BUMPING by W. Jack Savage It would have
to be soon. Possibly today, maybe tomorrow! I’ve
noticed there’s a rhythm to my affliction and the
medication’s ability to pull me back now and then. I may be
going crazy in a literal sense, but I’m not stupid. The
last time I spoke with the doctor, I asked if there was a
hope of getting better. Now, that part, what he said
exactly, I can’t remember. But I do seem to remember the
substance of his argument. He seemed to be saying that
simply because no one had ever recovered, there was no
reason to think that someone might not recover and that
person might be me. Living with the alternative offered no
comfort; therefore, I suppose, deteriorating as I have been,
he probably felt that putting a bright face on a hopeless
condition was a magnanimous gesture of sorts. Again, his
exact words escape me; nevertheless, his raised eyebrow and
continuous nodding in an assumptive manner, assured me that
whatever he was saying was bullshit and that I was in a lot
of trouble. From
moment to moment, the preparation I spoke of earlier, that
is, not being as forgetful at least in the short term, was
going to be of no use if my demise was somehow not affected
because of it. Little things must not be allowed to defeat
me. As I have outlined, I haven’t many friends and haven’t
seen Loren at all recently. My housekeeper gets paid
regardless and as to anything else: wills, insurance, the
phone bill; those matters can be sorted out by the people
who would have decided my fate under other circumstances.
In short, no one to say goodbye to and nothing to worry
about except waiting too long. That, of course, meant that
I wasn’t going to be getting any better, only worse. It was
a sad realization to come to, but I was grateful I still
could. Realize it that is. I decided right then that I
needed a plan. Since I had no real alternative plan, the
other plan would have to do. I only remembered it in part,
and the rest I could figure out. I would go to Huntington
Beach. I’d need a bathing suit, and I’d have to risk going
on the freeway. I’d take my medication early so that I
wouldn’t lose my way. I’d go at dusk and arrive in the
dark. I’d leave the keys in the car. The
first thing that got crossed off the list was a bathing
suit. I don’t know if I ever had one. I must have sometime
but maybe not since I was a kid. My under shorts would have
to do. They were dark. Someone bought them for me. I’d
have never bought dark underwear for myself. Who would buy
me underwear anyway? Who would buy me anything? It’s
strange, but somehow I remember opening presents, even
recently. If I hadn’t any friends, who gave me presents?
Well, Loren, of course, and Adam. Adam, yes, he was my
wife’s son. That’s always nice of him, too. She only
married me to have someone pay for Adam. She made me
promise to adopt Adam, and when I did, she divorced me. I
had to pay child support for fifteen years after that. It
was okay. I had the money; the money wasn’t the problem.
But I never saw Adam again. He was a nice boy, quiet like I
was as a child. He always sent me a Christmas present.
He’d have bought me underwear. He was smart, too. Though
his mother wasn’t very bright, he was. I don’t remember her
name though. I
thought of leaving a note that day, but the idea seemed
ridiculous. Moreover, it would be something tantamount to
an admission that I was lucid enough to do away with
myself. I wasn’t sure if anyone would miss me or even take
pleasure in my death, but I wanted no part of any act that
would please some insurance company. Hopefully, somewhere
along the line, I said it all at one time or another. If
not, it was rapidly becoming far too late to worry about. As I
left the house with my keys, I paused for a moment and
thought that I should have had a pet. I’d never had a pet.
Adam had a turtle once. Lucy got rid of it one day during
one of her cleaning frenzies. That was her name, Lucy. I
had read that pets were wonderful. I wasn’t exactly sorry
that I wouldn’t be finding out how wonderful. But it
tripped something in what was left of my mind, because I
started thinking about several things I never had or
wouldn’t be trying. Some sort of melancholy, I supposed,
and quite natural under the circumstances. As long as it
didn’t get in the way, it would be fine. The next thing was
gas, but I felt the elation of a breakthrough when I decided
to trust the gas gage and simply head for Huntington Beach.
Fearing the radio would confuse me, I decided to keep it
off. The traffic wouldn’t matter since I’d get there sooner
or later. Sure
enough, as I reached the 605 south, it seemed clear
sailing. I was making good time, but I couldn’t understand
why it was still so light out. It was only four o’clock,
but I thought it was more winter. Perhaps spring happened
when I wasn’t looking. I smiled to think of it. Winter or
spring, it didn’t matter. That’s why I lived here. It was
perfect most of the time. It was light out though. I might
have to enjoy a final sunset before…before whatever I was
going to the beach for came back to me. That made me smile
again. I got a little confused in Long Beach. I missed
Studebaker Road, and when I drove past the college, I
thought for a moment that I might turn in. Long Beach State
I called it. It was really Cal State Long Beach, but I
liked Long Beach State better. I went there once. I’m sure
I did. I remember something about the Revolutionary War. Top of page | Page 3/7 | Next Page |
