Commoner the Vagabond

by Robin Ray

  Chapter 7

 

  In early November, as James was preparing to be promoted from Airman Basic to Airman proper, he had a nightmare where he was trapped in a jetliner with both its wings on fire. As he scrambled to upright himself, the plane bobbled, twisted and spun violently through the air and right towards a huge urban center. As passengers screamed and prayed, the aircraft careened closer to the ground. Just as it impacted, he woke up sweating. Looking around, he saw that he was safe in his dorm room and breathed a heavy sigh.

  Getting up, he donned a pair of slippers from under his bed and walked sleepily out to the bathroom. After urinating, he ran the water from a faucet to wash his hands. It was then that he noticed the purplish spots had returned again to the back of his hands. Turning the hot water off, he placed both hands under the cold stream. At that moment, one of the doors to a stall opened and A1C Saunders walked out carrying a newspaper. James looked at him through the mirror.

  “I heard you choking your chicken in there,” he stated. “You ain’t fooling anybody.”

  “Huh?” the startled advanced airman responded. “Show your superior some respect.”

  “You’ve been after my dipstick the day I set foot in this joint.”

  Saunders looked at James with puzzlement. His confrontational attitude caught him off guard.

  “Get back to sleep,” the A1C scolded him. “You’re having nightmares again.”

  “Yeah, right,” James retorted. “You’re the one dorm wrestling every night.”

  Saunders, tired of James’s lip, rushed up to him and grabbed the neckline of his t-shirt.

  “I could shove my foot so far down your throat right now,” he whispered, “you’d be shitting heels for a week! But you’re a frail limp dick. It’ll be like a heavyweight fighting a fairy. Don’t fuck with me, boy!”

  James remained silent, removed his hands from the cold stream of water, and flicked water in Saunders’ direction. The A1C dodged it then shook his head.

  “You’re playing with fire, boy,” he warned his impudent inferior. “You best get it together before somebody straightens your ass for you.”

  James watched as Saunders then stomped out of the bathroom. Looking down at his hands, he noticed the purplish spots starting to fade. Seconds later, he returned to bed.

  The next day he didn’t have to guess if all eyes were on him because they really were. Gossip was like an airborne virus around the base. Once it got out, it travelled everywhere. Dr. Lippow ran into him and asked if he was making his therapy appointments. At first, James wanted to lie and say yes, but since lying to a superior carried grave consequences, he admitted he wasn’t. That evening, just before dinner, he met with his therapist, Major Henrietta Bowers in the on-base clinic. Nearly old enough to be his mother, she sported better than average looks framed by a nest of curly brown hair. Walking into her office, they shook hands.

  “Hi, Major Bowers,” he greeted her.

  “Hi, James,” she returned. She noticed his hand had a slight tremor.

  “Are you nervous?” she asked.

  “No,” he answered.

  “I only saw you once then you stopped coming.”

  “Sorry,” he moaned, “I’ve been so busy just playing catch up with these classes.”

  “Have a seat,” she requested.

  James sat down in a comfortable couch and she sat opposite him in a high back leather chair. The room, softly lit, was sparsely populated with military posters, insignia, and emblems. A six-foot tall ficus tree and a water cooler sat in one corner near a bookcase. The window blinds behind Major Bowers were half way opened, allowing the light of the setting sun to filter in smoothly through the sheer curtains.

  “Is there anything you’d like to speak about today,” she asked.

  “First,” he began, “I’d like to thank you for hearing me. I mean, isn’t most of your time just involved with administering psychological tests?”

  “It is,” she admitted, “but I’m also a trained listener, so you can trust me.”

  “I don’t know if you can help me or not.”

  “I believe I can,” she assured him. “You need to calm down around campus before you get kicked out.”

  “So, you’ve heard, huh?”

  “Bad news travels fast.”

  James took a deep breath and rubbed the muscles in his thighs.

  “Would you like some water?” she asked.

  “Please, if you don’t mind.”

  “Help yourself.”

  James got up, walked over to the water cooler, and poured himself a glass and downed it in one gulp. Pouring himself another, he brought it over to the couch and sat down.

  “I’ve been having nightmares again,” he commented. “I mean, I’ve been having them all

  my life, but I guess they’ve gotten worse since this whole air force business.”

  “How bad are they?”

  “They’re usually pretty violent.”

  “Ugh.”

  “Yeah, believe me; you don’t want to hear about ‘em.”

  “Actually,” she stated, “I don’t mind. I’ve been wondering what happened to you since we first met. I kinda thought something like that was happening.”

  “I don’t know,” he lamented. “I know I’ve been angry lately. My head is just so confused. All kinds of strange images are just colliding from one brain cell to the next.”

  “Is it hard to focus, like, in your classes?”

  “Yeah. I had a bizarre dream recently about Mr. Baubles. It’s actually a recurrent one. Drives me nuts.”

  “Who’s Mr. Baubles?” the therapist asked.

  “He’s a capuchin monkey.”

  Major Bowers looked puzzled. She’d, of course, heard of monkeys before, but the species escaped her. He illustrated its size by placing his hand about two feet off the ground.

  “It’s about yay tall with a black body and a light brown fur collar around its neck.”

  “I saw one of those once,” she fessed up. “It was on a poster in a carnival for an organ grinder.”

  “That’s the one. In my dream, I was walking home at night and I heard something crying, like a kitten or a puppy, coming from an alley. I walked in and looked around. The sound was coming from an overturned box. I lifted it up and this little monkey was cowering beneath it. It was kinda shivering from the cold so I brought it home with me. At first I was nervous because I thought it would bite, but it didn’t. The little fella was just lonely. I sat him on some papers on the floor but he jumped up on the couch. I guess that’s what he preferred so I put papers on there just in case.”

  “That sounds like a nice dream,” Dr. Bowers explained. “I mean, it is a little odd, but it’s within the realm of normalcy.”

  “I gave him bananas and cereal to eat. Raisin Bran was his favorite. He made mess around my apartment, though. I was planning to drop him off at a vet or a zoo someplace until that day I came home from work.”

  “What happened?” the psychologist inquired.

  “As usual, Mr. Baubles was sitting on the couch watching TV. I used to leave it on for him when I went to work because he seemed to be so deep into it. I walked in the room with a sack of groceries and then, as a joke, I asked him what he was watching. A few seconds went by then I heard a small voice say “Guiding Light.” I nearly shit my pants. Oh, sorry, Major.”

  “That’s okay. Go ahead.”

  “I wasn’t sure I heard that right so I ran over to Mr. Baubles and repeated the question. He simply turned his little furry face in my direction, looked into my eyes and said, “Guiding Light.”

  “What did you do?” Major Bowers asked as she walked over to the water cooler.

  “I was practically jumping up and down! 'Mr. Baubles, you can talk!' He just nodded and started watching the soap opera again. I think, at the time, he was only a few months old so I just kept him around a little longer. He didn’t speak again that day, but over the next few days, he really starte
d opening up. The funny thing was, not only did he speak, but he also understood. That’s the difference between him and, say, an African Grey. They can talk, and very well I might add, but they don’t know what the words mean. Mr. Baubles did. 'How was your day?' 'Fine.' 'Are you hungry?' 'Yes.' 'Do you want some milk?' 'Yes.' 'Do you want to sleep?' 'No.'”

  Major Bowers returned to her seat.

  “Sounds intriguing,” she admitted.

  “Yeah, it was. I introduced him to my friends and they were flabbergasted that this little furry critter could speak. In the beginning, though, he was shy and used to run to the back of me to hide. But the little bugger liked girls, though. Any female could coax him out of his hiding spot. Anyway, a friend of a friend knew the TV news people and scheduled an interview with him. We went on, the host asked a few questions which he answered. People in the studio were just shocked. Eventually, I started getting calls from Zoological Societies, Animal Rights groups, and the mayor’s office. They all wanted a piece of him, but he was mine dammit, and I meant to keep him.”

  The psychologist drank her water and took a deep breath which James noticed.

  “Oh,” he apologized, “I’m sorry. Once I get started I kinda ramble on like a maniac.”

  “It’s fine, James. No need to apologize. What you’ve shown me so far is someone who is comfortable with himself enough to divulge the darkest secrets in his mind. I appreciate that.”

  “I guess we have to stop now, huh?” he asked.

  Bowers glanced at the wall clock.

  “You’ve got ten minutes, then I have to head out. A couple of us medical types have a rendezvous at a grill in town.”

  “Okay,” James continued. “Well, because of all the attention, Mr. Baubles became a star. He made his rounds on some TV programs, spoke at universities, etc. He let it all get to his head.

  He was a rock star now and sure as hell didn’t need me anymore. One night he just upped and left. He used to walk down the street and back home because he knew his way, so I wasn’t too worried. That night, though, he never returned. I went looking all over for him as did my friends. The little baboon had somehow ended up downtown, drunk as a skunk, hanging out with derelicts and bums in covered alleys. He was so weak from booze they dropped him off at a hospital since that was what he requested. The hospital turned him down, insisting he be treated where other animals were treated – at a vet. Mr. Baubles was so insulted he left the hospital and went right back to the street. When I found him, he was half dead. I brought him home that night and the next day I took him to a vet. He was close to death by then, but after IVs and antibiotics, they brought him back to life. Since he spoke, they asked him if he wanted to go to the zoo or back home with me. He stated he’d prefer living with me so I took him back. Just for fun, I took him to the zoo to see his people, but he thought they were beneath him. “They’re primitive,” he would boast. I used to tell him he was just luck, a fluke. He kinda just accepted it in stride and never ran away again.”

  “Is that it?” Bowers asked.

  “Yes,” James nodded. “That’s what I remember.”

  “Doesn’t seem frightening. A little odd, maybe, but hardly nightmare inducing.”

  “I know,” James avowed. “It’s just so…complete. A lot of my dreams are like that – beginning to end complete. They keep me up at night.”

  “And that’s what contributes to your imbalance,” she attested. “I see. I think I’ll make a recommendation to Dr. Lippow to increase your meds because, right now, you’re short-changed on sleep and you can’t continue in this program like that.”

  “Thanks, Major Bowers. I thought I was losing my mind.”

  “Not yet, cadet,” she stated. “But don’t worry. I’ll let you know when that happens.”

  James started walking back towards his dorm when his rumbling stomach reminded him he forgot to eat. Changing course, he headed towards the dining facility. After he got a tray of grub, he looked for a place to sit. Spotting several housemates congregated at three tables placed closely together, he approached them. A1C Saunders, sitting in the group, looked up at him.

  “Beat it,” he uttered.

  James stopped in his track. He could see from Saunders’ cold, frozen stare that he meant it. Glancing momentarily into the faces of the other airmen, he turned and sat by himself at a table across the room. Eating quickly, he got up, placed his tray in a receiving receptacle, and hurried out of the cafeteria. As he turned the corner, he ran right into Baker. “Whoa, soldier!” Baker yelled. “You almost knocked me on my ass!”

  “Out of my way,” James grunted as he tried to walk past his friend.

  “Not so fast,” Baker uttered holding him from leaving. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” James shot back. “I’m fine.”

  “No, you’re not. You’re seeing red, I can tell.”

  Livid, James throws a punch at Baker but the acrobatic airman dodges it.

  “That’s how you treat me and I’m your friend?” Baker asked angrily.

  “To hell with you and everybody!” James yelled then stormed off.

  He walked straight to his dorm room and sat at his chair. Both of his legs were shaking rapidly. He could feel his nerves jumping wildly all over his body. His chest felt tight like someone had him in a vise grip.

  Chase entered the room carrying a short stack of books.

  “Hey, James,” he greeted his roommate.

  James, however, not in a mood to receive anyone, jumped to his feet and stormed out of the room. Chase put his books on his desk and went after him, catching up to him in the stairwell leading to the first floor.

  “What’s the matter with you?” Chase asked.

  James just kept descending the stairs and didn’t answer. Chase went after him.

  “I can help you, dude,” he shouted, “but you have to stop running!”

  “Leave me alone!” James exploded.

  Chase stopped in his track.

  “Go fuck yourself, then!”

  James stayed outside of the facility just walking around in the wooded areas. He meandered to and fro with his head bowed low, rubbing his hands as if they were soiled with dirt. At times, he’d lean against a tree and start crying uncontrollably then he’d sober himself up and pace some more. Mindful of the 10PM curfew, he had the wherewithal to return to his room. Chase, still awake, was sitting at his desk reading a text book. James stripped down to his skivvies and got into bed. Chase had an itching to talk to him about his erratic behaviors, but thinking he’d simply just get up and leave, kept his thoughts to himself. He turned off the room’s main light and used the lamp on his desk to illuminate his books. Out of curiosity, he wanted to see how James was faring so he turned to look at him. James, wide-eyed as a deer caught in headlights, was staring right at him. Awkwardly startled, Chase resumed his homework.

  James kept little company in the ensuing days. He was warned by a staff sergeant to straighten up which he promised to do, but in his classes, he sat resolute and asked no questions. Unless it was mandatory, he didn’t bother joining the others in sports activities like basketball or softball. Every chance he got, he simply went to his room and slept. After dinner one night, he walked rapidly past Saunders and some other airmen.

  “Halt!” Saunders shouted at him.

  Unerringly, James complied and froze in his tracks. Saunders walked over and faced him. Then, as soon as he opened his mouth to lecture him on his unacceptable behavior, James shoved him so hard he fell backwards on the group. Angry, the airman got up and rushed towards him. Everyone then watched as James started crying, covered his face with his arms, went down on his knees with his arms still protecting his head then laid on his side in a fetal position.

  “Mr. Baubles,” he cried over and over. “Mr. Baubles.”

  The astonished airmen backed away slightly, gazing at the deeply pathetic sight on the ground in front of their eyes.

  “This guy’s two ca
rds short of a full deck,” Saunders remarked shaking his head.

  “On your feet, airman!” he called out to him, but James remained huddled and crying, meekly calling out Mr. Baubles’ name.

  “Somebody’d better call the docs now,” Saunders suggested. “Look at him. He’s nuttier than a Christmas cake.”

  James woke up in the hospital three days later with a slight pain in his stomach and an even bigger knot in his head. To his surprise, both his arms and legs were strapped down to the bed.

  “Hey!” he called out, struggling against the leather bands.

  Nurse Michelle entered his room carrying a syringe half filled with a light-yellow fluid.

  “What the hell’s going on?” he screamed. “Let me out!”

  “Hold still,” she ordered him.

  James eyed the needle.

  “No! I don’t want that!”

  “It’s for your own good,” she told him. “Just relax.”

  James did the opposite and continued fighting against the straps. The nurse removed a small square packet from her pocket, removed the alcohol-soaked swab, and painted his left deltoid with it.

  “Help!” he shouted.

  Removing the protective cover off the needle, she plunged it into his arm and squeezed every drop of fluid in.

  “You’ll pay for this!” James warned as the medicine slowly coursed through his veins.

  Michelle stood back and eyed him closely. The sedative started taking effect as his eyes began closing.

  “Goodnight,” she whispered. “See you in the morning.”

  As he drifted off to sleep, she covered him with his blanket and exited the room.

  The next day, James calmed down considerably and Dr. Lippow removed his straps. The young airman. learning he had a diagnosis of bipolar disorder, was put on Lithium. Unsure how he would respond to the new med regimen, Dr. Lippow kept him in the hospital a little longer than he normally would. James occasionally strolled out to the nurses’ station to speak to them when he got bored, but usually, he’d spend his time in bed watching TV. One particular show that sparked his interest was ‘Robin of Sherwood’, a British programme that played on PBS. Atypical of regular shows, he found the gritty and controversial realism it presented was a fresh diversion from the usual TV fare.

  The night before James was to be released, another violent nightmare besieged him. Forcing himself to wake up, he got up and used the bathroom. When he returned to sleep, the nightmare came back. In the morning, with dark circles around his eyes, he laid in bed as if too paranoid to get up. A nurse he’d never seen before greeted him as she brought in his morning pills and breakfast. As she laid the tray on his overbed table, James grabbed the metal fork off it and stabbed it into the back of her right hand. Screaming immediately, a host of medical personnel rushed in. By then, blood was trickling down her right arm. The workers physically held James down and placed him back in his four-point restraints. A nurse then arrived and injected a sedative into his left thigh. He didn’t put up much resistance. Within minutes, he was asleep.

  He woke up the next day to find Major Lippow sitting on a chair in his room reading his chart.

  “What am I going to do with you?” the major asked him.

  Still somewhat groggy, James shook off the web of confusion enveloping his consciousness.

  “Why am I tied up?” he asked.

  Major Lippow looked at him with curiosity. “You mean you don’t remember?” he queried.

  “Remember what?” James asked.

  “You put a fork in the back of a nurse’s hand.”

  “I did? I don’t remember.”

  The major eyed him intently. James’s straightforward innocent mien suggested the same.

  “Are you playing a game?” Lippow asked.

  “Honestly,” James pleaded. “I don’t remember.”

  The doctor got up and started removing his leather restraints.

  “Well,” he stated, “either you’re lying or you really don’t know. In any case, the air force does its best to keep every enlistee healthy and fit for service. If you can’t cut the muster in your chosen field, something less strenuous is usually assigned.”

  “What do you mean?” James asked. “They’re turning me into a latrine queen?”

  Dr. Lippow took his seat and opened James’s chart.

  “It may be more serious than that,” he answered. “I want you to take all your meds as prescribed and report to the psychologist once a week for therapy. You’ll be released in a day or two. For your sake, adhere strictly to these rules. I’ll see to it that you receive a slight modification in your workload. You’ve done well in your class work and tech building skills. Just keep on that path and you’ll be okay. And no unwarranted fights, you got that?” James saluted him.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Dr. Lippow stood up.

  “Good. The nurse will be in with your meds in a moment.”

  After the doctor left, James wanted to cry, but didn’t. He got up and washed his face in the room’s sink. Minutes later, he received his meds, his usual cocktail of anti-depressants with a twist of anti-anxiety treats for good measure. A day later, he was released. Within one week, as scheduled, he was promoted to Airman. He celebrated his new pay grade and insignia with the other airmen at a party off base, purposefully avoided liquor, and tried his best to make amends for his past behavior.