In the ER, Diego Alejandro lay on the bed looking at the clock. He could see that it was one minute after midnight, but he couldn’t figure out if he was awake or dreaming. Images floated in and out of his mind as if they were being magically transported by gentle breezes coming from… hmm… he wasn’t sure where. He watched one memory form and then morph seamlessly into another. Ding a ling… ding-a ling… he and the rest of the neighborhood kids began running. It was the Good Humor man with his popsicles, creamsicles, frozen bananas, and toasted almond bars.
He blinked and now he was squatting by the drainage ditch in the front of his grandma’s house in Louisiana. His mother had given him a bit of bacon fat, and he had tied it onto a string which he was raising and lowering in front of a hole in the ground. Gotcha! As he raised the string, there was the crawfish, its claw clamped tightly onto the bacon fat. He placed it in his nearly full bucket and thought, “just enough for tonight’s dinner.”
As that image faded, he could see himself sitting with other members of his school and neighborhood in a circle at LeRoy’s eighth grade graduation party with festive colored lights, potato chips, and soda pop. The music of Elvis Presley, The Platters, Connie Frances, Brenda Lee, and Fats Domino set the stage for dancing and more.
He and the other eighth-graders were giggling and laughing because they were playing a kissing game. He remembered feeling a bit nervous because he had never kissed a girl. Now, in the darkness of the storage shed, he felt Maria’s lips touching his… They were soft and wonderful, and deep inside, he felt a warm and beautiful feeling he had never felt before. Then, he was jumping off the high dive at the YMCA swimming pool… cannonballs were his specialty. Now, he was playing softball in the street in front of his house, climbing trees, shining up street lights, making a roller skate scooter with a milk crate and a 2×4, riding his bike, pitching baseball cards and…whoa.
Mr. Dougal was the only male teacher at his school, and he taught eighth grade. Mr. Dougal was writing Diego’s name on the blackboard for talking, and he had received the usual punishment: copying five hundred words from a newspaper. Each day it wasn’t turned in, the punishment doubled. When it got to eight thousand words, you were sent to the principal’s office where you stayed until it was finished.
At the end of the school day, it was his turn to stay late and wash down the chalkboards. Everyone else had left, and he was there all alone in his classroom when he thought “what if he ‘accidentally’ wiped his name off of the board? Then he wouldn’t have to do the punishment.” Unfortunately, Mr. Dougal had a very good memory, and a few days later, he was told that since he hadn’t turned in the Five hundred words, or the one thousand words, or the two thousand words that were due today then four thousand words were due tomorrow or it was down to the principal’s office. It was quite late that night when he finally got to bed. Other memories came into focus and then faded.
He remembered being at bat after school in the school’s baseball field. He really connected. He hit a line drive and it went screaming down the third baseline. It went over the fence and hit the glass cover of the electric meter dead center on the outside wall of the brick apartment building just behind the playground fence… smashing the glass cover… Everyone scattered!
Then, he was standing in Mrs. Larson’s biology class, presenting the insect collection he had made that summer… and whoosh… he was, visiting his relatives in Massachusetts, Tennessee, and Louisiana… and now he was a teenager doing the twist at the frequent Friday night parties at Ken’s house. Prom and graduation soon followed. Now, he was sweating out the final exam for his college physics class… and then he was presenting his final drawing for his construction class. His marriage followed and then his first child… his first job… running the architectural programs at Triton College, getting his master’s degree… getting divorced… and then… nothing.
Dr. O’Donnell wondered how many times he had done this. He had been an ER doctor for many,many years and he would soon be retiring. Jane, his nurse, was wondering what she was going to fix for dinner when she got home that night. She couldn’t decide if it would be sloppy joes or if she should cook something on the grill. “Earth to Jane…earth to Jane.” Jane glanced at Dr. O’Donnell and smiled…realizing she had been daydreaming again. “Earth to Jane” was Dr. O’Donnell’s way of getting her attention. He asked her if she wanted to join him and some of the other staff for a drink after work…and then said… matter-of-factly, “record the time of death as 12:02 am.”