Precious Pearl
Some situations are complicated and hysterical such as my recent visit to the emergency room. I was rushed to the hospital because I collapsed at work.
I slowly opened my eyes and noticed an IV in my forearm. I weakly looked around me. I was in a large room with other patients; only curtains separated us. I close my eyes and hear my neighboring patient, “Hey, you know I am a psychiatrist. You can talk to me.” I ignore him until a nurse comes in, curious about what he will tell her.
The nurse says, “Hi Ralph, how are you feeling?”
Ralph tells the nurse he is a psychiatrist, and I swear I heard her eyes roll, “Okay, Dr. Ralph,” She has sarcasm hiding in her response, “I am certain you are a good psychiatrist.” Ralph must have heard her mockery, “I’ll show you my business card.” With that, I heard Ralph rummaging for his wallet.
A card glided under the curtain, and I was amused to see it was an old baseball card. A feminine hand picked up the card. Ralph cleared his throat, “I played ball with Buddy Booker.” You may not know him — you’re just a kid. He was a superstar back in the day. We were the stars of the Cleveland Indians in 1966.”
The nurse cleared her throat again, “The doctor ordered an MRI of your creative brain.”
The nurse peeks around the curtain at me and asks, “How are we doing, Miss. Pearl?”
I told her that I was feeling much better. I explained that due to my busy schedule, I was skipping meals. I told her I was ready to go home.
“Not yet, honey; we must run some tests and change your IV bag.” Her voice faded as I succumbed to the mysterious liquid she put into the IV tube. I admit I am calmer. I don’t hear Ralph’s relentless questions and fantasies.
In the distance, beyond the sedation, I hear a sweet voice, “My name is Sara. I am eleven and a half years old.”
I could barely separate my lips enough to breathe or respond to Sara.
“You should hide. You have to hide. He’s coming. Are you still there?” Her voice cracked with undeniable fear.
I opened my eyes just enough to see the curtains that separated her, Ralph, and myself. In the distance, I hear others.
The door creaked open, and the voices seemed hushed by a raspy breath.
With a deep hissing voice, “How are you feeling?” I could barely make out his face, which had an authoritative jawline.
I hear Sara sobbing, “Don’t let him touch you!”
As I close my eyes, I hear Ralph. Fearfully wailing, “Stop! Don’t!”
Conversations scrabble my thoughts. So many — all screaming. Dozens of terrified, pleading voices.
I feel a sting of warmth go into my vein, and the voices calm, fading, except for the man and the woman standing next to me. There are only three of us here.
I recognize the man; he is the Director of Secret Services — I routinely clean his office, and the woman appears to be military.
The woman insists, “Director Grey if we introduce more personalities into her cortex, she will go mad. You want to hide this information, not destroy it.”
I feel myself giving in to the warmth filling my veins and faintly hear, “Awake Code Zephra Ally System….”
I find myself on the floor outside the Homeland Security Office, ‘Miss. Pearl, are you okay?” He reaches out his gloved hand.
I feel lost in space, “Yeah, yeah. I am okay.” I look into his eyes; universes swirl there.
He smirks, “You are a precious pearl.”
The End
Maryann Lindquist & Mojha MacDowell
1/14/23
