Sam remembered the cooling baby oil and witch hazel his mother would gently dab on his shoulders, his back, his forehead… while gently admonishing him with “You should be more careful, Sammy. Don’t play outside the whole day. Stay inside for a few days and read your comics. You’ll be fine.”
He also remembered the inevitable unsightly patches of skin peeling off his shoulders and forehead as his skin healed. He specifically remembered scaring the bejesus out of his sister with a thin onion skin swatch of freshly peeled skin that he dangled in front of her face. “Whoo – I’m dissolving…falling apart…help me…Arghh!”, he moaned in a spooky voice. She ran away from him screaming a long drawn out, “Ma…”
Sam was inundated with fragments of disparate memories. They were like frames from a comic book – individual scenes with no intact story line. “Why is all of this happening…so many years later?” he wondered. “Is this how it goes…the new normal?”
“Damn it! It’s true.” he thought. You might forget what you had for breakfast that day…or whether or not you took your meds in the morning…but you could vividly remember scaring the hell out of someone 70 years ago.
He recalled what the doctor had said to him just before he left. “We’ll keep a close eye on you – You’ll be fine – We’ll see you again in a couple of months for follow up.” Sam latched onto those comforting words “you’ll be fine”.
“So this is my hospital now!” Sam mused. “The birds have come home to roost.”.
“What the hell”, he muttered to himself. At least he could now finally buy a cup of coffee and not feel like he was cheating.
Time passed and the late afternoon shadows reached further across the pavement in front of both hospitals… they seemed to crowd one another.
When he arrived for his fourth treatment the day after Thanksgiving, Sam once again took up his familiar spot in the corridor and sipped his coffee. By now he pretty well had the routine down.
Sam still sometimes reached for his hair brush after toweling off in the morning. Friends had been kidding him about his bald head…”Let’s face it Sam, you were almost there anyways.” He actually didn’t mind this new look. For some reason he felt strangely at peace.
Sam tried to remember if there would be a musical performance that day. He started to crane his neck around to see if there was a sign up. Instead he turned to one of his neighbours and asked if they remembered what the schedule had said. Someone sitting near him always seemed to know when there would be music.
He also thought about maybe sliding over to the chapel and rehearsing his speech to the assembly at the Golden Gates in case he was called upon.
Sam had just stood up to make his way along the corridor to the chapel when he saw a vaguely familiar face sitting by himself sipping a cup of coffee. Sam wondered if this fellow had simply found a smart way to get a cup of coffee or…?
By now, Sam no longer fixated on his fear of cancer. He felt he was in good hands…”I’ll be fine.”
He changed his mind about the chapel and decided to sit down and chat.
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If you enjoyed that story...here's another one!
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Something Just Beyond the Trees
The boys were gathered along the tree line separating the playground from a low rise housing complex. It was Sam who made the discovery. Two boys immediately followed him. Soon after, some little kids joined them.
From a distance, it looked as though they might have been searching for a lost ball. However, the orange ball they had been kicking back and forth was sitting on a grassy slope in the clear – easily visible. They had travelled a little past the ball and seemed to be gazing through an opening in the trees towards one of the nearby buildings.
Occasionally one of them gently pressed forward as if to better see or hear something. A wire mesh fence separated the playground from the building complex.
Ben, Sam’s grandfather, was watching from a bench where he had comfortably perched himself. It seemed to him that if these boys had been a couple of years older he might have guessed that they had caught sight of a woman undressing in front of a window and they were standing there watching…totally spellbound. This should normally have been followed by much giggling. In this case, they were silent as if participating in a kind of vigil…mesmerized by something they could only half see and not quite fully comprehend.
Alternatively, Ben wondered if they had stumbled across a dead animal. But none of the boys was using a stick to poke it – that being the international children’s response to finding something unusual lying on the ground.
Ben vividly remembered being about their age when he was in either grade 2 or 3 of a downtown school. He and a group of his pals trapped a rat in the corner of the school yard. Within minutes everyone had found a poking stick. Somehow, he recalled, the rat was able to escape from this intrepid pack of hunters!
By now, a small knot of at least a dozen boys had gathered together in that one spot. They stood silently, crowded tightly together in what looked like a choir with two or three rows. The smallest kids were in the front, closest to the fence. Everyone was staring straight ahead.
They continued to stand stock still which is unnatural for a group of boys in a play ground. Ben could plainly see them in the distance. He was puzzled by this odd tableau. It was like watching YouTube when the computer screen suddenly becomes frozen – no motion – no sound.
Except for a few little girls giggling around the distant swings, the play ground had grown still.
Where the boys were standing, the only sound they heard at first were the leaves rustling in the breeze…and then something else the boys couldn’t quite make out.
It was eerie to see so many boys herded together all looking towards the same thing…unmoving.
They were so quiet – compared to just short moments earlier when everyone was shouting and screaming with urgency for their turn to kick the ball or run with it until someone caught up and grabbed it.
A sprinkling of parents kept a loose eye on them and the other eye on whatever they were doing with their handhelds.
It was a glorious late summer afternoon. The morning had begun with some ground fog and a possibile threat of rain. By mid-afternoon the sun was out in full force framed by a bright blue sky, only occasionally hidden for a moment or two by large puffy white clouds.
The afternoon was well advanced and moms had begun calling to their children to start thinking about leaving the park and going home. Some of the clouds drifting by were becoming a bit darker at their centre. Long shadows moved rapidly across the ground before evaporating.
Still it was a beautiful late afternoon and the boys appeared reluctant to leave.
The girls, playing separately from the boys, had pretty much stopped swinging and were generally heeding their mothers’ call.
Even with repeated calls, the boys seemed to not hear the call for them to quit and start home.
Ben’s interest was first piqued earlier when the noisy din of children playing had gradually begun to wind down.
One of the moms impatiently moved forward to better get her son’s attention. She approached the fence where they were all clustered, calling for her son to mind her. As if on cue, the vigil abruptly ended and the boys turned back towards the play ground.
The spell had broken like a soap bubble collapsing.
Ben could hear one of the moms asking her son what he was looking at by the fence. Not surprisingly, his reply was a simple “nothin’” as he and the other boys burst into excited laughter and raced ahead along the pathway out of the park.
Ben had been keeping watch over his grandson Sam.
Sam was a cute freshly minted seven year old who had much to say and question.
Since Ben only saw Sam for a few short hours every couple of weeks, he really relished his time with him. He probably appreciated contact with his grandson even more than he had with his own kids fifty years earlier.
In those early days, Ben struggled like most young dads who worked hard at trying to balance a career, being a good husband and father, providing for his family and being a responsible citizen.
As a grandfather, most of the stress that had accompanied him in earlier years was now long gone. He could readily enjoy playing with his grandson and was able to totally focus on him and him alone when they were together.
He enjoyed observing his grandson’s behavior. For example, he noticed the way Sam played well with the other kids. Sometimes though, when Sam felt the competition was a little too tough in the play ground, he would sit beside his grandfather and chat...or share a fart joke and laugh insanely like most seven year old boys.
At other times, he threw himself into the mix and went at it hard…with all of his might…rapidly becoming soaked in sweat…not even caring if he had a bloody nose.
With boys his own size or a bit smaller, he would frequently surface as the leader – determining the rules of a game which seemed to be in a perpetual state of change. Some of these games had rules so complex Ben wondered what they would look like as an algebraic expression…with several unknowns including a variable time line. Despite their complexity the games seemed to work fine.
Sam could also be remarkably kind when quietly cautioning the smaller kids to be careful as they climbed high up on top of the monkey bars or when they got in his way or that of the bigger kids.
He seemed to know how fragile little kids can be. Ben was amazed when Sam once invited a shy kid to join in on the fun. Somehow Sam had acquired a dollop of grace – most likely inherited from his mother.
A small platform joining an array of ladders and slides topped the monkey bar pipe setup. It seemed to act as a staging ground for a game involving the orange ball. The aim of this newly invented game seemed to be who could first grab hold of the ball and shoot it down a spiral slide. The boys were fascinated by the way it quickly descended in a tight spiral, momentarily spinning out of sight as it curved one way, then the other – finally shooting out from the bottom. Some of the kids would slide down an adjacent straight slide then race around to the bottom of the spiral slide with hopes of grabbing the ball first as it rolled along the ground.
Some of the smaller boys forgot how high up they were and would recklessly lunge for the ball. The parents became anxious when one of the smaller kids copied an older boy as he plunged head-first down the slide, tumbling onto the ground. The little boy went head over heels and landed on his back.
He lay still for a breathtaking moment… and then leaped to his feet laughing riotously.
With this, one of the mothers who had been chatting with another became alarmed and jumped up – moving swiftly to the monkey bars and slides shouting to her son to be careful or he would be going home. That’s when Sam singled out a pair of little guys and cautioned them that they could hurt themselves if they fell.
Shortly after that, perhaps feeling a bit chastised by an adult and under too much scrutiny, most of them eventually climbed down from the monkey bars and slides. They took off for the large grassy field of the play ground some distance away.
Watching this from his bench, Ben chuckled at how kids seem to know how to instinctively disappear from a parent’s direct line of sight without creating a lot of fuss.
Now the boys tried a new game of seeing who could kick the orange ball the farthest. The parents visibly relaxed as did their vigilance and they resumed whatever they had been doing.
It was near the fence when Sam racing ahead for the ball, hesitated... slowly coming to a halt. Something unusual had caught his eye. He trotted past the ball and stared at it through the trees. By now a couple of the other bigger boys caught up to him to see what he was looking at.
The smaller boys seized this opportunity to grab the ball and with whoops of victory ran off with it. When they realized they were on their own, they slowed and looked back somewhat disappointed and puzzled. The bigger kids weren’t pursuing them. They must have wondered what the others were looking at because they ran over to see what they were missing. One of the small boys was clutching the orange ball. Pressing forward to the front, he leaned against a small tree close by the fence, blinking.
At first he couldn’t see anything except for the building on the other side of the fence. He didn’t know what to look for or where to look. Sam reached down and gently turned him ever so slightly. The boy then saw what looked like a light.
He too stood enthralled.
The orange ball slowly fell from his hands, rolling slightly forward until it came to a stop at the bottom of the wire fence…forgotten.
The light seemed to glow brighter. The smaller boys nearest the fence were the first to feel its tingly warmth.
As one of the moms approached fairly close to where the boys were standing, the strange light abruptly vanished.
The boys exploded into action and ran off. One of the younger boys hesitated for a second, glanced back over his shoulder towards the trees, and then ran off with the others.
The boys had received the message.
Sam ran excitedly to where his grandfather was sitting.
He had a lot to talk about.
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