III.

I wake up to bright lights shining in my face. I see nurse Ratchet standing at the door.

“C’mon, let’s go. PT in ten minutes.” She states rather curtly.

“What?” I question rather groggily. I rub my eyes and look out the window. It is dark outside. The soft round floods of orange beneath the outdoor lamps are barely enough to cut through the darkness. “What time is it?” I ask, looking back at her.

“Oh four hundred. Put these on.” She holds out a pair of grubby sneakers as she walks directly to my bed.

“You must be joking.” I state appalled at the idea of PT this early in the morning.

Flashback! Flashback!

“I haven’t participated in PT at this hour since Basic Training and AIT.” I take liberties arguing with nurse Ratchet as she appears to be a civilian. I look over to the other bed. It’s still made. A book sits just below its pillow. “Who and/or where is this roommate of mine?” I adjust myself as I sit up so nurse Ratchet can’t see that I have a raging erection – if that is even possible with these non-fabric sheets. “I still haven’t met this person.” I emphatically state as I point to the empty untouched bed with one hand and casually cover my junk with the other.

Nurse Ratchet pays more attention to my crotch than my pointing hand, then drops the shoes next to my bed, crouches down, picks up the Bible, gently wipes off the cover and sets it carefully at the foot of my bed. “Ten minutes, private.” She turns and walks back to the door. “We meet at the nurses’ station, and tardiness is not tolerated.”

The door shuts behind her and I am left alone in the horrible, fluorescent-lighted room. ‘We are so not amused.’ I mutter to myself. I kick off the bed sheets and stumble to the bathroom. A small, single use toothbrush and a ridiculously tiny tube of toothpaste sits on the shelf above the sink. ‘Seriously? Urgh!’

Ten minutes later I am standing in an alphabetical line near the nurses’ station with the other prisoners, patients. Nurse Ratchet and her toady, I will refer to him as Grover Dill,are walking down the line of half asleep patients.

Scott Farkus’ lil toady. “who’s next!”

She is administering little paper cups with pills in them, he follows her with a small tray with cups of water. As soon as she reaches the end of the line, nurse Ratchet heads back to the start of the line and immediately collects all the cups and stacks them into two little towers on the counter of the nurses’ station.

Not long after, two of the orderlies take us to the day-room down the hall. I try to position myself near Stacy and Patricia. Unfortunately, the orderlies catch me and gently suggest, by grabbing my wrists, that I return to my proper location in the line. I am offended, physically hurt, and embarrassed.

We spend the next hour performing assorted stretches, push-ups, crunches, knee bends, squat-thrusts, jumping jacks, and sit-ups. I hate PT, and even more, I hate lame PT. I mean, if they are going to wake up and make us suffer, at least allow us to break a sweat or simply make the work out a challenge. Doing this though? At 0400 hours? It could have been coordinated for any hour of the day. However, regardless of scheduled time, this particular workout exists for three reasons: Reason, the first; the orderlies can watch the female soldiers’ titties bounce up and down. Reason, the second; the orderlies are sadists who enjoy humiliating people who are already emotionally damaged. Reason, the third; at some point in the past, it is possible that one of our ancestors owned one of their ancestors as a slave; therefore, our generation must be punished for our forefathers’ errors in judgment and morality.

Nevertheless, PT ends and we are immediately lead to the hospital mess hall for breakfast. Being a vegetarian with a mono-diet consisting of of plain white rice, a dry and flavorless red apple or juiceless orange, and salad made of iceberg lettuce, shredded carrot and a single cherry tomato, I have grown accustomed to waking up starving.

I ate so much of this man’s junk

In Basic Training and AIT, I was ridiculed for the amount and volume of noise my stomach would make throughout the day. Today is no different. While heading to the mess hall, my stomach begins its daily routine of complaining.

After mess, I find myself outside again, with Patricia and Stacy. None of us are awake in the usual sense so in the misty pre-dawn of morning the three of us stand their saying nothing. The girls blow their second hand smoke in my face and occasionally drop their butts on the ground. A less humorous repeat of last night, but still effective.

“So,” Stacy finally cuts the silence as she expells a puff of smoke in my face. “How is your roommate?”

“Dunno.” I respond as I move my head around in the billowing cloud and inhale deeply. “I haven’t even seen him yet.”

“Oh … that is your roommate. So sorry.” Stacy retorts.

“Huh? Why sorry?” I ask, a little concerned.

Stacy turns to Patricia, “It’s Morris.”

Patricia nods her head emphatically. “Ooh … yeah, that sucks.” She states as she snubs out her cigarette.

“Why?” I look at both of them.

“Morris is bi-polar and somehow finds his way out of the psyche ward for small stretches of time. That is until he is found doing something particularly crazy.” Patricia explains as she begins to head back to the mess hall. “The rest of the crazies are lining up. It’s time to go back to the happy house.” She nonchalantly states as she briefly skips along for a couple feet.

“You like Siouxsie and the Banshees?” I enquire, and she nods. “And what do you mean by ‘crazy’?” I ask, following her and Stacy back to the orderlies.

“I heard that Morris was recently found on an empty stretch of road on base, completely naked waiting for the spaceships to come and take him.” Stacy casually mentions as we walk back to our little sanitarium.

“Before his most recent vanishing from the psyche ward, he was in for burning himself with lit cigarettes. Both of his lower arms were wrapped in bandages. And he doesn’t even smoke!” Patricia continues sharing little bits of gossip. “But we really shouldn’t talk about this now. Not with those two around.” She nods her head toward nurse Ratchet and the toady Grover Dill.

“Gotcha.” I state. “And thanks for the info. I guess I’ll see you at lunch.” I smile at both of them as we part ways. They head to the psyche ward dayroom as I return to my hospital room.

Laying down on my bed, I sigh in contemplation. My body aches, and being horizontal feels perfect – even if this involves crepe paper ‘bed sheets’ and my hospital gown. I close my eyes and crack a small smile. This is what you need Congdon – a day off from your life. Just as the white noise from the ward begins to sound like it is bouncing off the walls of a deep cave, and I can feel sleep gently taking over, a loud rap breaks the peace. I quickly open my eyes and look to the door. Nurse Ratchet’s toady, immediately starts bellowing at me.

“C’mon. C’mon! You’re not sleeping now. Its time to get your vitals and we have a therapy session about to start. Get up and meet me at the nurse’s station.” He puffs his chest out. Clearly, he is trying to prove that he is the Alpha in this little tête-à-tête. As of now I am almost sure of three things: Thing the first; he isn’t military, thing the second; underneath his scrubs and nurse’s coat his body is shaped like a pear … or maybe an egg, and thing the final, under the unusual circumstances I have found myself, I must begrudgingly accept his declaration of being the Alpha.

Somehow I suspect in his life this job is the only time he has the opportunity to be an Alpha male. He does remind me of ‘that guy’ in his 30’s, who lives in the basement of his parents’ house, who’s diet consists of junk food, fast food, and liter bottles of diet soda, who throws tantrums if his druid dies for whatever reason, who is socially inept, who wears the wrong kind of black clothing all the time,and who has the maturity level of a 14 year old boy.

all druids are female elves that wear very little – it’s a fact!

Who am I to kick him when he’s already down?

Original work by Michael Congdon, Hivster Contributor.