Two hours and twenty minutes later a young and attractive, but exhausted looking nurse called my name. She wore bright yellow Crocs and had her straight brown hair pulled back into a hastily thrown together bun. Her name badge said 'Shea' and she certainly looked Irish.
"You can talk to Karl, but please only for a few minutes," she looked me right in the eye. "We want him to sleep soon." I nodded and went around the curtains to talk to my buddy. He sat in a wheelchair. Other than looking pale and sleepy, he looked all right.
"He called me, Duffy," Karl said slowly, without slurring.
"He told me to kill myself like I wanted to in Germany, because it would be easier than what he intended to put me through."
"Karl-"
"I tried, Duff. He got to me enough that I tried to do it." Karl started to weep and brought a hand up to his eyes. "I can't believe what this man can do. I tried to kill myself because he said to." He went back to crying.
My neck started to twitch and my head throbbed. I looked down at my hands. They were fists.
"He had me try to kill myself!" Karl said again through the tears.
"Karl, stop it. He may have tried, but you didn't take enough to carry it out. And you know how to do it. You didn't want to," I knew it was a weak argument.
"He told me about his plans, too."
"What plans?"
"He laughed and bragged about getting away with whatever he wanted to. That no one even knew enough to want to stop him. That everyone knew I was a nut job."
"Did he tell you his plans, Karl?"
"There will be a college-type massacre Saturday."
"What!"
"Yeah, he said to keep my eye on the sports page for college football Saturday."
"What the hell does that mean?"
"He said something about 'Shaking down the thunder' for real."
"He used those words…'Shaking down the thunder'?"
"Yeah, I have no idea what that means."
"I do," It sent a shiver through me. "That's part of the Notre Dame fight song."
"Notre Dame?"
"Yeah, they open with Michigan this Saturday."
27
"Notre Dame? The Notre Dame?" Kelley said. I'd stopped off at AJ's after leaving Karl to get some rest on the happy unit.
"Yeah. It makes sense. National TV, the most famous program, a prestigious University," I said. Kelley stared at me.
"What?"
"How's your head?" Kelley let the condensation run down the side of his Coors' Light.
"Oh, fuck you, Kel."
"Do you have any idea how ridiculous this sounds? It makes the Foursome sound sane and rational."
I sipped my Schlitz and got more and more angry. I don't know if anyone ever looked at you like they really believed you're crazy or not, but it's not fun.
"Check it out Duff. Let me ask the brain trust what they think."
I just sat there and shook my head. I finished off the Schlitz and AJ slid another in front of me.
"Uh, excuse me fellas." The Foursome stopped their conversation. In all the time I've been coming to AJ's, I don't think Kelley ever started a conversation with the Foursome.
"What's up Kel?" Rocco said.
"You know Duffy's friend, Karl?" The Foursome nodded, almost in unison. "He's told Duffy a sniper is going to shoot up the Notre-Dame Michigan game. Says it's going to be another Virginia Tech," Kelley said.
"Notre Dame has got Asian students," TC said.
"I thought they were the Fighting Irish," Jerry Number One said.
"Not in the math department," Jerry Number Two said.
"Uh, fellas-do you think our buddy Duffy ought to take it seriously?"
"Hell no," Jerry Number One said. "No offense, Duff, but your buddy is a little out there."
"You said yourself. Shit, he told me himself, he's a paranoical schizomaniac," Rocco said. "Probably just a delusion."
"He's the one who meditates in the nude with Al, wasn't he?" TC said.
"Duffy, your head okay?" Jerry Number One said. I didn't say anything. I just sat and drank my beer. The only one who wasn't laughing at me was Jerry Number Two.
"So Duff…when are you leaving for South Bend? Maybe Knute Rockne will speak to you from the grave and clue you in," Jerry Number One said.
"Or, the Gipper or better yet, Ronald Reagan as the Gipper," Rocco said.
"Is he the hunchback guy?" TC said.
I had heard enough. I felt my blood pulse through my neck and my head throbbed. I swallowed half of the Schlitz and slammed the bottle down on the bar with enough force it shattered and glass went all over the place. All the guys stopped laughing and got quiet, real quiet.
"Fuck you guys," I said and headed for the door.
My head went spinning. People I trusted told me I was crazy. A doctor friend told me to keep an eye on myself because he thought I'd get a little loopy. Trina even told me to get some help.
The only guy who seemed to share my sentiments wore a Redskins helmet and meditated in the nude with my basset hound.
After work the next day, I picked up Al and we headed back to the Medical Center to see if Karl was ready to be discharged. Elvis sang Help Me from '74 and I dueted for the entire ride. Usually when someone ODed, the hospitals would discharge them to a psychiatric appointment, but I called them and able to convinced them because Karl was my client they could send him home in my care.
We stopped at the reception desk to find out where to pick Karl up this time. To my chagrin, the same receptionist sat there. Before I could brace myself Al did his stink-seeking missile routine and went right between the legs of the gravitationally challenged woman behind the massive phone system.
"There's my buddy!" she said while trying to lift Al's head from her nether regions. "You're such a good boy!" The good boy sneezed.
The fat lady yelped.
"Uh, I'm here to pick up Karl Greene," I said because I could think of nothing else.
The receptionist looked at her monitor, which took two hands and Al's nose torpedoed to its prize.
Al sneezed again.
The fat lady yelped.
"He's on the fifth floor and you'll have to meet with his social worker before he's discharged," she said with less enthusiasm then before.
I pulled Al out from between her legs. He did the tornado thing to get the slobber from out of his jowls. Apparently, he had worked up a bunch from his spelunking adventure. Logiest flew all over the place and Al sneezed again.
Another socially awkward interaction.
Up on the fifth floor I had to meet with another receptionist who thanked me and said 'please' and 'thank you' and all that kind of stuff while at the same time managing to give me the feeling she held me in contempt. Al barked at her like he wanted to tell her to loosen up and she frowned at him.
"Dogs aren't allowed on the unit."
"He's a therapy dog."
"We don't allow therapy dogs on the mental health unit."
"Well, we won't be here long."
"I will call security and they can watch him."
"We really won't be here long," I said and watched her call security.
A twenty-something guy dressed like a cop, who looked liked he just woke up came and took Al by the leash. Al didn't care for that.
" Gerri," Al said.
"Is he, like, you know, dangerous?" The hospital rent-a-cop said.
"Not usually," I said. "Al, take it easy buddy. It's okay." The security guard walked-actually, more like dragged Al down the corridor. Al kept looking over his shoulder while the security cop talked on his radio.
A social worker, who looked like she got out of social work school that morning, came out with Karl and a clipboard.