The Long, Winding Road Home Chapter 31

"CLEAR!"

 The sound of cardiac paddles reverberated through the back of an ambulance which weaved in and out of traffic. Thuumph!

"Hit him again!"

  A high pitched tone climbed to a steady crescendo as the paddles recharged.

 

"Fuck! Again! CLEAR!"

Thuumph!

A few seconds passed as the paramedic monitored for any positive response from his patient. "Got it! It’s faint, but it’s there! Jesus!...Hang on buddy," the paramedic begged his unresponsive John Doe.

  The siren screamed down Canal Street as the ambulance darted between lanes, at times straddling the street car tracks on the neutral ground, known as medians in every other city in the country.

  In the back, paramedics frantically struggled to save an unidentified man who was hanging on for dear life.

   Emergency care in the field is hard enough, much more so when it’s being performed in a rolling hospital at 60 miles per hour, dodging pedestrians, potholes and cars.


"Tulane ER this is ES 4820; do you copy?"

"Copy ES 4820, go ahead," a female voice calmly acknowledged thru the radio.

"Tulane, we're inbound with a male subject under cardiac arrest. Vitals are weak but steadying," the paramedic radioed ahead to the Tulane Medical Trauma Center.

"Roger that; standing by for vitals ES 4820."

"Tulane, we have a male, late 30’s to early 40’s. 155-160 pounds; suspected seizure; likely medically induced, over," The paramedic transmitted.

"Roger that 4820, what’s your ETA?"

"Five minutes Tulane; we’re comin’ in hard."

"Copy that ES 4820; standing by," the dispatcher affirmed.


  At the station, Chris wrapped up some final details, bringing his long workday to a close. He shuffled through notes and assignment sheets for the following day when he found a snapshot of Bailey under a stack of papers. As a joke, Marie had mounted a picture in a frame fashioned after a shamrock. Chris quietly sat at his desk holding the picture. His mind drifted.


  Staring at the picture for a few moments, he fondly thought about how impossibly irritating Bailey had initially seemed to him. He smiled, thinking of his shoes, or what were formerly known as shoes. He pondered about how lucky Bailey really was, either way.

  He held a certain level of comfort, knowing that she would have enjoyed a nice life in a house with him but, now that she’s back home, he also felt content that she would still have such a life.

  Perhaps she just needed to get away for a while; perhaps there was a deeper purpose for Bailey’s arrival, and her departure. Chris searched for some deeper meaning.


Jesus, he thought, I lost the girl, almost died and lost my dog…this is like a fuckin’ Country & Western song! Chris thought.


Chris shook his head and smiled to himself as he stared at the silly photo. Perhaps Bailey was just a dumb ass dog who got lost and had finally been found by her owner…nothing more, He resolved in his mind. Placing the picture in the bottom drawer of his desk, Chris dismissed any deeper theories about Bailey’s great adventure in the city or her temporary purpose in his life.


  Chris’ cell rang, it was Marie. "Hey, whatcha’ doin?" Marie greeted.


"Just finished up my thirty-minute session with a hooker; gettin' ready to leave soon. How bout' you?"

"Very funny," Marie sarcastically replied.

"Which part? Chris deadpanned.

"You promised to finally cook for me; we still on, or did you purchase extra minutes with the lady?" Marie quizzed.

"Indeed we are still on; I warn you though, I haven’t cooked in over a year so try not to place any lofty expectations on my return to culinary science. And I use the term science loosely," Chris assured. "By the way, can Chanda join us for dinner?" Chris teased.

"Sure, as long as you're cooking...That's all I care about. I assure you, it’s still gonna be better than my cooking," Marie admitted.

"Very true," Chris dryly agreed.


"Between now and the time you get here, I’m gonna try very hard to forget that you just said that," she warned.

"You'll have an easier time forgetting about me taking a jab at your cooking quicker than being with a hooker?" Chris teased.

"Ha! For starters, I know you're not with a hooker," Marie replied.

"Ha! You also don't know if I can cook," Chris volleyed.

"I'm gonna forget that we had this conversation," Marie dismissed.

"YOU? Forget? There’s two words that don’t belong in the same sentence," Chris laughed.

"Oh, OK, keep digging your hole deeper," Marie playfully warned.

"How bout' this...I’ll take the long way home to give you extra time to forget," Chris assured.

"Don’t take too long, I’m hungry, plus," Marie paused.

"Plus what?" Chris pried.

"I kinda' miss you," she shyly confessed.

"Yuck!" Chris teased.

"Shut up. You're lucky to have someone who misses your grumpy ass," Marie retorted.

"Very true. Let me pay Chanda and I’ll be there soon," Chris teased.

"I'm ignoring you now...see ya in a bit," Marie laughed.


  Chris strolled for several blocks to his car. Going out of his way, he absorbed the atmosphere of a city that, for a time, he’d grown to hate. It had become a jail, a jail that separated him from someone he’d loved. A jail that isolated him from nice homes, bustling with families and neighbors. A jail which impeded a normal life, secured behind invisible bars.

  Everywhere he looked, Chris saw people laughing, having a good time, holding hands with a lover, living a life that he had longed for.


  Until now, his had been a jail of self imposed exile. He’d become a pariah in his own mind, full of fear, loathing and alcohol...by choice. Refusal to accept truths, buying into half truths, refusal to believe in himself, he built walls to repel love and friendship from any direction. Chris finally understood that he had been a victim by design.


  The ambulance screeched to a halt under the ER parking bay where two nurses and the ER shift leader stood ready for action. The back doors to the ambulance burst outward as paramedics quickly rolled the gurney across a brightly lit bay. The ER doctor immediately began an initial visual exam as the techs swiftly rolled the gurney forward.

  They passed through the sliding doors to the ER while paramedics briefed the doctor, who continued a visual exam as an ER nurse recorded vital signs. Racing down a long, brightly lit, white hallway, the doctor further quizzed the paramedics.

"Any sign of vomiting?"

"Negative."

"You didn’t induce did you?"

"Negative."

"BP 60 over 35!" One of the nurses called out, removing the cuff from the patient’s arm.


"Jesus!" The doctor exclaimed.

"Heart rate 47," the nurse continued.

"It’s been moving up and down," one paramedic interjected.


"Prep an IV of Fludocordisone, stat!" the doctor ordered as the gurney burst, feet first, through the ER intensive care unit. "This guy’s gonna die if we can’t get this BP elevated, fast!" The physician yelled as they entered.

"Whatcha got doc?" An ICU trauma nurse yelled.


"Hypotension; critical!" The doctor yelled to his ICU colleague. "Looks like a classic O.D. boys and girls!" The doctor concluded.


  Downtown, Chris gazed up at the beautiful structures which lined the narrow streets of the upper French Quarter. The architecture seemed as magnificent as ever to him. These old houses and cathedrals had seen good times and bad. They’d weathered storms and fires.

  They’d seen marriages, death, birthdays, sorrow and happiness. They‘d served as a simple stage for unscripted life; a long, unfolding production of reality. As Chris saw it, they still stood- they endured.


  Chris had finally, in his mind, reached out and reclaimed the once ellusive key...his key. No longer feeling captive behind that invisible gate, he felt an invigorating sense of true freedom; he felt alive.

  A wave of energy pulsed through his body. An indescribable rush swirled around his head. Finally, he felt complete.

  Chris smiled as his thoughts turned to Marie. Right now, he felt as though the world around him stood still...just for him.


  Beeps kept steady cadence, piercing the silence of a small, dimly lit room at Tulane Medical Center. The sound of an oxygen generator hummed faintly in the background, a familiar sound to this particular patient.


"Mr. Barrow?" A voice roused her patient. "Mr. Barrow! Can you hear me? Mr. Barrow?" The voice continued, to little avail. "Chris??" The doctor leaned over, speaking directly into Chris’ ear.

  Chris struggled to open his eyes; he fidgeted with the bedrails, shifting his feet erratically in a state of confusion.


"Mr. Barrow, I’m Dr. Barnes. Chris, do you know where you are?"

  Chris lay still, barely able to open his eyes. The room seemed bright, he felt groggy as he strained to comprehend the wall of equipment which surrounded him. Fumbling with the IV tube in his arm, he redirected attention back to the doctor.


"No," Chris struggled to reply. His voice held a faint tone, he felt weak and disoriented.


"Chris, you’re at Tulane Medical Center. Do you know what day it is Chris?"

  Chris studied the question for a few seconds, feeling a slight sense of relief and familiarity. He remembered that he had just left work, heading to cook dinner for Marie tonight; he triumphantly recalled that it was Thursday.

"It’s Thursday," Chris struggled to answer.

"No...no Chris, it’s Monday; today is Monday," the doctor corrected. "Chris, do you know what month it is?"


  Chris carefully searched his foggy mind before faintly replying:

""It’s December, I think."


"No, Chris, it’s not December," the doctor solemnly corrected. "It’s March Chris. March 20^th."


   Not possible! Chris convinced himself, swiftly searching his mind. His eyes frantically scanned the room, with purpose. He looked for anything that might prove him correct. A calendar, a newspaper...anything. "It’s winter," he struggled to speak, trying to convince his doctor.


"Chris, you had an extremely high level of Ativan in your blood work; your blood alcohol level was off the charts too," Doctor Barnes judgmentally advised. "Dr. Thomason is going to get with you as soon as you get some strength; she’s a therapist, a counselor. I insist that you spend some time with her over the next few weeks. Mr. Barrow, this is not a suggestion," the doctor firmly ordered.


  Chris blankly stared at the ceiling, trying to regain his bearings. He felt as though he were being treated like an insane asylum patient or a criminal; he resented it.


"Chris. I’m not going to pry, but it’s my job to inform you and complete a report as to why you're here. It's obvious that this wasn’t an accident," the doctor lectured.

   Chris’ voice grew somewhat stronger as he cleared his throat to speak as clearly as possible. "How long are you keeping me here?"

"Probably a few days, I don’t know; it depends on how you recover. I'm not sure that you fully understand," the doctor's tone conveyed slight irritation. "You almost died and your body has been through a lot; one of your neighbors found you laying in front of a building near Tulane Avenue," Doctor Barnes informed.


  Chris felt a sense of deep confusion as he desperately tried to regain his bearings. One minute he was leaving work and heading home and now he’s in the hospital. On top of that, this doctor is telling him that it’s March! His mind, understandably, struggled to make sense of his surroundings.

"This can’t be happening," Chris defiantly announced. "I have to get home right now; I'm cooking dinner tonight," Chris pleaded.

"I’ll be back in a few hours to check on you," the doctor assured. "Try to rest."


  Chris stared at a clock on the wall next to him, unable to comprehend what was happening. A tear rolled down his cheek.

  A few nights later, Chris signed a multitude of release forms at the nurses station. He signed, what he thought to be, a closing document on a house.


"Jesus, I’m gonna need a doctor to treat carpal tunnel before I’m done signing," he joked with the nurse. Chris studied the invoice.

"Jesus! Now I'm gonna need a bank loan; how do these doctors sleep at night charging prices like this?" Chris exclaimed. The nurse laughed.

Mr. Barrow? Doctor Thomason approached.

"Yes? I'm Chris."

"I’m Melinda Thomason; you have a moment?"

"Sure," Chris affirmed.


"Mr. Barrow, I’d like to set up an appointment for you for Tuesday afternoon, okay?"

"Yeah, I can do that," Chris dismissively approved. "I need to check my schedule first, but it should be okay," Chris scratched his head in confusion. "Hey…the doc is wrong about the month," he confidently pointed out.

"Yeah, they told me that you think it’s December. It’s March Chris," Doctor Thomason authoritatively assured.


"How?? What the hell happened? This is absolutely not possible," Chris nervously laughed.

"Chris, you almost died; you should not be alive right now as a matter of fact. Look, your body has been through enormous shock and it’s perfectly normal to be disoriented about time and bearings…you were borderline comatose Mr. Barrow."


  Chris felt confused and somewhat crazy. "But, um, it’s not like that doc; trust me," Chris fumbled for words as he sat down in a nearby chair. His mind reeled.

"This can’t be…everything was so clear, everything," he helplessly insisted, locking eyes with Doctor Thomason.


  The doctor stared at Chris, her face conveyed slight empathy for his understandable emotions.


"I saw everything doc; everything was going on around me, it was so vivid," he continued. My friends, Marie, Erin, Thomas, Angela...it was real, Chris adamantly insisted.


"Chris, it’s a common occurrence for people who seize like you did; I know everything seems real. Some people think of nothing at all, others see an entire life; it’s like dreaming," Doctor Thomason tried her best to calm Chris' nerves.

  Chris held is head in his hands, leaning forward between his knees as he listened to Doctor Thomason.


"Chris, the mind is quite powerful and mysterious. We’ll talk more about it tomorrow, and about why you ended up here, OK?" The doctor warmly smiled.


  Chris sat on the lobby bench, silently staring at the floor. Doctor Thomason softly placed her hand on his shoulder for a moment before walking away.


  Chris exited a cab in front of Thomas’ house. He raced to the front door with purpose.


  Thomas could set this whole thing straight, Chris expected as he anxiously banged on the door until an elderly woman answered.

"May I help you?"

"Yes ma’am," Chris replied, wondering who this old woman was and why she was in Thomas' house.


"Is Thomas here?" He hesitantly asked.


"I’m the only one who lives here, there’s no Thomas…not that I know of," the old lady laughed.


  Chris' head sank as the woman nervously stared at him.

"Are you OK dear?"

"Yes ma’am, I think so," Chris answered. "Thanks; I’m very sorry to bother you ma‘am," he apologized with a defeated tone.



  Chris walked a few blocks to the shop where he hoped that he might find his cell phone. At the gate, he looked up to the angel which was hanging halfway off the gate spire.


  Studying her for a moment, he reached up to touch the bottom of her robe. What’s happening? He wondered. "This is impossible", he mumbled to himself.


"Hey!" A voice boomed from behind. It was Doug, the landlord.

"Hey Doug," Chris distantly greeted.

"You must have had one hell of a time the other night; I found your cell phone layin’ beside a freakin’ bottle of whiskey out front," Doug laughed. "Where the fuck ya’ been??

  Chris shot a bewildered expression to Doug. Holding his silence, Chris sank deeply in thought.


"You OK man?" Doug skeptically asked.

"Yeah Doug, I’m just tired. I’m good. Thanks for getting my phone," Chris sheepishly replied.


"No problem bro; talk to ya’ later?" Doug asked to no reply. He studied Chris’ face before prying a bit deeper.

"You sure you’re OK bro?"

"Yeah, I’m good Doug; thanks man," Chris dismissed.


  Chris looked at his phone, noticing that the screen displayed 15 missed calls. Several were from Marie, a few came from the news room and a four from Erin.


  As he blankly stared at the display, he remembered the text folder that he'd deleted. His heart sank into a cavern of reality. Every saved incoming message from Erin remained, perfectly in tact.

  How? He wondered. He'd specifically deleted them, he was sure of it.


  A familiar, caller assigned ringtone disrupted his thoughts; it was Erin. Chris tried to make sense of what he’d been through. After all, everything seemed so clear...so real. After a few rings, Chris finally answered.


"Hey Erin.".

"Hey, are you OK?"

"Yeah, why?"

"I’ve been trying to reach you, thats why," Erin curtly replied.

"Yeah, I got busy, what’s up?"

"I have your Ipod and a few DVD's and wanted to make sure you got this stuff."

"Oh, yeah, I can come get it this afternoon I suppose; I’ll drive over in a few Erin…if that‘s


OK," Chris distantly acknowledged.


  Back inside the shop, Chris sat at the end of his bed, not knowing what to make of, yet, another drastic change in his life. He stared at the pictures and letters that lay scattered across the counter.

  After a few minutes, he slowly gathered them and placed them in a shoe box, carefully stacking each on top of the other. Returning to the edge of his bed, he examined his cell phone, revisiting the saved messages. With a couple of clicks, Chris deleted the folder.


Chris silently cried.

  Across town, Erin met Chris on her front porch where they exchanged awkward greetings; a subdued mood hung heavy in the air.


"Here’s the Ipod. Oh, and I finally found your shirt too," Erin politely held out the items.

Chris stared at the shirt and his Ipod, avoiding direct eye contact with Erin. He no longer knew what was real.


"So," Erin began, "how you doin’?" She pried.

"It’s been a bizarre week," Chris slightly laughed.

"How so?" She pressed.

"You wouldn’t believe me if I told you," Chris dismissed, pausing with a half smile. "It wasn’t all bad, now that I think about it."


"Chris, I don’t want things to be weird with us, between us, you know?"

"Yeah, I don’t think it has to be weird," Chris distantly assured.


  Erin studied Chris' for a moment. She sensed his discomfort.


"I wish…" Erin briefly paused, carefully searching her words. "I wish that things could have been different Chris; I wish I had a freakin’ time machine or something so we could go back and fix this before it spiraled out of control."


  Chris intently listened to Erin's wish as she continued.

"I wish we could go back to that day we spent at the beach, when we just decided to leave on a moment’s notice…it was fun." Erin reminisced. "I wish we could have been in a nice house and we could have that dog we always wanted; A second chance might have been nice, you know?" Erin suggested.


"Careful what you wish for," Chris interjected, smiling and shaking his head.

"So, what are you gonna do?" Erin quizzed.


  Chris scratched his head, looking down for a moment before redirecting his eyes to Erin.


"To tell ya' the truth, I’m gonna head down to St. Peter Street and get a burger," Chris answered.


"No, I mean what now, with you; what are you gonna do?" Erin pressed.

"You think I’m too old to join the air force?" He asked.

  Erin laughed. "Probably...Plus you hate flying," she joked.

"Yeah, but I think a light brown uniform suits me; perhaps they have ground based jobs. I mean, the planes have to land sometime," Chris reasoned.


  Erin smiled at Chris' ever present sense of humor.

"By the way, I’m not afraid of flying, I’m afraid of being in the act of flying and suddenly not flying," Chris corrected.

"Seriously," Erin smiled, still pressing for an answer.


"Seriously?" Chris repeated. "Well, I plan to take care of some things," he vaguely offered.

"What things?" Erin quizzed.

  Given the mind boggling whirlwind of events that had presented Chris with the tedious task of distinguishing dreams from reality, he thought carefully before sincerely answering Erin's pressing questions.


"Erin, I’m sorry for everything I’ve put us through, I really am."

"I’m sorry too," she quickly interjected. "We both had some tough things goin’ on in our lives," she continued.

"Yes, we did," Chris agreed. "It’s funny actually."


"What's funny," Erin curiously asked.

"I saw the future; don’t ask me how, but I saw the future by looking at the past," Chris began. "It was so vivid, so real; there were things that I didn’t like and I’m seeing them differently now. I don't feel so stranded or imprisoned by the past now. I actually feel somewhat free...It’s hard to explain really," Chris fumbled for words.


"We both did some bad things but I can only speak for myself…I can only be accountable for myself and I’m truly sorry about how things sank so badly Erin," Chris continued his self-inventory.

Erin listened quietly as Chris continued.

"I just want you to know that I’m sorry and I wish the best for you," he concluded.


"Chris, maybe we can get through this, apart, and then we’ll find our way back, ya' know? It’ll be down the road, but on better ground, in better territory," Erin hopefully suggested. "There’s always a chance, you know?"


  Chris smiled as he absorbed Erin's words, looking at the ring on his right hand. Erin noticed as well.


  He gazed into Erin's eyes, then, turning his attention back to the ring. He removed the ring and stepped closer to Erin, reaching out to hold her hand. Erin looked at the ring in his palm and then back to Chris’ eyes.

"I love you, I’m sure of it Erin," Chris softly assured. He opened Erin’s hand and placed the ring in her palm. Gently closing her hand around it, Chris pulled Erin close; they shared a warm, sincere embrace. A tear streamed down Erin’s face.

  Pulling back, he thoughtfully studied her eyes. "I suspect I have a few friends who are owed an apology for what I’ve put them through over the past few months," Chris confessed. Staring introspectively to the distance for a moment, Chris returned his eyes to Erin‘s and warmly smiled.


"You are a breathtaking woman," he softly exclaimed.

  Erin’s eyes filled with tears; a knowing smile crossed her face as they shared a moment which needed no words.


"I’m gonna get a burger," Chris announced, curiously glancing over Erin’s shoulder where he spotted movement from behind the blinds.


"Oh, I see Tim peeking, like a cat actually. I suspect you probably need to go inside," Chris suggested. "Wonder what he’d do if I planted a giant kiss on you and grabbed your ass? Better yet, maybe I’ll go in and plant one on him and grab his ass; that would be different," Chris casually wondered aloud.

  Erin cocked her head and laughed. He seemed like the old Chris, comfortable and light-hearted. It was the air of confidence and calmness that made her fall so deeply in love with him.

"You're silly," Erin playfully pushed him away.


"You should warn him that nervousness and jealousy with you will get him nowhere. Oh, and to never, ever, talk to you until you’ve had the first cup of coffee," Chris advised.


Erin laughed.

   Chris kissed Erin on the forehead before offering a small suggestion. "Maybe we can be friends," he smiled before heading to the car.

  Erin stood on the top step, tracing Chris the entire way. He rolled down the window and yelled toward Erin.

"Hey!"

"Yeah?" Erin curiously acknowledged.


"To answer your question…I feel well...Rather un-crazy, if you will," he smiled.


"Is that even a word??" Erin yelled to the street.

Chris thought of Felicia. Whether she was real or the byproduct of a rather vivid subconscious imagination, enhanced by one hell of a chemically induced night, she was real to him.

  Chris smiled and yelled back to Erin…"It’s a word now," he assured.


  Erin knew Chris all too well; she sensed that this was goodbye.


  Chris glanced back to Erin through his rearview, humming the Audubon Zoo song as he drove away.

  The doctors could call it a dream as much as they wanted, but the dream date at the zoo became a lasting, loving memory in his mind...forever. Whether it was real or not didn’t matter to him.

Erin watched as Chris disappeared around the corner.

copyright, Pontchartrain Press 2008