The Two Worlds of Billy Callahan

by Richard Friedman

  “Dad, there’s a doctor from Cleveland on the phone. He wants to talk to you.”

  “I’ll be right there,” Greg solemnly walked to the telephone and picked up the receiver. “Hello, this Mr. Miller.”

  “This is Dr. Davidson calling from the Keller Institute. I’m calling about Mr. Callahan.”

  Greg’s heart sank. So this is how it would end. He expected the doctor to tell him that Billy was dead. He gave the doctor half his attention. While the doctor spoke using medical terminology that Greg didn’t understand, he held the phone a few inches from his ear and had a flashback to a game of whiffle-ball in his backyard when he and Billy were boys.

  Greg could hear the Doctor’s voice getting louder. “I said, can you hear me, Mr. Miller?”

  “I’m sorry. When did it happen?” asked Greg.

  “Yesterday, and we confirmed it today.”

  “I don’t understand… either a person’s dead or they’re not. It doesn’t take two days to determine if someone is dead.”

  Dr. Davidson repeated the word, “Dead? Who said anyone’s dead? Didn’t you hear what I said?”

  “Perhaps I misunderstood, can you please repeat it? In non-medical terms please.”

  “I said he’s coming back to us. Yesterday, he responded to light and earlier today Nurse Corley felt him squeeze her hand. Can you believe it?”

  Greg’s face lit up the room. “I’m stunned. I don’t know what to say. It’s the best news regarding Billy in fifty years! Fifty damn years!”

  “When can you come see him?” asked the doctor.

  “I’ll check my calendar. Thank you, Doctor, and thank you for calling. By the way, what happened? I mean, what prompted this change in him?”

  “I wish I could tell you it was my brilliant handling of his case and my astute attention to detail and clinical trials that have come to fruition with an achievement that will bring me the ‘Nobel Prize for Medicine’…Inventas Vitum Juvat Excoluisse Per Antes. The truth is we don’t know.”

  “Thank you, Doctor. I’ll see you in Cleveland.”

  CHAPTER 16

  Billy’s progress stalled. His eyes followed the doctor’s flashlight back and forth, up and down. The teacher left his head several weeks ago, but he remained silently trapped inside his own consciousness.

  Nurse Corley offered a suggestion.

  “I learned an auditory method in nursing school that helped traumatic brain injured patients called ‘music therapy.’ Why don’t we find songs from his youth and play them? Perhaps the tunes will help him?”

  That prompted an internet search that led to a 400 song play list.

  “Ughhh,” said Corley, “I can’t believe these songs were popular! Did you ever hear of the Dave Matthews Band? Whose dumb idea was this anyway? Oh yeah, my stupid idea. If I have to listen to these songs all day long I’m going to die. God, I’m such a dope.”

  Her assistant, Jannine Francosky, a smooth-skinned girl with red hair offered hope. “Maybe the songs will help Billy? Remember that when your fingers are stuck in your ears.”

  Corley laughed and said, “That would be typical, Billy talks for the first time and I miss it because I don’t want to hear a Lady GaGa song.”

  Francosky winked, “It’s all about the patients.”

  “Don’t remind me. We hear that phrase at the staff meetings,” muttered Corley.

  “Maybe this time it’s true. If he speaks for anyone, I hope it’s you. He has no idea the time and effort you’ve given him,” said Francosky.

  Corley returned the idea, “You said it, and it’s all about the patients. I admit, I do have an unusual bond with him.”

  The music played for two days without any change in the patient. Nurse Corley checked in on her patient at various intervals of the day and held his hand. She felt life in there once in a while, but Dr. Davidson feared Billy had plateaued in his recovery.

  The next day, Greg Miller returned to Cleveland. The staff greeted him warmly and escorted him directly to Billy’s room.

  “What’s with the music?” he asked.

  “We thought music from his childhood might shake him out of his doldrums?” said Corley.

  “No, no, that’s not what I mean. Are you trying to kill him? He hated the popular music of his era. He listened to music from the 1970s. Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd, and um, who else, yeah, Peter Frampton. It was the same music his dad liked. Can you find some of that?”

  “Okay, I’ll run a search for those groups. Is Pink Floyd a boy or a girl? asked Corley.

  “Neither.”

  “Oh I get it… transgender,” said Corley. Greg rolled his eyes, but didn’t try to correct her,

  “Can you please find the music,” deadpanned Greg. He opened the blinds and let the morning rays of light illuminate the room.

  The nurse left the room and headed to the library on the first floor where she gave an intern the task of downloading the music to Billy’s room. They synced the computer in his room with the network throughout the institute. This made it easy for medical records to be at the nurse’s station with the click of a mouse. Within an hour, the song, “Four Sticks” blasted into Billy’s room and Greg had to ask a resident assistant to turn down the volume. That would have been a grievous sin in the hey-day of Greg’s youth. The Keller Institute wasn’t a venue for a rock concert like Yasgur’s Farm or Madison Square Garden, so they lowered the volume to a roar, not a boom.

  Greg pretended to be the star drummer, pounding away at the air with boundless energy. Dr. Davidson sauntered in as Greg finished banging on his imaginary drum, completing his best John Bonham impression.

  “Nicely done, Mr. Miller. Is that Led Zeppelin blaring out of the speakers?”

  “I see there’s a music fan born after 2020 that appreciates rock ‘n’ roll. ‘Physical Graffiti’ is still a classic album by the greatest band of all time. I used to imagine I was their drummer. That dude was nasty.”

  “Amen, Mr. Miller. Amen indeed. I played drums before I went to medical school.”

  The next song on the track played. The intro was unforgettable. The title popped into Greg’s head…Kashmir. Years had passed since he’d heard it, but he’d know that tune anywhere. As Robert Plant’s tender voice, the lead singer in the band, fill the room, a second voice piped in, ever so lightly in the background.

  “Oh let the sun beat down upon my face, stars to fill my dream. I am a traveler of both time and space, to be where I have been.”

  “Holy mother of God!” shouted Greg. He fumbled out of the chair and ran to the intercom, turning the volume down coming from the speaker.

  “Did I just hear Billy sing a song from nineteen seventy-five?” asked the doctor.

  With the teacher fading from his head, Billy reacted to the morning sunlight and Led Zeppelin. The first thing he saw since the summer of 2012 was Greg’s face. The shiny brown hair of his youth was gone and turned grey. His mouth had sharp creases at the corners and his teeth had yellowed.

  In a barely audible tone, Billy spoke, “Greg? Is that you?”

  Greg raced to the bed, leaning in close and clutched his hand.

  “It’s me Billy! It’s me!”

  Dr. Davidson flipped on the video recorder that faced the bed and he raced for a phone in the hallway to call Director Gallagher.

  Nurse Corley heard the ruckus and rushed in.

  “I can’t believe what I’m seeing!” she said.

  Billy turned his head and saw the woman in all white hospital clothing. “Hello, my name is Billy.”

  “Hello, my name is Billy. I’ve waited a long time for you to speak. I hoped for something more profound!” She rushed to the bed and gave him a soft hug.

  Billy appeared confused. He cleared his throat and spoke to his friend.

  “Greg, you don’t look so good, what’s happened to you?”

  Greg replied, “I’m older. You were gone a long time.” “Gone? What does that mean? I’m confused. Where is the teacher? He said I wa
s gone a long time, too, but I don’t understand. Is Obama still the President? The recordings stopped playing and the teacher said he was leaving and I had to warn the whole world.”

  “Dear Jesus, he thinks it’s 2012. Who is the teacher? Oh Lord, somebody, a little help here,” said the nurse.

  Greg continued to hold Billy’s hand. “President Obama’s been dead for years.”

  “Was he killed in office?” asked Billy.

  Greg couldn’t believe the question. “No Billy, he died of old age. Heart Attack in 20…”

  Corley interrupted before Greg could spit out the exact year of the President’s demise.

  “We should start from the beginning, Mr. Miller.”

  Greg realized telling Billy that Barack Obama died from old age would be difficult for him to comprehend. Billy knew the former president as a vibrant man, not a deceased one.

  Billy hadn’t spoken in decades, yet he showed no signs of deterioration from his experience. He was ready to make up for lost time and remained unfazed by his presence here in the bed or the building. His hair remained brown, except for a bit of grey at the temples.

  Greg said, “Let me fill you in on a few details you are missing.”

  The nurse had other ideas, “Mr. Miller, we have to discuss this with the staff neurologist first.”

  Dr. Davidson concurred, “I’ll go find him, but proceed with caution until I get back.”

  Billy looked around the room, “Can someone please tell me what’s going on? Where’s my father?”

  CHAPTER 17

  Dr. Davidson dashed back in the room. He gave Nurse Corley the okay to continue questioning her patient. Tears cascaded down her face. None of the people in the room was mindful of the shock Billy would encounter if he viewed himself before learning his real age. Greg stepped out of bathroom and swung the door open, exposing the full length mirror to Billy.

  “Oh no! What’s happened to me? The teacher was right. I didn’t want to believe him. I’m old!” The terror in his voice was clear and unmistakable. All things considered, he was quite healthy, but he did not resemble a 12-year-old boy.

  Greg grabbed the wooden chair and turned it backwards, sat on it, and pulled it closer to the bed. “Let me ask you a question. What is the last thing you remember?”

  “The aliens leaving Earth.”

  The staggering expulsion of air filled the room. Nurse Corley’s tears stopped in their tracks. Dr. Davidson’s expression turned to stone. Greg’s head lowered in disappointment.

  “No, before that,” said Greg.

  There was a long pause as Billy contemplated.

  “Hmm. That’s a good question,” He cleared his throat again, “Oh, I remember, I was in the desert with my dad.”

  “Do you remember anything else about that day?” asked Greg.

  “It was warm. My dad forced me to guzzle water like crazy. We scanned for old rocks. We dug around for old bones. Artifacts, yah, that’s what we were exploring, artifacts,” Billy smiled, pleased that he could remember this word.

  Greg was getting somewhere, “What else? What happened next?”

  Billy answered in a matter-of-fact manner, “I met the teacher, and then the movie started. I want to know about my dad. Where is he?”

  “I want to talk about the teacher, and the movie, in a minute. But first, let me tell you what happened to your father,” said Greg.

  “You and your father were in Israel digging near the Egyptian border. There was an earthquake and you tumbled into a crater or pit. Your father died during the earthquake. I’m so sorry to be the one to tell you this. I’m so sorry, Billy. He was a great man. An associate of your father, a man named Marrick Kon, who lived Israel, called the Israeli army, and said you might be in danger. When the soldiers arrived, they found your father’s body, and they found you stuck in that pit, covered in dirt. An Israeli soldier pulled you out of there. You were catatonic. They sent you to a hospital in Israel, later you were transported to Boston, and eventually you ended up here.”

  “Where is here?” asked Billy.

  The doctor spoke. “You’re at the Keller Institute of Care, in Cleveland, Ohio,” and I’m Dr. Davidson. I’m your primary physician and for the past number of years I’ve —”

  Billy stopped him. “What do you mean number of years? How long have I been here? What year is this? You’re telling me my dad is dead? ” He peered out into the room without the ability to grasp his situation. He was scared, confused, and desperate.

  “It’s 2060. You haven’t spoken in years. Look at me, I’m an old man. I’m 60,” said Greg.

  “Hand me a mirror,” requested Billy. “The teacher told me it was many years…but I didn’t believe him. It didn’t seem possible.”

  Nurse Corley grabbed a make-up mirror from her vest pocket and slid his finger under the latch that opened the cover and exposed the mirror. He grabbed it and saw his face, and let out a gasp.

  Billy stared the image in the mirror for a minute. Nobody spoke. Finally, Billy looked at his friend, “Greg, are you saying I’ve been lying here for decades?”

  “That’s right,” Greg uttered.

  Billy was stone-faced as he lay in bed. “I want to be alone.” He wiped away tears with his forearm, now full of hair, and that shocked him. He cried for his dead father.

  Billy sat alone and wondered what happened. His friend, if that was actually him, appeared too old to be the person he once knew. The teacher was right. Billy had been out of it for a long time. He inspected his hands. He wondered where the two age spots came from and why his fingers had big veins. He eyed the mirror and inspected his neck. Excess skin hung under his chin. He spotted hair growing out of his ears. Besides the hair on his arms, he had hair on his knuckles and his legs. He checked under his shorts, noticed the changes there too, and flung the mirror away. It bounced off the edge of the bed and shattered on the floor. He yelled, “What happened to me?”

  The crash of breaking glass sent the doctor, the nurse, and Greg rushing back to the room.

  “Is everything all right? asked Corley.

  “Is everything all right?” said Billy.

  “Sorry, dumb question,” she stuttered.

  Billy filled with indignation, “I can tell you think I’m crazy. I can see how you’re looking at me. I’m not crazy! I’ve seen events nobody else in the entire world has seen.”

  Dr. Davidson didn’t want Billy to unravel. It would be easy to understand why, given the monumental shock of the changes to Billy’s world.

  “Prepare the sedative.”

  Corley removed a needle from the medical kit and primed it.

  “What the heck is that for? Shouted Billy.

  Before he could voice another objection, the nurse stuck the needle in his arm and the medicine raced through his veins, sending him back to sleep.

  “Holy shit, who was that?” said Greg.

  Nurse Corley agreed, “I was thinking the same thing, but I never knew him as a kid. Is that the Billy you knew?”

  “No. Not at all,” said Greg.

  While Billy remained sedated, the medical team met in the conference room. Even Director Gallagher, a strict, “by the book” man, encouraged Greg to stay.

  Director Gallagher, Greg, Dr. Davidson, Nurse Corley, and the Keller Institute’s attorney, Randolph Ramirez, sat at the black granite table. The joy of Billy’s return had faded to the somber realization that this was not the same little boy who fell silent in 2012. That kid might be gone forever. They had waited years for this moment, now they wondered if their hopes were ill-fated.

  “It’s no surprise…he’s out of his mind,” said Dr. Davidson, “We’ve never had a person endure this type of dramatic transformation. He’s going to be a fascinating case study for years. I’m sending him downstairs to Balcher II for observation. He can’t be in contact with others in his current state. I don’t treat hallucinatory patients often. I’ve forgotten how intense their visions are. When they are in the moment, wow, the
y are one hundred percent in that persona. Imagine old Mr. Klein hearing Billy’s nonsense?”

  “You know Mr. Klein is deaf. Billy won’t bother him,” said Corley.

  David ignored her comment, “Thanks for your opinion, but my recommendation is that he is put in isolation in Balcher II. Please put in a request to prep Room 17.”

  Greg showed concern, “You make it sound like ‘Balcher II’ is a jail cell.”

  “It’s a place that he can go, temporarily, for his own safety, and for the safety of all the residents of Keller. Remember, we have family members that come to visit their loved ones. We need a few days to check out exactly what we’re dealing with.”

  “Then we concur. Isolation in Balcher II,” said Davidson.

  Ramirez piped in with his thoughts, “A suicide watch would be prudent.”

  “Agreed. We’re adjourned,” said Director Gallagher and the meeting ended. “Do I get any input on this decision?” asked Greg.

  The director and the attorney appeared annoyed at the request. Gallagher eyed Greg, and asked, “Do you have a question? You’re lucky to even be in the room.”

  “What are you going to do? You can’t let him wake up after all this time and throw him in isolation. You wouldn’t treat an old dog that way. This is my best friend. I’m not going to stand for that treatment.”

  “We appreciate your concern. Are you related to Mr. Callahan? Asked the lawyer.

  “No, but —”

  “Then I don’t see a problem. You can get updates from Dr. Davidson or the nursing staff. I’ll see that you have clearance to check on his progress, if there is any. I’ll get the paperwork started to facilitate his transfer to Balcher II.”

  Greg’s voice showed desperation, “I don’t think that’s an appropriate way to help him.”

  “Good day, Mr. Miller,” said the attorney, who stood up and left the room.

  Greg was bewildered by the hasty decision, “Doctor, you’re giving me the impression that you’re trying to cover your rear end, not help Billy.”

  “You must try to appreciate our liabilities and exposures. We’re going to use all our resources to help him.”