Chapter Twelve

I have a few other problems besides seeing dead people and visiting heaven and hell. There are a few significant holes in my memory, and I have lost the ability to make change. As a matter of fact I have lost the ability to understand money on any level. The worst part about this is that I've been an accountant for the firm Foot,Karp, and Thor the last 17 years. Thankfully they have given me a substantial severance, as far as I know, and that coupled with my disability pay and disability insurance I had on my mortgage I can exist without the need for a job for the time being....I think. The bank normally sends me statements reporting on my financial status, but the numbers just run off the page like fire ants. On my second trip home from the hospital we stopped at a drug store so I could buy a new razor, one with 3 blades and the vibrating action. The clerk said "$4.75 Marty."

I was surprised the man knew my name, and I smiled knowingly at him. I pulled out a quarter and laid it on the counter and we stood looking at each other awkwardly for a couple of centuries.

"Marty." he said softly as beads of sweat formed above his brow. "That's not going to do it buddy."

I chuckled nervously and said "Of course!..Sorry!" and pulled a penny out of my pocket, dropped it next to the quarter and smiled. I looked at the man inquisitively wondering if this valuable token was going to solve our quandary. There was a line growing behind me and people's heads were bobbing around trying, impatiently, to see what idiot was impeding them from a normal life.

"I see three!" the clerk yelled across the store. This was a code phrase telling his fellow clerks that he had a problem with a customer and someone should open another register. The carnival had a similar code that they would yell when a fleeced "mark" would get aggressive or the police were on their trail. They would yell "Hey Rube!"

We looked at each other like two gunslingers at a showdown. Raymond the clerk was torn between giving me the razor for 26 cents and trying to explain the monetary system to a man who had a bandage that looked like a giant Q-tip on his head. Louis popped in out of nowhere and dropped a 5 dollar bill on the counter and scooped me and the razor out the door. I wasn't sure what had taken place, all I knew was I had humiliated myself.

Now I've discovered the beauty of a Debit Card. I can buy whatever I want, no matter the cost and all I do is hand the clerk my plastic passport. I do have to remember my PIN number to make the card operate. It is 1717.

I had grown tired of the bedpans and industrial toilets at the hospital. I couldn't wait to get home and finally use my own private Koehler deluxe throne. As a matter of fact, I had saved up a gigantic poop to christen it with, and frankly it was getting a little uncomfortable. Russell seemed to be driving extra slow in his new Suburban and I was growing very impatient with him. You can only imagine my mixed emotions when I opened the door to my condo to find it filled with faces all yelling "Welcome home Marty!"

There were so many people in my house you could hardly move around. On my dining room table was a great big cake with vertical red and white stripes, shaped like a bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken. Candles were burning at the top, I guess it was for the birthday I missed while I was in a coma. I looked around for Lisa but she wasn't there. I began to panic a little when I realized that the faces in the room were only vaguely familiar to me. A beautiful, petite, brunette, gave me a passionate kiss on the mouth and whispered. "Marty, I know you don't believe me, but I was worried sick about you, I'm so glad you're ok."

I was immediately aroused and smiled broadly. I slipped away and asked Louis, as softly as I could, who that woman was... He laughed at me, he stopped for a moment and stared into my eyes, and laughed again. I saw his expression turn cold and serious just as a 17 year old boy grabbed my shoulders and spun me around. Tears were leaking from the corners of his eyes as he embraced me in a bear hug. "This has been the most terrible time in my life." he blubbered. "I can't believe we almost lost you."

I smiled the exact same smile I had given Raymond, the drug store clerk. As I tell you this I can still hear his next words as if they were being screamed into my ears by Bob the retarded guy.

The handsome boy who stood two inches taller than I with the straight, thick, brown hair and broad shoulders, looked sadly at me with his wet, piercing blue eyes. His mouth opened, and right before I passed out and fell head first into my bucket cake, the candles igniting my gauze filled bandage, setting off the smoke alarm and alerting the Arfordsville Fire Department, he spoke. "I love you Dad!"

Update to new visitors

This story starts in August with chapter one and reads backwards through September. Good Luck!

Thanks Lufa

Part II Chapter Eleven

One day I opened the door to my shower and found Albert Einstein standing there wearing a three piece suit and golf-spikes. He was holding an open pocket watch. "Right on time!" he said as he closed the watch and slid it back into his vest pocket. "Marty, I'm Albert, I've been wanting to talk to you." He handed me the soap on a rope.

"Excuse me...Albert, but is there a better place for you and I to speak." I was dangling the soap nervously in front of my genitals.

"A better place doesn't exist Mary."he exclaimed. "Heaven is like a warm shower around the clock you know." he laughed like a woman. "Marty, I realize you have questions, and right now I'm the only one who can help you."

"Why you Mr. Einstein?"
"Albert!"
"Albert." I corrected myself

"You are seeing dead people, like that little kid in the movie with Bruce Willis, and that's bound to shake you up some I would imagine." he continued. "I have a theory on why this is happening to you, and because I do, I get to come talk to you about it."

"I really liked that movie." I said with a nostalgic smile.

"Who gives a shit Marty?" Al could be short at times. "You wanna hear my theory or review cinema with me? I'm Albert Friggin Einstein for god sake!"

"Theory."I said

"Ok, so you lost a big hunk of brain to a Chicken bone and survived, we know that... and since then you've been getting visions of heaven and hell."

Oh yea, I forgot to tell you about the visions of heaven and hell. I've been getting them.

"So my theory is this...ahem...some people believe the brain is divided into sections that control different functions..sight, thought, logic, art, and so forth. I, however, believe the brain is like a hologram, if you bust it up into a hundred pieces, the entire picture would appear in every single fragment."This was the first I'd heard about the hologram thing, but then again, I'm no Einstein.
"So you stay here on earth, but part of your brain dies and goes to the afterlife, where I am right now." He turned his head and chuckled. "Getting my drift?"

"My brain is still thinking in the afterlife, and I'm somehow still connected to it mentally?" I asked.

"Whatayou stupid?" he said. "It's nothing like that...." He paused. "or is it?" He scratched his soppy head. "That wasn't my theory at all, but now that you say it outloud it makes perfect sense!" He smiled. "I was going to say that you were having delusions, but this is much stranger and more interesting...Let me see if I have this right... Your brain is sending back live pictures from the after life?...Fan friggin tastic!" He clapped his flat hands together at the fingertips. "What an excellent theory, My God Marty, you're a genius!"

"Really Mr. Einstein?" My lips broadened with a big smile.

"Albert!"

"Albert." I said

"No Marty, I'm sorry to say you're not, that was in fact my theory and it was so simple I felt too embarrassed to spell it out for you. I can be a real smartass sometimes." He seemed a little ashamed to be so cruel.

He went on to explain that Louis' arm could be doing the same thing in a less material way, but he really didn't find external limbs nearly as interesting as the human brain.

"Where you have the advantage Marty is you can use this as a meter to how well you are performing your functions on earth. If you have visions of heaven, it means that you've done the right things and your brain is in Utopia, but if you see hell!! He smiled. "Take notice of the people you talk to, some conversations will make no sense, and others will be like this one, it makes a difference." His face was dead serious looking.

He pulled out his watch again."Uh oh, time for Beanie!" referring to an old cartoon called Beanie and Cecil.

"Do you really stop every day to watch Beanie?" I asked

"Just a joke Marty, I have a tee time. Golf is fan friggin tastic!" he turned to disappear into the wall and turned back. "Good luck with this gift Marty." he looked down at my waist. "Nice pecker." and then he vaporized.

Chapter Ten

In the complex of condominiums where I live, many of the people have something in common. Many of the residents are Divorced or Separated. Many are young and just starting out. Many are old and just finishing up. Everyone there has one thing in common, they all have a retarded friend and his name is Bob. Bob is both mentally and physically challenged, he walks like there is a 4 foot plank wedged sideways between his knees. His bent arms rise and lower and wave as he scuffles along. He wears glasses that are as thick as sirloin steaks. He is loud, painfully honest, straightforward, and lovable. Life had dealt him this crushing malady when he was very small and to his credit he has managed to make his way through the morass well enough to live on his own. Everyone is his best friend and he relies on them heavily to get around and keep him company. When he heard about the accident he bummed a ride to the hospital and somehow found the curtained emergency room bed where I was waiting to see a doctor. It looked exactly like the bed I was in when I was struck by the tornado.
"Helllwoh!" he said in what could only be described as a screaming whisper. Bob could not whisper in a voice much lower than a police siren. When he becomes excited or agitated, or god forbid, finds something funny, his reaction is louder than if a hand-grenade had detonated in your mouth. "Mahtee, I was sooo wooowied about you!, are you going to die again?"

"Bob, come on in...No I'm not going to die, I just have some cuts and bruises that need to be checked, and have my chicken hole inspected." The old bandage around my head had partially unraveled and was stained with the blood that shot out of my nose when it broke the windshield of Russell's car. I looked like a depiction of a Civil War soldier walking out of a battle site triage.

"Are you going to die again Mahtee?" oh yes, Bob liked to ask the same questions repeatedly and I have found no way around this. Bob's face turned from an expression of sadness and remorse to one of glee in the snap of a finger. "Chicken Ho...Ha ha ha...Chicken ho...ha ha...are you going to die?" He climbed across the floor and put his elbows on my bed and his chin on his wrists. His face was very sad, "Are you going to die again, Mahtee?"

I had told him the story of how I died the day of my operation but was sent back to earth by the angels above and the story stuck with him. He told everyone at the pool what had happened and the next day he told them again. "No Bob, I'm very alive and I'm going to stay that way."

I felt a sensation as if I was rising, and I was rising because Bob was standing on the foot pedal that made the electrically operated hospital bed raise. It got high enough to stand Bob on his tiptoes and cause him to fall backwards on to the floor. I was almost 6 feet in the air when I heard something snap in the mechanism below.

"Nouse! Nouse!" shouted Bob out through the curtain. "Help me Nouse!" an angry nurse came in and told Bob he would have to wait outside. Try as she may she couldn't get the bed to lower a single inch.

"Is my Doctor coming soon?" I asked in a polite but not well received fashion.

"Listen Marty, there is a busload of wounded out there and only a Hyundai full of Doctors..I'm going to get maintenance to fix your bed" and out she stormed.

Seconds later the curtain parted and I saw the top of a woman's head come sliding in. "Marty, are you floating to heaven again?" said Lisa.

"Oh god, it's an angel come to take me to my grand reward!" I quipped. "Listen, I'm just guessing it's you Lisa, this bed is broken and all I can see is the part in your hair."

Lisa hunted around and found a foot stool to stand on. She looked gorgeous in her hospital gown, if such a thing is possible. Her slender but curvy shape was draped in a revealing way. She grabbed a hold of the bar near my head for balance. "There is my chicken-boy, I had a hell of a time finding you. I walked into two concussions and one blood spurting hand mangle!"

"Sounds like a weekend at my house!" I could be witty in times of dire distress. "I'm happy you found me, I was worried that I would never see you again."

"I wanted you to have my phone number, I would really like to spend some time with you." Her face became serious, an expression of her's that I had not seen yet, and I had been watching her face very closely.

Outside we heard a cell phone ring. Bob answered the call like a fireman yelling down a well to a stranded deaf child. "Heeeeelllllllllwoooo!!!!!"

The noise startled Lisa and she lurched forward, the foot stool she was standing on was one that had wheels on springs beneath it. When she leaned forward the wheels popped up and the stool shot out from under her. Her legs flew in the air and she screamed, she clawed and grabbed for help. She yanked out my IV and the needle in my arm erupted a volcano of blood. Her body plopped on top of mine and she straddled my waist. The forward convulsion caused her gown to rise up to her head. Just then Bob opened the curtain. "I see a nakie Buddox!" he hollered in delight.

The other side of the curtain opened and in walked Dr. Granger. "Well Senator, I warned you about a heightened libido sir." he barked

"Granger, it's not...Oh shit....This is a woman I met by the side of the road." I explained.

"Well, well, well!" he spoke with approval. "I guess those Penthouse Forum letters are true after all."

"I see yoo Buddox." repeated Bob.

Mr. Clean cleans your house and home and everything that's in it

Chapter Nine

Louis was thrown out of the Phantom Limb study at St. Charles. He didn't get rowdy or put a small dried piece of Nancy's dogshit in the lead Scientists Chicken Caesar Salad, well not until long after he was discarded from the project anyway. He was a victim of a flawed project. The Doctors working on the study were bound and determined to prove the "redirected" signal theory and Louis was screwing them up. They tickled his chest with feathers and stimulated every conceivable part of him with electricity but never got the results they were working for. The test that inevitably got him booted involved a bit of role playing, and to me the results should've become a case study, but they saw it more as a threat to their funding, and gave poor Mr. Tooth the heave-ho.

On a cold Tuesday afternoon in February they invited Louis into their darkened test lab. There was a table, standing straight up, as big as a man, with straps designed especially for Louis that would hold him in place while they rocked the table flat or in reverse to make him upside down. The side of the table where his right arm would go had an etched outline of his missing limb. They stripped poor Louis naked and strapped him onto the table. Then they got weird, they pretended as if his right arm was still there. They acted as if they were moving it into position and gently strapping in it where his wrist might have been. "Is that too tight?" said the oriental Doctor as he adjusted the strap and moved the invisible fingers like a schoolgirl pretending to serve tea to her dolls.
"Are you fucking with me?" Louis queried, in the exact same inflection as the question posed to him by the doctor. The scientists glanced at one another an carried on.

They attached electrodes all over his body and even on the invisible arm. The test started with the dripping of cold and warm liquids on various body parts and watching the meters as they jumped up and down. The scientists would look at the results and then at each other, seldom giving a reaction, but often showing disappointment with their eyes. After an hour of working him over they gathered together in the corner, shaking their heads and arguing. They all gathered at the right side of the table and began running the same tests on the empty arm etching. The test became more aggressive, involving needles, fire, ice, and water but their meters did not move. Finally one tall black doctor pulled a hammer from a drawer and tapped the invisible arm on the wrist. Louis' eyebrows raised due to anxiety. The scientists stared at one another, until the oriental man shouted "Give me that!" He grabbed the hammer and slammed in down right where Louis' index finger would have been. Without delay Louis screamed bloody murder, his legs, arm, and head snapped and writhed in agony. The doctors leapt back in disbelief.

"He's faking!" said the tall dark one. "He's pulling our legs!" he screamed. Louis continued to shout. Tears and snot were rolling into his wide open mouth. The doctors huddled together and their heads moved slowly upward simultaneously as Louis let go a fountain of pee. Being medical men they pretended to be unaffected as his bowels let go. One of the scientist called for a pair of medical assistants to come to the room and shepherd Louis to a recovery room. Another doctor turned on the lights and shut down the machinery as the little oriental one pushed the red button for a bio-cleaning crew.

The bio crew consisted of two portly polish women named Nadia and Katrina. They barely spoke English and only gave trying a half-hearted attempt. Nadia came to America to find a husband and relax in the good warm life of the United States. She could not only not find a worthy suitor but the only jobs available to non-English speaking pudgy polish women seemed to involve cleaning. At least being on the bio-hazard cleanup crew paid better than scrubbing the rough tile floors of the local bankers and socialites. Katrina was here to make as much money as she could and send it back to her large family in Poland. She worked several jobs and barely spent a cent in this country. Her luxuries included an occasional new hairnet, and a can of supermarket brand coffee.

As Nadia mopped up the floor in her plastic, yellow, hazard suit she spoke Polish to Katrina who was washing the table with her gloved hands. The words they exchanged sounded like backwards English to the Interns that wandered through. Katrina was talking about a new cleanser that she was told about that required less effort and cleaned faster, a subject she was very interested in. Nadia was complaining about the disgusting mess on the floor. Katrina had seen quite a bit in her career and chose to remain distant to it. She was sponging liquids and solids and humming a polish tune when she paused. She saw something that was common in other areas of the clinic but rarely, no never seen in this laboratory. She waved Nadia over to take a look. Nadia's face gave off an aura of "So what?!?" She grabbed Katrina's sponge, dipped it in cleanser and put it up to the etched outline of Louis' hand. Starting about where the knuckle would go she pressed hard and wiped downward, across the index finger, and on to the edge of the table, until every bit of the blood was gone. Louis' blood.

It's Broasted !

Chapter Eight

Louis was a handsome tall and lanky bundle of energy. He was a victim of his playfulness and his shifting moods. When he was a younger man he tried growing his dark curly hair long like the rest of us, but because of it's stubborn consistency, it grew out sideways and gave the appearance that it was being blown by a powerful wind coming from the left to right. He now wears it short, partially for a more distinguished appearance, and because of his disability,he has a hard time combing. The loss of his arm left him with many of the traditional "Phantom Limb" phenomena. He experienced a burning, itching, and occasional pain coming from his missing arm. At one point he became alarmed because his arm felt "paralyzed." The good things he experienced included sitting next to another person in a crowded theatre and not needing the armrest to his right. He could sleep all night on his right side. Louis could find a hundred reasons why you should dispense of at least one arm, but I would not listen to him. Misery loves company.

There were many theories dispensed to Louis as to why he was still feeling his ghost arm. The most logical one provided by the researchers at the St. Charles clinic had to do with the redirection of severed nerve endings. They surmised that even though the limb is missing, the brain feels compelled to send and receive messages, via nerves, and will do whatever it can to complete the missing circuit. They theorized that the messages that had once went to the fingers had relocated to a section of his chest. When his chest would get hot or tickle it would send erroneous impulses, fooling the brain into thinking that it was coming from his vacant arm. Albert Einstein has another theory. A new one that I'll share with you later.

As I sat by the side of the road following our wreck I was surrounded by debris from the 17 cars involved in the accident. I was getting bored waiting for Russell to return, and Nancy had discovered some free "Preferred Meats" to enjoy. Louis had also run off to help the wounded. I was still a little dazed but alert enough to need something to occupy my mind. Just an arms length away I spotted a magazine and a journal, just beyond that lay a book. I crawled over and picked it up. It was a biography called "Butcher Ball" by Indiana's winningest high school basketball coach Jack Butcher. It turned out to be the story of his life and recipes for cooking possum and the like. I kept it just in case things got desperate. "Hey, aren't you the guy with the chicken leg?" came a female voice from the blinding sun.

"Chicken leg?. I don't know what your talking about." I said matter of factly.

"I saw you on the Early Show this morning, you're the fellow that had a chicken leg stuck in your head!" the voice came closer, blocking the bright light, allowing me to see a lovely slender blonde approaching. "You were interviewed by Dave the nutty weatherman!"

I cocked one eyebrow. "Oh....That chicken leg!" I was trying to sound sincere. "Yes, I am that guy I guess!"

"I can see how you might forget something like that." she smirked. "I'm Lisa, I was in the accident too....Anything sticking out of my head?"

"No, but oh my god!" I said in a serious tone. "There's a gravy boat lodged in your thigh!"

She looked downward in a panic and started to laugh. "That's always been there, since I was a baby." "So tell me,what's Dave Price like?"

At first I was jealous of the question, after all I was the "head wound guy." Then it came to me that she had seen the interview, and knew pretty much everything you wanted to know about my injury."

"Dave was wonderful!" I said truthfully. "He's pretty weird, but I liked him." "After he had interviewed me and expressed his concern and offered to keep in touch, he bluntly said. "Enough about you, let's talk about me for a while, something that I'm really interested in!""

"What an ass!" she said while making a grimace. "He really said that?"

"Yea, he did, but he was kidding...I guess. We talked for a couple of hours and he told me about his failed relationships, and by the way he's not gay....And about how he was a corporate executive and decided to chuck it all and become a weatherman at a little TV station for no money. He told me how he got a job in Chicago right away and met the most fascinating people, and how he landed at the network." I was talking like an excited school boy.

"Whoa, sounds like you two hit it off!" she was excited with me.

"We did, he gave me his private number and told me to give him a call when I got well and he and I would play golf together." I noticed she had a scrape on her arm. "Are you okay?"

"I guess I am, but my car is totaled!" her lower lip began to quiver. "I've only had that car for a month." she covered her quivering with her left hand. It was free of a wedding band.

"Come sit by me Lisa, let's talk about you a little bit." said the spider to the fly. I was learning the first advantage of having a freak wound to the head. It was a great icebreaker.

Chapter Seven

"A day can be a beautiful thing if touched by Kindness." those words were written in giant letters on the back of a semi-trailer before me as I sat in the front seat of Russell's SUV on the way home from the hospital. Next to the quote was the silhouetted figures of a man and woman holding a young boy's hands as they walked through high grass. The woman had a tied off bundle of hair that flowed out the back of her head like the groomed tail of a show horse. Their dark figures gave me the thought that they were a very happy but dead family. That whoever mows the grass in heaven is not doing a very good job these days. Below that was the inscription "Rainbow Preferred Meats" Antioch, Illinois.

Louis was sitting in the back seat, with Nancy the dog, commenting aloud on an article he was reading from some trashy periodical. "Says here that there is a woman in New York City, a virgin, that's 9 months pregnant!" Russell let out a doubting rush of air as Louis rambled on. "She's 20 years old, unmarried, and has been medically deemed untouched by original sin. Some people believe she is going to give birth to the second coming of Christ." Russell leaked again. "But she's encountered a number of naysayers, especially from the government."

"Why in God's name would the government be so against it?" chirped Russell

"Because of the holiday it would create, another Christmas!" Louis said with a smile in his voice, happy that Russell had joined the fray. "There is an outlandish expense to the Christmas Holiday, with workers and government taking time off and others being paid triple overtime. Not to mention the credit card debt incurred by all those gift-buying saps. People flying all over the country, creating log jams at airports and bus stations. All the security required and lost productivity, this country couldn't afford another Jesus."

Russell banged the steering wheel with his fist."Bull!" he screamed. "They wouldn't need another holiday, they could just combine the two, like President's Day."

Louis jumped in "Jesus' Day." he snorted.

"Shut up Louis!" Russell was getting uncharacteristically angry. "If we were killed in an accident right here on this hiway right now, you would bypass purgatory and go straight to hell for eternity!" Russell was Catholic to the core and bypassing purgatory was saved for only the worst of the sinners.

"Anyway." Louis continued with a stifled laugh. "It goes on to speculate who the 3 wise men would be to visit him on his birth and what they would offer."

"It wouldn't include you obviously!"Russell retorted, taking a shot at Louis' goat

"It says here that Johnny Cougar Mellencamp would bring a royalty check, from his song Little Pink Houses and Bruce Willis would bring a gift certificate to the Hard Rock Cafe and Bill Clinton would bring an autographed copy of his book." Louis said dryly.

"Why are all the wise men entertainers? What piece of crap tabloid are you reading anyway Louis?" Russell asked.

"The Louisville Courier Journal." he said, matter of factly.

As I sat there wondering how the rest of my life was going to go, I pondered why there was blue smoke coming from the tires of the semi in front of us, and why the ghost family was getting so large, so fast. It occurred to me that Russell had engaged himself with Louis' chiding and had not noticed that the truck in front of us had slammed on it's brakes. It crossed my mind that Russell was wanting to test his theory on Louis' express commute to hell.

The driver side airbag inflated the split-second Russell's Chevy Suburban hit the back of the trailer, slapping his face and making his eye pop out. Nancy flew with all four paws out like "Superdog" into the back of my bandaged head, driving it into the windshield. Louis went face first into the newspaper and then the driver's headrest, leaving print on both. The car twisted and veered off the road, spinning wildly. It flipped over twice and landed softly in a fir tree. Our truck had come to rest with the tail in the air and the back lift-gate open. All the well-wishers balloons that the nurses aides had stuffed into the back of the Suburban were leaking out, one at a time from the broken door. It gave the effect that the truck was sinking and letting off air bubbles.

When Russell had decided that we were all unharmed, he grabbed his medical kit and ran to help the other victims of this accident. Nancy sat in my lap by the side of the road and licked my face. This time I didn't mind so much.

A day can be a beautiful thing if touched by Kindness

Chapter Six

I lay there in an unconscious, semi-conscious, hyper-conscious state for better than a week and an half. I was visited by my relatives and friends. I was visited by the dead both famous and obscure. I was read to by Russell Sanders and Louis Tooth. Did I mention Louis' last name? Very unfortunate and cruel isn't it? His parents were sick and depraved, but his name never fails to get a laugh, from me anyway.

I lay there, not really taking in much of either world until I heard a sound like a distant AM radio, full of sparks and static:
"Marty? Marty? I think you can hear me Marty, the dials all say you can." lilted the familiar voice. "Marty it's me Doctor Granger, Doctor Ranger Granger." It wasn't his proper name and even if it was it wouldn't even compare to Louis Tooth. "I have some good news for you Colonel, the operation was a success!" he laughed casually. "You survived, and you know the cafeteria always gives me a complimentary fruit cup when one of my patients survive... Haven't had one for a while...I'm excited." He was probably just joking. "The bad news Marty is two-fold. Number one, when we removed that exquisite poultry limb from your melon it took some of your brain with it, and parts that weren't stuck to the bone were pretty well...Breaded. You lost a big hunk of "Gray Matter" there brother and while the scans and tests all say that you are functioning at an astoundingly normal level, I gotta let you know that a patient named Gary Fulbriton that we operated on about 5 years ago had a similar reading following a brain injury but he wound up being nuttier than an Elephant's poop. Number two, I'm ADD, attention deficit disorder or something like that, and although I've read every book and article concerning your type of situation, I don't really remember much about it... Hell I can't find my car keys and to tell you the truth I'm not sure if I left them in your skull before I closed up. You see Marty, I was a basketball player for the University of Kentucky Wildcats back in 85, and they would let you slide on just about any course if you had the right number of rebounds and baskets on your resume. I was an all-star 3 years in a row and I would've gone pro if I could've remembered the plays. Anyway, where was I, oh yeah, remind me to tell you about our point guard, a redneck from Appalachia who became a Dentist even though he had an IQ of ten and was Dyslexic. He went to pull a patients ' "Toof" and amputated his foot. Thank God for malpractice insurance, right Marty!" that hearty staccato laugh made me blink involuntarily. "So right now your body has gone into a protective coma-like state until it can deal with the shock of the surgery, but don't you worry, Louis took that piece of chicken and had it bronzed and mounted on top of a doggy-bag from Chickin Lickin, it's hilarious! Also, as soon as you come out of this and can talk, if of course you "can" talk, that crazy weatherman from the CBS early show, Dave Price, wants to visit and interview you for the network. I'd like to get my hands on that boy's coconut!" I'd never seen the CBS Early Show before and didn't know who Dave Price was, now he's my favorite weatherman.

Doctor Granger's voice was fading in and out..."Marty, I just want you to know one thing, your friend Louis has been reading the "Penthouse Forum" letters to you this past week. He has managed to become somewhat of a celebrity here and never fails to draw a substantial crowd of patients and medical personnel alike. It's been sort of like a perverted Christian Science Read-aloud in here. Like a Hooternanny or something. If when you come to, you have a heightened libido or some pretty impossible scenarios of how to get a woman naked, running around in your head, you'll know why! Trust me Marty, those things never happen, just trust me on that."

The next thing from my coma I remember was hearing Russell's voice coming from the black. He whispered "Marty, guess who I snuck into your room, can you hear her? Marty, it's your loving pooch Nancy." I heard the rustling of dog feet on tile and then on my bed sheets, I could feel her weight on my chest. "Kiss him girl!"Russell barked softly. "Bring him out of his sleep with a kiss!"
"Oh my god no,"I screamed in my head. "Don't let that tongue touch my face, she licks her butt with that tongue." but lick she did. On my nose and my lips and my ears...and I was motionless and helpless to stop it. "Russell, I'm going to piss in your beer the very first chance I get and see how you like it!" but Russell egged her on and on and on she licked, until finally.... I found it somehow....erotic.

I wish life was like a parking meter

Chapter five

"Something has changed, finally" said Louis as I sat down next to him at the bar. "My fingernails were digging into the palm of my hand I was so tense!" He was talking about his missing fingernails from his missing fingers digging into his missing palm from his....You get the point. "I've been getting this sensation for a long time now, and I think it's gone for good!" there was a 20 second pause "no, it's back again, forget I said anything."

Just when you think you've got a perplexing problem licked, and you have that feeling that you're over it for good, well there it is again. It's like seeing and talking to dead people, you go 2 or three hours without it happening and you start thinking it's all over then suddenly "BAM" you look up at the wall mounted TV screen and there's Peter Jennings giving the news. Only he's not giving the news, he's complaining that he wasn't the guy who wrote the DaVinci Code.

After I was swallowed up in the tornado and Russell put me in the ambulance, he squat down next to me and began talking to the hospital to expedite my entry into the emergency room. "Tempest central, this is unit 52... I have a male patient with a head injury, about 5'7.."

"Eight" I added. "Eight."

Russell continued "about 5'8", 150 pounds, average to slight build, he's alert, and he has an object sticking in his head." he paused. "Over!"

"Uh unit 52 this is Tempest, did you call?"

"What's your name soldier?" why he called me soldier I do not know to this day.

"Marty." I replied

"Marty what?" his eyes were looking in two different directions

"Oh, my name is Martin, I mean my name is Clark..I mean" I had the same problem everytime somebody asked me my name.

"Tempest, we have a male with a head injury, named Marty Clark, he is disoriented and confused. Over!" his lips made a straight line as he pursed them.

"Unit 52, Russell, is that you? Could you try to hold the button down the entire time you talk, we're not getting everything you're saying."

"Roger that Tempest, we are in route with a tornado victim, can you advise any treatment at this time... Hey Randy why are we stopping!" He screamed with authority.

Randy opened the back door "We're here Russell, we were only two blocks away."

"Right!" chimed Russell and they whisked me into the emergency room. They put a saline IV drip in my arm, and different Doctors came rushing in and out of my curtained space asking me the same questions. Russell came in with a disposable camera he bought from the gift shop and was about to take the picture that hangs over the cash register at the "Pecker" when my final Doctor pulled back the curtain.

"Hi I'm Doctor Granger, you must be Marty, I'd recognize you anywhere!"

"Hey Doc, have you ever seen anything like this?" Russell exclaimed

"Oh yes, many times sir! I'm very familiar with this. " he was carefully moving my head to the side and eyeballing my wound. "of course I've never seen it in somebody's head before.." With that he laughed a deep staccato laugh and turned his head all the way around so his face and mine were side by side. "Big smile for the camera Marty!"

Russell fumbled with the disposable camera, he had his glass eye up to the viewfinder, backed off a bit and once he had his real eye there snapped the legendary photo.

"Is this extra crispy or original?" asked Doc Granger

"Neither" said Russell. "It's chickin lickin, it says right on the box that it's broasted!"

"Would someone tell me what is going on?" I screamed

"You mean nobody in these hallowed halls of healing has told you yet?" Doc said with a smile in his voice. "Sanders, if that is your name, go find Marty a mirror. "now listen to me Marty, what you're about to see may surprise you, and by all intents and purposes, it really should." he laughed that laugh again. "But we are going to treat this just like any injury we see in here, with the utmost dignity and sobriety."
Russell returned with the mirror and held it over my face so I could get a good look. His hand was shaking and I was only getting a blurred picture. Doc Granger slowly put his hand around Russell's and steadied the image.

I was trying to get the words "Oh my God!" to come out of my lips, but only the word shapes came and air fizzled through. "Wha..the fu..?" was the first recognizable words to come.

Doc Granger calmly and firmly spoke "It's a piece of fried chicken, most likely a leg, fully cooked and from the looks of it, very tasty. Normally I would be very excited to see such a magnificent example of southern cooking, me being a man of color and all, but seeing as how it's found it's way into your skull, I am more than just a little concerned over your prognosis," the sounds of gasps, including my own filled the room. "Now don't you worry Marty!" his cavalier look changed to one of deep concern. "I've already eaten no more than an hour ago, your chicken is safe with me." laugh.

With that I passed out cold. I left the bed and flew into the skies above the United States, it was getting dark on the east coast. I traveled into a very bright light and I could see a figure waiting there for me. It was my Uncle Howard. He died when I was 17 from a heart attack. He beckoned me closer, and he whispered into my ear. "It's not your time yet Marty, you are going back. When you get better, buy one of those razors with the 3 blades and the vibrating action. Let me know what you think."

Chapter four

As I was coming back from the men's room at the "Woodpecker" I ran into my girlfriend from high school. Her name was Linda and she was killed the day after graduation when her Super Bee car was run off the road by a drunk driver in a Ford LTD. She told me how disappointed she was at the quality of the commercials in the Super Bowl broadcast this year. "Usually, that's the best part of watching the game, but this year they really sucked the big one!" she said. She had a way of saying things that could always make me laugh. The two men with the mullet haircuts and missing front teeth playing pool underneath the Budweiser tiffany glass fluorescent lamp stopped their game and gawked at my burst of joy. The one with the most "feathered" haircut shot me a piercing stare over his brown,stained cheeks and barked "You just better not be laughing at me, ASSWIPE!" I assured him that I was not and gave a wave to Russell who knowingly popped two more beers and hurriedly delivered them to the gentlemen. As Russell and I gingerly shuffled back to the bar, the angriest of the two men stated "Well alright then." and took an over-anxious swallow of the Budweiser while suds ran down his chin and onto his shirt. His friend flashed me a "thumbs-up" and did the same chug-alug. Crisis averted. By the way, Linda was right about those Super Bowl ads. They sucked.
Maybe you should look at Russell with me. He is a mountain of a man, tall and wide, with a head of rusty hair that could be a bad toupee if it wasn't growing naturally from his scalp. The two guys playing pool could be swallowed up and disappear inside of Russell if they tangled with him, but that was not likely to happen. He was my friend, protector, bartender, but mostly he was a lover and protector of the peace. When he wasn't taking drink orders and watching out for my well being, he was a volunteer fireman for the neighboring city of Phillips Ridge. He had taken all of the training and reported on time for every meeting and emergency. He was a model volunteer fireman. He always looked shocked and embarrassed because his cheeks were red and his glass eye made such a vacant stare. He owned 2 glass eyes, one the same color as his existing eye and one with a bright green shamrock in the middle for use on St. Patrick's day. He also had a patch that he often wore over the empty socket. Louis had given in to him. It looked like an archery target. Louis loved the sick humor.

The "Woodpecker" was a typical thrown-together bar in the middle of the country. The sign was provided by the "Falls City" beer company. It was a tacky sign that was more of an advertisement than anything. Strangers thought the name of the bar was "bottles and cans" because the sign was letting you know that Falls City beer was available not only in the classic bottle, but also in convenient cans in a way that was far more conspicuous that the tiny words "Woodpecker" at the bottom. The guy who owned the place was doing the best he could, but it wasn't ever going to be anything more than what Louis referred to as a "Quonset hut of enjoyment." The tables and floors could survive a disaster and with a spray of a garden hose could become good as new. The wall behind the bar is where most of the country joints exhibit their singularity and individuality and the Pecker was no exception. They had their select liquors and and softball and bowling trophies. A giant stuffed Marlin that nobody had a story for. There was a large pickle jar containing Russell's unique cocktail mixture of Vodka, apples, spices, and carrots, slowly aging into a festering mess he liked to call, "Satan's Underpants." If you're gonna be in Arfordville Kentucky anytime soon, you should stop by and order a drink, it should be ready by then! There is a picture of me and my Doctor next to the cash register. The photo was taken about an hour after my accident in Phillips Ridge and I still had that thing in my head. The portrait in black and white of me, a white man strapped tight in a hospital gown, and a black physician in his scrubs was taken by a volunteer fireman who had stayed with me from the time he pulled me from the rubble until the nurses made him leave the hospital. That fireman never stopped taking care of me even after the day he picked me up when I was released from the "St. Charles" residential therapy center. The same place, by the way, where Louis was having his non-existant arm studied. His last name was Sanders. From that fateful day forward he was my savior and my bartender, Russell Sanders.

scratch and sniff

Chapter three

So here we are at the "Woodpecker", the one-eyed bartender, the one-armed widower, and me. Marty, the guy with the brain injury.

My father died of lung cancer. He smoked Kent cigarettes with the "micronite" filter. There were high hopes that this product of endless scientific research would filter out the cancer causing agents and still deliver a "full-flavored" smoke. Oops! Dad had numerous parts of his body removed in the last 20 years before his death. His appendix and gall bladder were easy ones. His kidney was a little tougher. The part of his liver that was most affected by cirrhosis was yanked out. Tonsils of course. The last ten years he learned to speak without his vocal chords, sort of a burping sound, but easily understandable. They tried to take out a lung but that was the last straw. By the time he passed away he no longer had operation scars as much as zippers. From behind he looked like a garment bag with railroad tracks running from one shoulder to the other and then down to his ass and back towards his opposite thigh. I saw him naked one day after they put this new scar on him. He had enormous testicles. Had he lived another ten years they probably would've extracted them too. I told him he had more parts in heaven than he did here on earth. He was becoming an emptied out old bag of poop. I helped put his casket in the hearse at the funeral. It was very light.

Even though my Dad had so many problems with cancer, I still smoke. A rational person would know better, but since my accident I know very little. So you can fully appreciate the irony of my calamity you must know one thing; I love fast food chicken. I like it fried and rotisseried. I like it original recipe, I like it spicy or mild. I don't like it crispy so much as I learned that the "Colonel" himself despised the extra crispy at the restaurant he founded. It apparently wasn't his idea and since he had sold the business to a wealthy entrepreneur he lost control of his own beloved recipe. A dark day in my life, and I prefer the white meat.

One day I was headed for a visit with a friend in a small neighboring town. There were thunderstorm warnings posted for the day but that only meant it was a good day for visiting. I was stopped at an intersection in a low lying part of the street when a cloudburst happened. I sat there, unable to see out of my car, waiting for the storm to lighten up. Before I could do a thing, the street filled with water and seeped into my car. The engine died and I was stranded. Fortunately I knew of a "Chickin Lickin" restaurant about two blocks away and I evacuated my vehicle and began to hoof it. Oddly, the sun was shining and the air was fresh and clean. I was walking by a lumber yard, less than a block from the CL franchise, when I became short of breath, the sky suddenly turned dark and green. When I tilted my head to the heavens I was horrified. The clouds above me were rotating in a circle, around a perfectly round eyeball. The motion grew faster and drew closer as I stood there trying to gather a breath. I thought I saw a wicked hand of death passing through the eye, pointing and waving me towards the funnel. I felt the jarring explosion of glass and I was surrounded by flying lumber. My feet left the ground and my stomach felt that same sensation you get on a wild roller coaster ride. I awoke only moments later lying beneath a pile of rubble and broken glass in front of the Chickin Lickin. Men wearing firemen suits where pulling the debris off of me and shouting non-sensical emergency words to each other. They pulled me out carefully and placed me on a stretcher. As one fireman began to immobilize my head with a strap, he froze. His eyes went cold and he backed away from me. Another man grabbed his arm and asked "What's wrong?" The stunned fireman pointed at my head and the other turned to look at me. He loudly gasped and then realizing that I was alert he covered his mouth with his hand so as to not frighten me. Talk about "too little, too late!" They wheeled me across the rough and littered pavement to a waiting ambulance. The entire time saying "don't worry buddy, you're gonna be ok!" I felt pretty reassured up to the point the one fireman with the name "Sanders" taped to the front of his uniform said to me calmly "they can get that thing out of your head, they can do anything these days!"