Clear

I am suddenly awake, sitting upright, I hear a noise. I squint and survey the room before realizing the pounding is in my head. 

"What the fuck?" I close my eyes and slowly rub my temples. I lie back on the pillow, staring at the ceiling. Finally, I push back the cover and swing my legs, my feet hit the floor. I do everything in slow motion as to not wake her, slowly creep downstairs into the kitchen.

The plastic container of pills bounces off the linoleum floor, echoing through the house like a bomb was dropped.

"What, everything okay down there?" Despite all of my efforts, I have woken her.

"Yeah, just a headache, getting a couple Excedrin, all good, sorry I woke you." Usually, I would yell upstairs for her to hear, but the stillness of the night - noise travels easily.

"You should turn the light on."

"As always, you're right, go back to sleep." I drop to one knee and scoop the pills, form a cone with my hand and drop them back in their container. I make a mental note to search for stragglers in the daylight. I hold two pills in my palm and slap it against my mouth and swallow - she always grimaces when I do it without water.

I decide against returning to bed and descend the stairs to the lower level. I drop on the couch and grab the blanket as the banging in my head continues. I sit up and lean forward, head in my hands, attempting to will it away.

Leaning back again, I close my eyes and rest the back of my head on the cushion - it is momentarily cool to touch, feels good. Blood pulsates through the back of my head across my skull and down to the top of my eyes across both the sides of my face into my temples and down to my nose, splitting and into my cheeks. I press my thumbs just under my cheeks and press upward - "Ouch" - I mumble to myself.

As I remain there an hour later, it dawns on me to check my blood pressure. I scramble to the bathroom, finding the device in the back of the cabinet. Of course, it does not work so a return trip upstairs to the kitchen for batteries is necessary but much less quiet this time as I know the route by heart.

160/120 flashes at me with a red warning signal in the upper right of the lcd display. I repeatedly check it finishing with six readings. I quickly compute their averages in my head - 155/121. I think back to similar tests with dad.

"Sit still and keep that arm outstretched with palm facing up." I open the instruction pamphlet and point it at him to further illustrate how to get a proper reading. 

"These things don't work." He grumbles while fidgeting in his seat like a kid.

"Sit still, it hurts the reading if you are moving, take a few deep breaths and relax, sit still!" It feels like the fifth time I have said it, and upon reflection it is in fact the fifth time.

"Where's your diploma?"

"I'm just taking this test to check as the nurse instructed, so shut the fuck up and sit still, goddamnit." I remember cursing is the only thing he follows.

"You do have a diploma, ain't that right?" He glances at me with his hardened, wrinkled face and blood shot eyes. What little hair he has is going in every direction. The look in his eyes catches me off guard, like it is expressing something to me as a real father.

"Yes, I showed it to you, shit, I don't even know where it is now." I search my mind for the whereabouts of my hard-fought diploma, the first in the family. Now that I think about it, it seems to be in the closet in my office. Those things are so important at one point in life, we finally get them, show them and then forget and no job ever asks about them again. Was it worth it?

"Yeah, yeah, I member, pretty piece of paper, you know, I am proud of you, you know that?"

"That right?"

"Don't be a wise ass."

"Well, no, I did not know that, I appreciate you saying it." It is true, it is the first time he has ever said anything like it, maybe the first time he has acknowledged my schooling in positive terms.

"Can I get that in writing? You know, nobody will believe it without proof."

"Fuck you."

"Let's see, looks like you are in the 128/90 range. Not the best, but no where near bad, especially some of those readings when you had the strokes." I hold up the monitor and my hand written notes to show him.

"That right?"

"I seem to remember 170/130 with your first stroke, the doctor told me."

I look at my own 160/120 again and think at least it not as high as Dad's so many years ago, then a part of me feels like I should be able to beat his score. This makes me briefly smile before returning to the here and now of a blinding headache.

This time, I explore my office and quickly find the Lisiniporol in my desk drawer. I grab two and swallow, this time with the rest of a nearby Gatorade. I know the pills take a long time to hit, so probably no help tonight. I return to the couch and try everything to calm myself with the theory it will lower my blood pressure.

"Deep breath 1-2-3-4-5, hold it 1-2-3-4-5, exhale 1-2-3-4-5." I whisper the deep breathing technique from a therapist - it was supposed to help with anxiety (did not) but maybe good here, I repeat it six times. 

Somewhere along the line I do fall asleep.

The sun peeks through the wide slat blinds and I slowly raise my head - still pounding. The blood pressure monitor routine is repeated now with a 163/124 average. With the wife gone to work, I pull on my jeans, grab a t-shirt and head to nearby hospital as I am officially worried.

"Your ID please? And you have to wear this." The security guard stops me at the emergency room entrance where I hand over my ID while securing the mask in place.

"How can we help you today?" I almost ask for a number one with coffee as it feels like a question at McDonald's. 

"My head is pounding, body aching, foggy and blood pressure consistently 160/130 range." 

"Mr. Patton, have you been taking the measurement yourself?" The non-so-perky nurse in blue scrubs speaks slowly as if I am either or both hard of hearing or an idiot. She taps the keys to record my answers - she already has my ID info from the guard.

"Who else would take them?" I am not trying to be trouble, I sincerely want to know who else she thinks was going to do this.

"Your wife or husband, significant other, son, daughter ...?"

"Just me."

"Do you own a device that records the measurement?"

"No, I just squeezed my arm, counted the pulsating blood and guessed." It is clearly apparent she thinks I am an idiot.

"Well, some people have the real or official blood pressure cups that doctors use, so just wanted to check." She is not amused by my answer.

"Oh, no it is a device I found at Walgreen's."

"Did you bring it with you?"

"No."

"How are you feeling right now?" She stops typing for the first time and looks up at me from her seat. She looks tired, it is 7 AM so I wonder if she had been there all night. She has a hardened look, demeanor, she has seen things.

"Like shit, dizzy, head feels like it is going to split open and hatch." I absentmindedly rub the sparse hair on my head. I know the hair is sticking up in all directions, makes me think of my old history teacher in college who seemed to prefer his hair look like that - I always called it the bald Einstein look.

"Mary, can you put him in a wheelchair?" She motions for another young woman to assist.

"Thank you Mary, and what is her name?" I point at the woman behind the desk, banging on the keyboard.

"Oh, that is Sophelia, but we all call her So. She's pretty, you think?" Mary secures me in the chair and pushes me in front of So.

"Yeah, all of you young kids are pretty, I wasn't trying to flirt and be a creep, I was just wondering." It felt weird for Mary to comment on the other's appearance. I always worry that women think all men are creeps. I guess deep in our minds we all have thoughts, but thoughts are just thoughts for most men.

"Okay, now Mr. Patton, I just need you to sign and initial a few things using this device." She slides a small black rectangle electronic device in front of me. I initial and sign using it as she instructs.

"Thank you." I so want them to know I am not the creep that Mary implied.

"Mary, take him to bay 5 and Dr. Philstance will be in shortly."

"Thanks again."

"My pleasure Mr. Patton, I hope you are better soon." So flashes a smile and small wave as I roll away.

"Okay, let's go, it'll be a bit bumpy, so hold on." We traverse a few hallways with ongoing construction before finally rolling into a new area with curtained areas lining each wall - these are called bays, staging areas for patients. You either go in there and leave or stay longer and get a room.

"Mr. Patton, so the blood pressure again?" Dr. Philstance appears much sooner than expected as Mary had just instructed me to line in the bed and hooked up a IV.

"Yeah, it just happened, no warning. Fine yesterday, no sleep and now here I am." I gesture wildly with my hands.

"Well, we have seen this before with you, any big stressors these days?" He looks up and makes eye contact, holds it about 5 seconds too long, and returns to feeling my body and checking and rechecking the chart.

"The normal, work, travel, raising the grandson, son got laid off, marital issues as wife finally realized I am an idiot, roof needs fixed, dryer broken, car making a noise, Mom won't shut up, Dad is gone but still lingers, bored with work and layoffs loom, getting old and now blood pressure skyrockets."

"Whoa."

"Well." I feel like I've only told him a quarter of the things running through my mind.

"Your wife here today?" He looks around for another person who obviously is not there.

"No, I didn't want to disturb here, waiting until she left for work and then came here."

"You thinks she'll be worried?"

"I'll tell her later."

"Interesting."

"I guess."

"You don't think it is odd to keep this from your wife?"

"You ever feel like you made the wrong choice?"

"What?"

"Nevermind, anyway, not a secret, I'll tell her later, besides, she had big meeting today."

"The IV has brought it back down to normal - 115/78. You still taking the Lisiniporol?"

"Yes."

"Every day?"

"Yes."

"I was going to say increase it, but is it fine all other times?"

"Yes."

"Well, maybe you can stay for a while, we'll see about overnight, to monitor you."

"No."

"No?"

"I am not staying, waste of time and money, besides I need to get to work."

"You should really rest for a couple days, your body has been through a lot of stress today and yesterday."

"We'll see, but I am not staying."

"Alright, well I think we're done here, do you have any questions for me?"

"No." 

Hm

 Sometimes we do what is wrong to get to what is right.

The End

I can't think of a lot of endings that I have loved as I usually don't want a book - that I love - to end. One fresh in my mind is Gone Girl as I recently rewatched the movie and the ending is the same as the book and the ending is just crazy. The ending is unsettling as Nick stays with Amy despite her insanity given that she is having her baby. Wow, I just reread that line and that seems like a summary of a Young and the Restless story. Meanwhile, Amy believes she has won and succeeding in keeping her husband with her forever. I read one review or summary that it highlights the complexities of a marriage/relationship, really? It makes me think of another one of my favorite books, The Talented Mr. Ripley, where the main characters gets away with everything and gets a reward at the end. A lot of books have endings where everything is wrapped up with no loose ends like Crime and Punishment where Raskolnikov goes to prison for what he has done.

Order Up!

I pulled the spray handle down and rinsed the dishes, placing them on the trays before pushing them onto the conveyor belt pulling them through the washer. Steam rolled from the floor length contraption as I, the lone worker in the kitchen, emptied the bus tubs were loudly placed on the shiny, stainless steel counter to the right. I wiped the sweat from my brow, dumping the uneaten food through the hole in the counter into the trash bin below. I looked up at the clock, nine o'clock, only two more hours before I was free with a book report needing completion for school tomorrow. I absently tugged on the trash bin. You had to be careful with how much it contained as water was deposited with the food. The result was a tripling of the weight, the one time I had let it completely full resulted in recruiting two other guys to lift it into the dumpster outside. As the washer whirred, I turned and leaned against the counter, suddenly realizing I had not seen another person in quite some time. We were nearing closing time, so where did everybody go? Where was my help? I strolled through the swinging door out of the kitchen into the open cooking area and the restaurant. There were seven, seven individuals including the manager. They were sitting, laughing, talking about who knows what with all of the customers gone. There were still tables to be cleaned, which went with kitchen duty. "There is a lot to clean back there before closing." I announced to the gathered group with no response. The irritation gathered in my system, percolating. "I really could use some help." I turned and directed this to the night manager - a man I had delivered money to a few weeks prior to cover gambling debts at a local pool hall. He raised his hands as if he had no control. The agitation within me grew, my body tense, I stood motionless for a few minutes, staring straight past everybody, through the front windows and out into the now empty mall. I could see the nearby fountain, remembering a friend and I scooping out the loose change depositing by shoppers making wishes. It was enough to buy us a pizza that night. I smiled for just a minute before turning and returning to the kitchen. I tossed my apron on the counter as the dish washer continued to run, now with nothing inside. I hit the button to shut it down. I walked to the far wall, removed my time card, clocked out and returned the time card to its slot on the wall. I found my coat and slowly put it on, one eye on the door as there was still time for somebody to step through that door and provide assistance. The silence of the storage room surrounded me before the decision was finalized. I picked up my apron before walking through swinging door again. "You'll have to find somebody to finish the dishes and cleanup now." The manager looked up and turned towards as my apron hit his face and landed with a thud on the edge of his desk. "Hey, calm down." He stood and faced me, letting the apron fall to the floor. He stepped over it towards me. "I quit!" I raised my hand and flashed my middle finger to all of them. The car started easily for a change with an uneventful and peaceful drive home.

Show Up

In the grand panorama of life, in this story, that is your own, Listen, dear graduates, to the wisdom, age-old and known, You stand on the precipice of dreams, of possibilities unfurled, Ready to etch your vibrant colors on the canvas of the world. Show up, dear dreamers, show up, let your presence shine, In moments great or humble, in the ordinary, find the divine. Awaken in the dawn of every day, every moment seize, For the magic of your journey lies in these myriad entities. Each tick of the clock, each beat of your heart, Is a chance for you, a new path to chart. Every choice you make, every step you tread, Lays the foundation for the life ahead. The classroom, the workplace, the world so wide, Need not only your mind, but your heart beside, The power of presence, so simple, yet profound, In the echo of your footsteps, let this truth resound. Showing up, isn’t merely about being there, But weaving threads of empathy, of love, of care, For life is a mosaic of moments, strung like beads, And the beauty emerges when each one intercedes. Show up for the laughter, the joy and the cheer, But also for the trials, the struggles, the tear. Show up for your loved ones, in their joy and strife, Because your presence might just be the light of their life. To show up is to honor the precious gift of time, To echo back to life, a melody sublime, It's the soft whisper in the silence, the strength in the crowd, The courage in the chaos, a voice gentle, yet loud. So show up, dear graduates, for this journey, so vast, Embrace each sunrise, be present, till the very last. Remember, every moment is but a brush stroke in your art, So show up, be present, gift the world the grace of your heart.

Namesake

I had a friend, or so I thought, in middle school and halfway through high school that shared my first name - the two Tony's. We were always cutting up and laughing in middle school, teachers would separate us to stop the disruptions. The one and only time I was disciplined was because of him - both of us standing facing the wall with hands on it like we were being searched by police. Mr. Williams proceeded to get a fellow teacher to witness as he delivered a blow with his paddle that he nicknamed The Enforcer. It was punishment for throwing water in science class that finished with a note to my Mom stating "Tony was throwing H2O in class" and my convincing her that was water and not acid or some other harmful substance. He was a Jehovah's Witness that was only a problem when we attended sporting events and his refusal to stand for the national anthem was an issue for those around us. His family called me a Worldly, but they never recruited me which seemed odd. We often played basketball together and he would demean me as teams were chosen. He would never choose me and as we entered high school the unkind treatment increased. He gravitated to more popular classmates and often ignored me until the others were not present. I detached from him during our sophomore year as his attitude worsened. Also, he basically gave up doing schoolwork since his religion discouraged higher education. It is odd to reflect on our so-called friendship and realize the pervasiveness of the bullying. One positive for myself is I faced him (his team) in a local basketball tournament a few years after high school and my team winning and my outperforming him. He tried to reconnect after that game, but I moved on to better people and friends.

Refuge

I love libraries and bookstores and the only explanation I have for that (other than loving books) is they were refuge during my formative years. I did not spend a lot of time in my school library other than assigned class time in there, but I did spend a lot of time in the main branch of our city library system. I would beg my Mom to take me there every chance possible. It is located at the edge of downtown Louisville. The building itself is grand with it described as a Victorian-style Carnegie structure. There is a library museum in the basement and a display space on the main level where art installations and historical presentations are setup. Any time I could get a ride to the library, I would walk through the giant doors and breath in the wonderful library smell. I would browse the display space and possibly learn something before heading upstairs to the main stacks. I would grab books on any subjects that were in my mind at that point plus some fiction selections. The limit was ten books at a time, and I never had less than ten. There were numerous fines to be paid, and I always had to pay with my own money. As we rode home, I would run my hands over the books, pull out the check out cards in the back and view the other times the books had been checked out. Once home, I would disappear in my room with the stack and tackle a few books - I can remember many times trodding through a book that was clearly over my head, but I tried and many other times the books were just what I needed. The books served as my companion during many hard times and the library itself was like a cathedral. My brother often teased me about the books and library and Mom never liked driving downtown, but I appreciate the fact that she did. As I reflect back on those days, I see the books provided plenty of learning and fantasy, but they also provided hope of better times which did happen. I actually lived close to the main library branch in college and it never lost its luster. While I don't go there often these days, I still provide support and hope it helps others but now the Internet offers a gateway not available long ago.