Finding Self by N. Barry Carver (the gingerbread man read aloud TXT) 📕

As the tunnel vision begins to clear and my eyes re-synchronize,

I realize that I have been in a deep sleep and that time has passed. My body is not numb, not paralyzed, but feels as though every inch has been coated in wax – my touch is dulled and my muscles are barely adequate to move me. Heavy and slow I lift my hand to face. As it crosses between my eyes and the buzzing florescent light above, it takes me a moment to refocus.

Oh, my God is this my hand? It falls upon my chest like a stone. It... is old. The joints of the bones supporting it can clearly be seen, along with each vein, through the partially transparent folds of skin. Very old. Dotted with aged freckles and emaciated from time spent...

Oh, my God... where am I?

It’s a hospital... no, a nursing home. There are some dying flowers here beside the machines that beep and click all around me. Can I smell their fragrance... or am I just imagining that? I have an I.V. in the back of my other hand leading to a bag full of yellow fluid... wait, that should mean something... what is it?

The door is open and there is a chart in the pocket attached to the front of it. If I could only get to that door, I could see...

Oh, my God... who am I?

I... I was... I was a young man. I can see... a city – or buildings at least – a college. The dean, or an advisor, was he yelling at me? I can see it all rising up near at hand as close to me as that chair in the corner. Wait, in the chair, who is that woman?

She is asleep. Her graying hair looks quickly arranged and her clothes seem to have been likewise put together. There are tissues in her hands, which are almost as ancient as mine.

This old woman then... must be my wife. Oh no. Where has my life gone? Her face was certainly beautiful once... and I must have gone from that day to this staring into the eyes of that woman in the corner... but what color were they?

Did we ever run in the rain protected only by a copy of Le Monde? Or was that a memory from a movie we ridiculed from a balcony seat? What was the depth and texture of our life and love? What, oh God, please tell me... what is her name?

A shiver runs down me as I realize that the life flashing before my eyes was no more than a minute old, and that was the breadth of my memory. I must be something like a hundred years old, with no time or energy to regain the flavors of my life and the best I can hope to do is fool the old woman long enough so that I can die, without breaking her heart by admitting I don’t know her.

Another shiver went through me as I realized I could neither lift my hand again nor shift my gaze now frozen on the woman.

From the corner of my eye, a middle-aged man enters and goes to her. With a brown plaid shirt and a stethoscope around his neck, he wakes the woman who reacts as if she had cried herself to sleep. Though red-rimmed, deep and surrounded by tired flesh her eyes are hazel... but... they used to be... brown.

Her name is... Sandra. Oh thank you, thank you. Her name IS Sandra. Sandra! And I love her!

The Doctor is talking to her, she seems a bit relieved. Her name is Sandra and... and we had a girl. A precious, happy baby girl. Oh yes... oh yes, I remember her. She was so, so small and she... she had green eyes – like mine. Oh God, thank you for my girl.

The Doctor is helping Sandra to her feet. She has a cane. Yes... that’s right, she fell last year and…

She sees me. She can see that I’m awake. Oh, let me hold her... please... please! She has been crying and she’s in pain... let me hold her! She needs to know that I love her and that hers is the only hand that ever fit properly in mine. She kisses my cheek. My God I love her!

I’m sorry for the mess in the kitchen. I’m sorry I never finished those shelves in the bathroom... I’m sorry I haven’t been the man I should have been to deserve you.

Oh, God, please let me hold her.

She’s leaving now...

The machines are gone...

The tunnel vision returns....

---


“I know... I know Dad, it’s going to be lot of money... but I think it’s what I’m meant to do.”

“Well, that’s a fine way to put it... but I guess this is what you were seeking when you went to ‘find yourself’. Just make sure Sandy and the baby have everything they need and we’ll find the money somehow... as long as you are sure this is it.”

“Yes Dad, it is.”

“It does come with certain bragging rights you now... My son the Doct....”

“Okay, don’t start with that line yet... that’s still a long way off.”

“I just want to get the idea firmly in mind. You know I’m getting a bit forgetful these days.”

“Dad, you and I both know it’s more than just ‘a bit forgetful.’ It’s what happens to men in our family that make it past sixty. That’s why I’m focusing on finding a research school.”

“Well…. You have to know I’m proud of you either way. But... do you mind telling your old man how you came to this decision now?”

“I had a dream, Dad. I had a dream... and I’m going to spend the rest of my life trying to make sure it doesn’t come true.”

Text: © 2012 Barry Carver
Publication Date: 11-14-2012

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