Chow time.

He sat up slowly, then slid from the bed and followed the others to the dining hall.

Automatically falling in line he shuffled along with the others, hearing the sounds of feet, voices and the banging of pans and trays. His tray shook as his cup was filled with coffee. He walked slowly and carefully to the table, but still the coffee spilled over on to the tray. He toyed the food with his spoon then scooped it up and raised it toward his mouth. Halfway up the food fell off the shaking spoon and splattered on the tray. He stared at the empty, wavering spoon, then tried again. He heard faint laughter as he tried again and failed. There seemed to be sound all around him, but he ignored it and concentrated on the elusive food. It was hard, but he did manage to eat some of the food and drink some coffee. By the time he got back to his room he was exhausted and again fell on the bed. There was something he wanted, but it was many minutes before he realized it was a cigarette. He sat up and noticed the door was still open and the other men were slowly walking back to their rooms. He went to the door and asked each man for a smoke, his voice weak, sounding distant. One of the men gave him a cigarette and lit it for him. Feel better today? He half nodded and grunted an answer. You were in bad shape when they brought you in yesterday. Yesterday? Looking at him. Don't you remember? He tried to grin. The man smiled. Yeah, that wine can get to you after awhile—OK. Back to your room. The man left, and he backed into his room as the door was closed and locked.

He sat on the edge of the bed as he smoked. Been here since yesterday. County Jail. Yeah, that's right, I remember. County Jail. Must have been arrested the night before last if I got up here yesterday. By the time they finish booking you and everything it's a long time. His face flashed into a smile. Yeah. I remember this place. The County Jail Hospital. Self-satisfaction beaming from his face as he congratulated himself for remembering so much. He still couldn't remember being arrested, or where it had occurred. Many months still forgotten, but that knowledge was easily avoided by continuing to think about what he could remember. It was a rare accomplishment lately to remember with such clarity.

Suddenly he looked at the door and strained, for a second, to remember something. But what? The hell with it. Not important. He took a final drag on the cigarette and tossed the butt in the commode.

Once more he luxuriated as he stretched out on the bed. The sun still warm on his face and the water cool on his bared feet. But some clouds drifted through the blue sky and then seemed to fall to earth. Or did a mist rise from the rapidly cooling earth? And what happened to the soothing sounds that had floated through the air, and the gentle breeze that had feathered his face? Then the silence was disturbed with an unfamiliar sound. It seemed to come from the clouds, or somewhere. It couldn't be traced or identified. It was just a sound. Slowly raising himself he lifted his feet from the now silent and cold water, his fishing pole still beside him. He looked toward his father but he seemed to be dissolving in the rapidly increasing mist. He jumped up, wanting to run to Daddy, but he barely moved, his body floating slowly up, then taking many minutes to float to the ground. He called to his father, tears streaming down his cheeks, trying to extend his arms to reach Daddy, but his arms took hours to start to raise and when they did they suddenly were straight down by his sides. Daddy! Daddy! The mist didn't whirl, it was simply there, as was the sound in the air, getting thicker and more impenetrable. The sound didn't get any louder, but it seemed to be more piercing, seeming to remain in his head, increasing and increasing… DADDY!!! An endless screech, the arms still refusing to respond, Daddy becoming vaguer and vaguer… tears still flowing down his face, panic making breathing difficult… A deep agonizing groan dragged him from sleep. He shook his head and sat up, his face slightly stiff from dried tears. He thought hard trying to identify the sound that woke him. Panic spun his head—he looked at the light, the window, the door, vague memories tormenting him, yet never defining themselves. The light burned bright and constant; the corridor outside his door still illuminated. It's ok. Everything's ok. The sound of his voice startled him slightly. The panic subsided, but the vague uneasiness still pervaded him. He sat still, staring at the wall, on the verge of tears…

The sound of the door being opened forced his head around. Medication, Mr. Rawls. She put the cup of pills on the sink. The door was slammed shut. He stepped over to the sink and picked up the cup. The sound of the pills rattling in the cup brought a frown to his face. He stared at the jumping pills for a moment before he put them in his mouth, filled the cup with water then slowly raised it, lowered his head and drank the water. Turning, he started to go back to the bed, then stopped and put the cup on top of the sink, nodding his head with satisfaction at the cup before going back to the bed.

His preoccupation with the vague feeling that there was something he should remember lasted through dinner and the remainder of the evening. He tried so hard to remember what was on the fringe of his consciousness that it was painful, the effort so enervating that shortly before the lights were turned out he fell into an exhausted sleep.

The sweat prickling his sides and burning his eyes forced him to rub them and shake his head. He turned slightly and fell back against the door, a fearful cry forced from his throat as his reflection leaped at him from the mirror, the staring eyes burning back at him unfamiliar. Many moments passed before he realized that the sound frightening him came from his throat as he fought to get air in his lungs… the recognition eventually registering as he stared at his image. He tentatively touched the red spot on his forehead, marked by pressing his head against the window in the door. He leaned against the door, vaguely aware of the leaping shadows and the sound from the flickering night light. Then slowly he became aware of where he was. He stared at the empty bed and crumpled linen—then swiftly turned around, his head hitting the door. Quickly he turned around again, again falling against the door. The sound from the stuttering light more frightening than the spastic shadows rolling through the room. The crawling sweat stung, yet he couldn't move his hand to wipe his eyes. Eventually the pain in his chest and the feeling of suffocation forced an end to his paralysis. He deliberately took a few deep breaths until his breathing was almost normal. Many times he looked at the short space between his bed and where he leaned against the door. He felt sure he was leaning against the door—he must be, he had to be—but the only thing he could remember was sitting on the edge of the bed. Maybe he was still there—somehow—yet he could feel the door against his back. He couldn't be sitting on the bed. Slowly he reached back, his eyes closed, and touched the door. He opened his eyes. He looked at the bed. It was empty. He must be standing here leaning against the door. THE DOOR! THE DOOR!

His body jerked spastically. Something was familiar. He whimpered as a battle screamed in his head and something fought to be remembered. He wanted to get back to his bed, pull the sheet over his head and blank the sound and mayhem from his mind, but movement was impossible. He tried leaning forward to force himself to move, but fear continued to paralyze him. If only he could.

ooohhh… ooohhh, the whimpering cry wrenched pathetically from his twitching mouth. He stumbled around, fell against the wall and slid to the floor never ceasing his whining as he curled in a corner, the shuffling sound still resounding in his head, trying to disappear in the corner as the memory of the previous night suddenly saturated his mind. A blubbering, simpering NO slobbered from his lips. He wanted to dissolve as he pushed harder into the corner; yet, too, he tried desperately to reach to someone unseen for comfort, but his arms remained wrapped tightly around his chest.