Commoner the Vagabond Read online

  Chapter 8

 

  In December, some of the airmen, including Chase, had begun going home on leave. In his continuing effort to improve his standing with his fellow compatriots, he offered to help them with whatever they needed – errands, packing their things to go out on leave or math and other coursework. He even apologized at least twice to A1C Saunders for his erratic behavior, explaining that it was all due to stress. Perhaps because of the holiday season, everyone let bygones be bygones. Another airman even offered James a chance to stay with his family for Christmas, but he respectfully declined. His relationship with his fellow crewmen improved such that by the beginning of the next year, it seemed like he was back in the fold.

  By the springtime, James’s mood had become relatively stable. He took all his meds, didn’t engage any of the other airmen in fights, and generally did as he was told. On the few occasions he went out on the weekends, he either drank very little or not at all. His superiors ordered him into physical rehab and mental retraining after his last hospitalization which, for all intents and purposes, seemed to be working.

  With their one year anniversary coming up in May, many of his classmates, mainly the teetotalers, wanted to celebrate one month early. A rumor began circulating that some of them were headed overseas, perhaps to Afghanistan, so it became imperative that they should get their game on while it wasn’t a luxury. James agreed as his own birthday passed by recently without so much as a present going his way.

  The group went into nearby Lompoc one Saturday night to hit the bars and maybe see a show or two. James, reluctant at first, finally acquiesced to the demands of his peers and started drinking. Encouraged throughout the night, he drank a little more than he should and got into an altercation with a bouncer. James thought that he was picking on his friends and called him out on it. When the stranger pointed his finger in James’s face, he slapped it away. Angry, the burly security man punched him so hard that he fell to the ground. He remained down as his friends, all drunk, tried in vain to wallop the aggressor. Minutes later, when the melee was over, the police sided with the bar and took the majority of the airmen to jail. Because James was hurt, he was brought to the emergency room.

  Suffering from a concussion, James remained in the ICU for a full week while tests and treatment were performed. Afterwards, they transferred to a med-surg floor for general observation. He was heavily sedated during the early phase of his stay due to restlessness and visual hallucinations. When a nurse or doctor entered his room, instead of focusing or looking at them, he often had his head turned talking to the wall or reaching out to grasp air. Diagnosed with acute psychosis, his superiors pondered whether he should be discharged from service.

  In the beginning of his recovery, when he was still in restraints, he was hand-fed by the nursing staff because he was just too out of it. After he completely stopped resisting care, they took a chance and removed the restraints. By then, he was so dependent on others for care that he became as harmless as a butterfly. The nurses would sit him up on the bedside to eat or walk him over to the bathroom for body scrubs. Non-verbal since admission, he simply laid in bed with the TV on. After nine days, he started talking again, but his speech was low in volume and simple in requests – open the curtains, put on the TV, I’m in pain, etc. Neurosurgeons, as well as Dr. Lippow, sat with him often to assess his state of mind. Curiously, he simply preferred to have the TV on his favorite show, the British series Robin of Sherwood.

  He was sitting up at the side of his bed one night when the show came on. In it, Friar Tuck was having an argument with Maid Marian by a stream in the woods.

  “I can sustain you Merry Men with your pranks and dervish customs,” she explained, removing her sword from its scabbard, “but I refuse to adopt your brutal and primitive efforts. Shall I be so brazenly common just to assimilate here in Sherwood?”

  “We are at your service,” the priest avowed, backing up slightly as she wielded her sharpened weapon. “We wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  “Friar Tuck,” she argued, pointing her sword at him, “would it please your men to see me in corsets and jade like some common harlot?”

  “Madam,” the preacher replied, gently moving the sword to one side, “I am the commoner. You, however, are an illumination for us all. A light in the forest, if you will.”

  “Pshaw!” she yelled. “You’re base! If not for the good-spirited nature of Robin, I’d soak all the treasures of Nottingham into the bosom of my enemy!”

  Friar Tuck reached over, caressed her hands and carefully re-sheathed her sword.

  “Such ugly words from a beautiful child,” he whispered.

  “Pshaw!” she muttered then stormed off.

  A nurse then entered James’s room and, startled that he was sitting so close to the edge of the bed, helped him back in. Then, reaching for the TV, she turned it off. James protested weakly, but the medication he’d taken just after dinner started taking effect. Seconds later he was asleep.

  The next day, Dr. Lippow came in at lunchtime to see how he was doing. James, sitting up in bed, was feeding himself, albeit with some difficulty.

  “I see you’re feeding yourself again,” the doctor noticed.

  He helped James cut his food into bite-size pieces.

  “Thanks,” James uttered.

  “Do you have any pain?” Lippow asked.

  James shook his head.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Do you know where you are?”

  James stopped eating, his puzzled countenance giving the doctor some alarm.

  “I’m in the base hospital,” James asserted.

  “Good,” Lippow stated. “Your memory’s coming back. What’s your name?”

  The airman thought for a moment, looked up at the doctor, then looked out the window.

  “I see,” the doctor said. “You still don’t remember.”

  “Commoner,” James finally replied.

  “Commoner?” Lippow asked.

  “My name is Commoner.”

  “Your name is James Thorsen,” the doctor informed him. “You’re an airman in the United States Air Force and live on the Vandenberg base in Southern California. You arrived here from boot camp about a year ago. Don’t you remember?”

  James looked down. Tears started filling in his eyes.

  “I don’t remember!” he bawled. “I don’t remember!”

  “Okay, okay,” Lippow sighed. “Take it easy.” He stood up. “Why don’t you eat then get some rest, huh?” he suggested.

  James wiped his eyes and looked at his food.

  “It’s meatloaf and peas,” Lippow informed him.

  “Am I a good man?” James asked, his voice barely resonating.

  “Yes, you are,” the doctor reassured him. “Finest in the fleet.”

  James nodded and resumed eating. The peas somehow tasted sweeter than he remembered. Dr. Lippow gazed at him momentarily then turned and exited the room.

  For the next few days, while James was in the hospital, he was monitored by a cadre of medical professionals, counselors and administrative personnel. Although his physical health improved steadfastly, mentally, he still presented a challenge. Sometimes he would be lucid, appropriately answering questions when asked or successfully following simple commands. Other times, he stared blankly into space or focused on some object as if no one was talking to him.

  As the weeks turned into months, hours upon hours of rehab was attempted with him. By May, however, his commanders and other members of the medical team decided he was no longer fit for service and began their discharge protocol. On May 15th, after a brief hearing, James was administratively discharged because of a mental disorder under Paragraph 5.11.9 of the Air Force Policy Directive, Military Retirements and Separations. By then he was so non-focusing that Dr. Lippow, in the witness of a colonel and several other high ranking officials, had to sign his papers for him. It was then thrust upon a social service wo
rker to find a place for him to live outside of Vandenberg.

  The first place she contacted was Bright Village. They stated, however, that he was over 18 and no longer eligible to live there. Because James was able to toilet and feed himself, the option of a nursing home surfaced. Unfortunately, James adamantly rejected the idea. They then brought to his attention that, since he barely knew anyone in Seattle, he should remain in California. He explained that people from several religious institutions in Seattle, like St. Mark’s Lutheran Church and Woodland Park Presbyterian Church, looked out for him and were his friends. The social worker contacted them and learned a new men’s shelter had just opened in Seattle and was being sponsored and administrated under the auspices of the Woodland Park church. Learning they held a bed open for him, James was then discharged to the shelter the following morning. Getting from California to Seattle, however, presented a challenge.

  As Dr. Lippow wasn’t sure if James could travel that distance by himself, he thought perhaps the recovering young man should stay local. Because he was no longer an airman, it was against policy to keep him on base. The administrators believed he should be shipped out either to Scripps Memorial Hospital in La Jolla, Marian Medical Center in Santa Maria or the recently renovated Sanctuary Psychiatric Center of Santa Barbara. These ideas were nixed when they learned that Marion and Rose, two of James’s friends from the Woodland Park church, were vacationing in Hollywood. Marion stated that they could drive over to Vandenberg in a few hours and pick James up. The administrators considered it briefly then agreed to meet them to approve the transfer.

  Around dinnertime, Marion and Rose drove over to the base and met with James and Dr. Lippow. They told him about the group home their church rented and reassured him that James would be on close supervision because Brother, the home’s caretaker, was always at the house. After some minor deliberation, the doctor signed the young man over to the ladies. He also gave them the prescriptions to his medications. Afterward, Rose wanted to take a tour of the base, but because it was near sunset, Marion disagreed. Both of the ladies were, however, surprised to see James’s new condition. Physically, he looked the same as they remembered, but his silence, compounded by his ghostly pallor, made him seem almost ethereal, like a ghost floating around in their midst.

  “I have a plan,” Marion whispered to him when they walked outside. “Seeing as it looks like you can use some sun, how about we go back to Hollywood and spend one more day?”

  “Good idea,” Rose agreed, carrying his duffle bag. “I’m not in a rush to get back home anyway.”

  She put the bag down, gently stopped her young friend and looked at him.

  “How about you, James?” she asked. “Wanna go to Hollywood to see the stars?”

  He scratched his head, gazed at the ground, looked at the dusky sky then stared at his hands which he’d opened as if he was receiving communion.

  “I am Commoner,” he uttered in a weak voice.

  “Your name is James,” Marion corrected him. “You’re from…”

  “Commoner!” he yelled.

  The ladies jumped back a few inches, startled by his sudden outburst.

  “Okay, okay,” Rose muttered, rubbing his shoulder. “Sorry.”

  “Would you like to see Hollywood tomorrow?” Marion asked.

  James nodded.

  “Good,” she stated. “We’ll just head back to the hotel and get something to eat. How’s that sound?”

  “Good,” he answered.

  Within an hour, James was sitting in the backseat of their blue 1979 Chevy Malibu as it headed out across the southern California landscape towards L.A.

  After spending the night at a hotel on Sunset Boulevard, the three walked around the bustling city, taking pictures and visiting various shops. James, reticent and silent, followed behind as the ladies poked their noses into souvenir stores, movie theatres, outdoor cafes, and the museums along Hollywood Boulevard. At one point, they lost sight of James as his deep focus on the golden stars embedded in the sidewalk caused him to stand and stare at one while the ladies kept walking ahead. When they realized he wasn’t behind them, they rushed back down the street and found him standing just outside Grauman’s Chinese Theatre, his gaze affixed to the ground.

  “Are you hungry, Commoner?” Marion asked him.

  “Want some ice cream?” Rose also asked.

  He looked up at them then pointed to a street vendor on the other side of the boulevard.

  “What’s that?” Rose wondered.

  “I think it’s fried dough,” Marion answered.

  She turned to James.

  “Is that what you want?”

  He nodded. Minutes later, the three of them went walking up the historic block again. This time, James was situated between the two ladies as he chomped his street fare.

  After spending a few more minutes traipsing around Hollywood, they drove over to the theme park at Universal Studios Hollywood in Studio City. As they careened around the boardwalk, the ladies were surprised that, because of James’s subdued demeanor, he was able to sustain the amount of sights, sounds and people in his midst. They were even pleasantly surprised when his mien perked up when they visited a science exhibit. Like an excited child, he bounced from item to item in the exhibit, his hands pressed against the protective glass like an ultra-curious monkey in a zoo.

  The ladies then watched as he froze at one particular exhibit. Called “The World of Tomorrow,” it showed what life would be like for a genetically-created family of simians in the 23rd century. Within the structure were models of monkeys dressed as humans going about their daily lives – shopping, working and paying bills.

  Marion and Rose walked over to see what fascinated James thusly.

  “Mr. Baubles,” he whispered, peering through the glass.

  “What?” Marion asked.

  “Sounds like he said Mr. Baubles,” Rose clarified.

  James started pounding loudly on the glass.

  “Whoa!” Marion yelled and pulled him away.

  “Luckily, it’s shatterproof,” Rose noted.

  Marion looked at their young charge, his head bowed as if feeling the deep pangs of remorseless guilt.

  “Commoner, what is going on with you?” she asked. “What happened back at the base? Were you over-medicated? They said you had some trauma. Is that what caused this?”

  “You were such a fine piano player,” Rose added. “Do you remember all those times you spent in church playing? No one forgot you; least of all, us.”

  “I play piano,” he finally whispered.

  “Yes, you do!” Marion beamed. “You were the best.”

  The ladies then simply stood and observed him. Tears started welling in Rose’s eyes. James looked at his hands then stared at the exhibit’s exit.

  “I want to go,” he emitted.

  The ladies agreed and they promptly left the center. A slight chill permeated the air but it became tolerable after walking amongst the future-looking site. Then, spending a few hours enjoying the rides and attractions at the theme park, they got into their Malibu and, within an hour, were on I-5 headed back towards Seattle.

  They slept in a Motel 6 in Sacramento that night. James, assuring the women that he was okay, stayed in a room by himself. Needless to say, the ladies kept an intermittent watch on his front door, making sure he didn’t wander off into parts unknown. The next morning, after eating breakfast at a local diner, they headed back up I-5, stopping in Redding, California and Medford, Eugene, and Portland, Oregon to stretch their legs.

  Around 9PM, Marion thought they should spend the night in Portland. Rose disagreed, suggesting that since they were only a few hours’ drive away from Seattle, they may as well continue on. James had no opinion as he was fast asleep already in the back of the car. Taking his cue, they found a downtown hotel overlooking the Willamette River. As with the Motel 6, they obtained separate rooms for themselves and the ex-airman. Trusting that he would be okay, they slept heartily t
hroughout the night. In the morning, when they went to his room to awaken him, they found out he was already gone.

  Marion and Rose, their frantic hearts skipping beats as they stepped quickly, searched the area around the hotel looking for James. They peeked into various coffee shops and breakfast nooks, briefly looked into a few diners, and quickly glanced into the stores of downtown Portland. Eyeing two police officers riding their bikes on SW Washington Street, the ladies ran up to them with a picture of James and immediately related what happened. The cops told them that they were free to file a missing person’s report back at their station but it was really too soon as he’d only been missing less than 24 hours. They also stated they couldn’t really talk at the time because they were responding to a disturbance at the confluence of SW Washington Street and SW Broadway, a normally busy intersection.

  The two ladies, noticing the commotion up ahead, decided to follow along. Scant minutes later, they squeezed through the crowd to catch a glimpse of whatever they had gathered to watch. Both of their jaws dropped when they saw James, sword in hand, swinging the weapon dangerously in the middle of the intersection. The police officers, their guns drawn, were yelling at him to drop the sword. The ladies, petrified out of their wits, finally pushed their way through.

  “James!” Marion yelled. “This is Marion! Do as the officer says!”

  She walked towards the intersection but an officer turned around and ordered her to stay where she was.

  “I know him,” she pleaded. “We’re on our way to Seattle from L.A.”

  “Well,” the officer requested, “tell him to drop the sword now.”

  Marion turned to James standing just a few feet away.

  “James, er, Commoner,” she asked, “don’t you remember me?”

  Not acknowledging her, he simply kept wielding the instrument as if facing down a perilous dragon.

  Rose walked over to the officer.

  “Where’d he get that sword?” she asked.

  “Probably from one of these costume stores, “he answered pointing down Broadway.

  Marion addressed James again. “You have to stop now! Commoner! What are you doing?”

  The police officers, getting restless, trained their service pistols on James. The crowd started growing larger around them. James held the sword up high in both hands as if he was channeling electricity from the heavens.

  “This is your final warning!” the first cop shouted. “Drop the weapon!”

  “No!” Rose begged him. “He’s harmless.”

  “You’ve got five seconds!” the officer screamed.

  Just then, Marion shot past the officers and ran straight up to James. The crowd gasped.

  “Please,” she whispered to the sword-wielding young man. “Put that sword down.”

  “Lady, get back!” the 2nd officer shouted.

  Then, staring at Marion, James lowered his arms. Marion carefully grabbed the medieval replica and dropped it on the ground. The officers ran up to James and handcuffed him.

  “Wait!” Marion yelled. “He’s harmless.”

  “Ma’am,” the first officer informed her, “he stole this sword and created a disturbance.”

  She motioned for the officer to walk over with her to one side away from James to listen to her plea. Reluctantly, he complied.

  “He was an airman at Vandenberg for a year,” she told him, “but through trauma and various causalities it left him like a child, almost mentally dysfunctional.”

  “Are you a doctor?” the officer asked.

  “No, I’m a speech therapist, but I work extensively with this population. We’ve known this young man for years. It’s our fault for not keeping a closer eye on him as he was just released from the air base. We were on our way to Seattle so we promise to do better.” The cop thought momentarily about her situation then turned to his partner.

  “Okay,” he stated. “Let him go.”

  The second officer complied and released James to Rose’s custody.

  “Make sure he gets the help he needs,” the first officer told Marion.

  “I will,” she promised.

  Minutes later, the three travelers were back on the highway to Seattle. Marion, sitting in the driver’s seat, kept glancing at James who was sitting solemnly in the back. Normally, he’d look out the windows at the passing farmland. This time, however, he was noticeably quiet.

  “Got anything to share, Commoner,” she finally asked, her voice twitching with anxiety.

  “Everybody thinks I’m crazy,” James explained.

  “No, they don’t,” Rose reassured him. “They just don’t understand you. Come to think of it, we’re in the process of trying to understand you ourselves.” “Yes,” Marion agreed. “Can you give us some time?”

  “What happened to me?” he asked.

  Rose looked at Marion, unsure about how she should respond. She then turned to face James.

  “You went through a lot for someone your age with such a fragile constitution,” she explained. “All of our bodies are not the same, that’s all. There’s nothing to feel bad or guilty about.”

  “So, what am I?” he asked.

  “You’re…different,” she told him. “That’s all. No more, no less.”

  “And we accept you for what you are,” Marion added. “No judges here.”

  James sighed deeply and looked out at the passing landscape of southern Washington.

  “Pretty, isn’t it?” he murmured.

  Rose smiled.

  “You’ll be all right,” she whispered.

  Within a few hours, they pulled up in front of a modest two story structure in the Phinney Ridge neighborhood of Seattle. Just minutes to Green Lake and the Woodland Park Zoo, the white aluminum-sided home was nestled among several other properties in the midst of a shrub-filled suburban enclave. As the three of them exited the car, James walked towards the building and read a small rectangular sign attached to a post on the porch.

  “John Calvin House,” he uttered reading it.

  “Founder of the Presbyterian Church,” Rose elucidated.

  “Don’t worry,” Rose reassured him. “There are no bible meetings or other criteria for living here. Every person, as you’ll soon see, has their own room.”

  “Through a special subsidy from the state,” Marion added, “the church maintains this group home for men who are between jobs or just getting back on their feet.”

  “How long can somebody stay here?” James asked.

  “As long as they want,” Marion answered, laying his duffle bag down on the porch. “The rooms are kind of small, though, so people usually stay about a year.”

  “Your room,” Rose stated, pointing to one of the 2nd floor front facing windows, “is right there.”

  “How many people live here?” James asked.

  “Four at the moment,” Marion answered, “but there’s room for seven.” James nodded.

  “Ready to go in?” Rose asked.

  James and the ladies entered the house where they saw two men, Julius and Marlow, sitting on couches in the living room watching TV. The fairly large room was conservatively decorated. Save for a few framed pictures hanging above the fireplace, the other scant accoutrements included an acoustic guitar, a shelf of VHS movies, a stereo system, and an old Christmas tree sorely in need of repair. The two men got up to meet James and the ladies.

  “Welcome back,” Julius told them. “How was Hollywood?”

  “Hectic,” Rose stated.

  “But nice,” Marion added.

  “Who’s this little fella?” Marlow asked staring at James.

  “I’m Commoner,” he answered.

  “Commoner?” Julius wondered. “That’s…different.”

  “This is Julius and Marlow,” Marion mentioned to James as she introduced them.

  The young man shook their hands but looked to the ground while doing it. He noticed that both men, both in their 50’s, had strong grips.

  �
��Quiet one, isn’t he?” Julius remarked.

  “He’s had a rough time,” Marion insisted. “Where’s Brother?” “He went food shopping,” Marlow answered.

  Minutes later after touring the rooms in the back, James went upstairs to his own room, taking his duffle bag with him. The space, no larger than his shared room at Vandenberg, contained a bed, desk and chest of drawers. Walking over to the window, he opened it and looked outside. From where he stood, he enjoyed the view of a wide swatch of suburbia all the way to Green Lake.

  Returning to the first floor, he walked over to Marion who was standing by the fireplace talking to the men.

  “I like it,” he interrupted her.

  “I’m glad you do,” she told him.

  Opening her handbag, she fished out two keys and handed them to him.

  “This one,” she illustrated, “is for the front door. This one is for your room.”

  “Thanks,” he stated, placing the keys in his pocket.

  “I’d feel bad if I don’t pay,” he explained.

  “I understand,” she avowed, “but don’t worry about it. We’ll be filing some papers with the state in the next few days. You can work if you want. You can even volunteer in the church. I do suggest you rest for a couple of weeks, though, considering what you’ve been through.”

  “I guess you’re right,” he mentioned. “I think I’ll go upstairs for now and lie down.”

  “There’s soda in the fridge,” Julius offered him. “Take all you want.”

  “Thanks,” James stated then went upstairs.

  “Commoner?” Marlow asked Marion.

  “That’s what he likes to be called,” Rose explained returning from the bathroom.

  “I hope he’s stable,” Julius warned. “I’d hate to be forced to do something I’d regret in the morning.”

  “Don’t worry about him,” Marion consoled them. “Just try to be nice and, if I were you,

  try to keep him away from liquor.”

  “I don’t touch the stuff anymore,” Marlow insisted. “I might have some wine now and then, but nothing hard.”

  “I’m clean,” Julius swore. “Can’t speak for the other guys, though.”

  “Can you just tell the others, then?” she asked the two men.

  “Sure,” they answered in tandem.

  “Not a problem,” Marlow added.

  Later that evening, James awakened and exited his room to go to the bathroom. He heard people talking downstairs which he went to investigate after relieving himself. In the area just before the kitchen, he saw Julius, Marlow and two other men playing cards at a table. On the table were several bottles of beer, dollar bills, and a pack of cigarettes.

  “Hi,” he greeted them as he entered the room.

  “Hey, Commoner,” Julius shouted, “come over here.” The young man complied.

  “This is Kyd,” Julius stated, pointing to a heavyset man with a beard in his 40’s.

  James waved at him.

  “And this is Brother,” Julius added, pointing to a man in his early 60’s with a scruffy white beard and one good eye.

  “Hello,” Brother greeted him, flashing a set of chompers sorely in need of dental work.

  James waved at him.

  “We’re playing Chicago Bridge,” Brother explained. “Unfortunately, it’s designed for just four. If you want, you can pull up a seat and watch.”

  “That’s okay,” James stated. “I was just out walking. Um, does anybody have any paper?”

  “You mean, like, writing paper?” Brother asked.

  “Yeah. Drawing paper would be fine, too.”

  “I might have some,” Marlow attested. “Just give me a minute here and I’ll get you some.”

  “Okay.”

  “If you’re hungry,” Brother informed him, pointing to the kitchen, “there’s chicken on the counter in there.”

  “Thanks,” James stated as he turned and entered the kitchen.

  “Pretty polite kid,” Brother confessed.

  “Where’s he from?” Kyd asked.

  “Marion said he’s from here,” he answered, “but spent his whole life in foster homes.”

  “Where does she know him from?” Kyd asked. “Church?”

  “Years ago, he used to go there when he lived in the area,” Brother affirmed.

  “The air force sure did a number on him,” Marlow offered.

  “Yes, they did,” Brother agreed.

  The next day, while Kyd, Marlow and Julius went to work, James spent most of his time with Brother tending to the yard. Together, they trimmed the hedges in the front, raked up the dead leaves in the front lawn, pulled off the dead leaves sitting in some of the vines growing on the side of the house, and straightened out the back yard. This included hosing down an old white picnic table and plastic chairs. James inquired about the doghouse sitting in the back. Brother claimed it belonged to an old cocker spaniel named President, but when he died last year, they didn’t bother getting a new dog. After they were finished with their chores, they went to the front of the house and drank sodas. Brother sat on a chair on the porch while James relaxed on the steps close to the top landing.

  “So,” Brother asked his new assistant, “what are your plans? Going back to school?”

  “I think college would be nice.”

  “What do you want to study?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe history.”

  “History, huh?”

  “I like reading about medieval times,” James admitted.

  “The Crusades, huh?” Brother added. “Knights in shining armor.”

  “I like the Roman times, too.”

  “You seem to have a lot of interests for a …”

  Brother stopped talking when James suddenly yelled and grabbed his head as if in excruciating pain.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked the young man.

  “Oh!” James yelled again, tapping the sides of his head. Brother jumped up, ran over to him, and held his hands.

  “Stop hitting yourself like that,” he cautioned him.

  James pulled away, ran down the stairs, and covered his head with his arms.

  “Ow!” he screamed.

  “What’s the matter?” Brother asked again. “Is it your head?”

  “It’s my thoughts!” James yelled.

  “What thoughts?” Brother asked.

  James started flapping his arms wildly as if trying to shoo black crows away.

  “Can’t you see them?”

  “Can't I see what?” the puzzled caretaker asked.

  James started tapping his head with both hands. “They’re coming!”

  “Who’s coming? Tell me what’s wrong?”

  Then, just as abruptly as he began his outburst, James stopped his agonizing wail and straightened himself up. Drying his eyes, he kept his head down as if penitent.

  “Are you okay?” Brother asked.

  “I’m going to lie down,” James stated meekly as he walked past the confused caretaker.

  “If there’s anything you need,” Brother offered, “just let me know.”

  “I will,” James promised as he opened the door.

  “I'm really starting to worry about you,” Brother revealed. “You’re very odd.”

  “Just garden-variety craziness,” James swore. “I promise you.”