Syndrome

Slowly Drifting

There is darkness and there is light. There are men and women. There’s food, restaurants. There’s disease, work, traffic. There are the days as we know them and the world as we imagine the world.

“So, what do you feel like doing?” Jenn speaks and is as if the sound of her voice breaks the glass of my thoughts.

“Throwing stones.”

“At what?” she questions my sudden fit of anger.

“Seagulls,” I answer as I picked a random stone, about the size of an American quarter. It’s winter and the cold freezes my bones. The look on Jenn’s face tells me I must look mad, but I couldn’t care less.

“Oh, Darlin’.” She holds my wrist to restrain me from throwing the next rock, then turns me around to look at her. I evade her eyes, her icy-blue, piercing eyes. “You’ll find somebody soon.”

“Shut up and throw!” I cut her off before she can give me another one of her pep talks. I can hear the squawking of seagulls in the distance as I observe my dear friend pick up a stone to follow my example.

“I suppose I should get back to work,” I tell her. She laughs and embraces me into a tight hug.

" There’s the Susanne we all know. It’s good to have you back.”

“Now that’s funny” Albert speaks as I finish getting my things out of the car.

“What’s funny?” I question without turning around.

“Seeing you today.”

“Hilarious.” I start to walk away but he stops me.

“Come with me a minute, would you? They want us in the hospital.”

I follow him as he makes a left and then a right. When we get to the stairs I ask him if he isn’t worried about me. He looks at me questioningly.

“Aren’t you going to ask me why I haven’t been to work?”

“Have you been sick?”

“Not sick; just unhappy.”

“They’re practically the same thing.”

“Unhappy on account of a man,” I add.

“No kidding?” He comments.

“So what are we wanted for?” I change the subject.

“Uh, to see a patient” His voice could not be more monotonous than that.

“Why?”

When we enter the double doors of the pathology wing we’re greeted by a nurse; not older than 20.

“What’s going on?” She questions. Albert turns to look at her.

“We’re just going to find out.”

“Well, you know, he’s really pissed off in there. ” The nurse warns.

“Excuse me.” An older woman; short blond hair, fine features, and a thick welsh accent, asks as we approach the victim’s room. “When can I take him back home?”

“Um, well..” Albert reflects upon the question, “We just need to talk to him, so...”

“He needs to explain the whole thing again?” The woman cut him off.

“Well...”

“Look, look, listen. He called me up, right, and he told me he was coming home; and then, all of a sudden, his voice breaks and he bursts into tears.”

“Mm-hm?”

“And then he starts telling me that he doesn’t see any meaning in life. I mean, he’s not usually like that. He’s a truck driver.”

“Ok?”

“And then he pulls over to the side and says he’s fine again; except he can’t smell anymore.”

“He can’t smell anymore?” I repeat back in the form of a question, turning ever so slightly to face my comrade; who’s looking back at me with the same curiosity in his eyes.

“Well, I told him to find a hospital because, you know, that isn’t normal, is it?”