3:15 AM
I'm standing outside the conference room. Cameron and Chase are arguing. Their voices get louder and louder. It isn't funny anymore, their voices are carrying into the hallway, someone's going to hear them. I try the door and it's locked. I hurry over to my office door, cursing my gimpy gait, but it's no use -- that door's locked too.
Cameron sees me, gives me a beseeching look, but I'm powerless, I'm stymied, I can't figure a way out of the hallway. Chase continues to shout at her while her back is turned.
"That's enough!" I yell, but it's no use -- they can't, or won't, hear me. I frantically bounce my cane in my hand, judging its weight, wondering if I can use it to break the glass and get in there. Cameron turns back to face Chase, and in that instant he strikes her, so hard I can hear the crack of his hand across her face.
Cameron is knocked almost completely around by the blow. Chase sees me, puts his hands on his hips, and gives me a look of triumph. I lean against the glass, my fists clenched. I'm helpless. I look over my shoulder, looking for help, and realize Foreman's standing right behind me. How long has he been there?
"Damn it, Foreman, do something, help me!" I shout.
Foreman shrugs. "Well, Chase has been here the longest," he says philosophically. He turns and walks off down the hallway.
I stare at the back of his white coat. Cameron is holding herself up on the back of a chair. She looks at me with bitter disappointment, and I can't meet her eyes.
I'm standing in the hallway. There's nobody else here. There's nobody else in the hallway, nowhere to turn, my right hand is shaking on my cane and my feet are rooted to the floor, I feel like I'm about to fall, and Chase has a hand on Cameron's shoulder, he's getting ready to yank her around....
I wake up with a yell. Oh, my God -- what was that? My heart's pounding.
Tonight's sleep rating: F. No question.
I sit up in bed, shove my right leg over the side, and reach for the Vicodin bottle. Holy crap. I chew the pill as I catch my breath.
When I'm calm, I reach for my cane. Forget trying to sleep for a while.
I stop off in the kitchen and pile some Triscuits and a blob of peanut butter on a plate. I pour a sip of milk, sniff it, and fill the glass. I hook my cane over my arm and make my way out to the living room.
Plate and glass on the table. Remote? Check. I grab my cane with one hand, the chair arm with the other, and plop myself down with a grunt.
The TV winks on. Anything to rinse that thing out of my brain.
Infomercial, Civil War, history of bubble gum, Extreme Decorating, Iron Chef. Slim pickin's. I find myself watching a show about lions. They're beautiful. I didn't know that they're the only felids that live in social groups. One or two males to a pride of several lionesses. Not bad. I settle back for some nature. I'm too tired to change the channel anyway.
Uh oh. New lion in town. He's marking his territory, all over the place. It's kind of gross.
He's taking over the pride. The lionesses don't look too happy about the idea. One of them leaves. Hopes she makes it.
More marking his territory, got it.
But he's not done yet. He's going to make damn sure the old lion, and all the lionesses, know who's boss. He's killing the cubs. And one of them... he eats.
Am I still dreaming?
Cameron sees me, gives me a beseeching look, but I'm powerless, I'm stymied, I can't figure a way out of the hallway. Chase continues to shout at her while her back is turned.
"That's enough!" I yell, but it's no use -- they can't, or won't, hear me. I frantically bounce my cane in my hand, judging its weight, wondering if I can use it to break the glass and get in there. Cameron turns back to face Chase, and in that instant he strikes her, so hard I can hear the crack of his hand across her face.
Cameron is knocked almost completely around by the blow. Chase sees me, puts his hands on his hips, and gives me a look of triumph. I lean against the glass, my fists clenched. I'm helpless. I look over my shoulder, looking for help, and realize Foreman's standing right behind me. How long has he been there?
"Damn it, Foreman, do something, help me!" I shout.
Foreman shrugs. "Well, Chase has been here the longest," he says philosophically. He turns and walks off down the hallway.
I stare at the back of his white coat. Cameron is holding herself up on the back of a chair. She looks at me with bitter disappointment, and I can't meet her eyes.
I'm standing in the hallway. There's nobody else here. There's nobody else in the hallway, nowhere to turn, my right hand is shaking on my cane and my feet are rooted to the floor, I feel like I'm about to fall, and Chase has a hand on Cameron's shoulder, he's getting ready to yank her around....
I wake up with a yell. Oh, my God -- what was that? My heart's pounding.
Tonight's sleep rating: F. No question.
I sit up in bed, shove my right leg over the side, and reach for the Vicodin bottle. Holy crap. I chew the pill as I catch my breath.
When I'm calm, I reach for my cane. Forget trying to sleep for a while.
I stop off in the kitchen and pile some Triscuits and a blob of peanut butter on a plate. I pour a sip of milk, sniff it, and fill the glass. I hook my cane over my arm and make my way out to the living room.
Plate and glass on the table. Remote? Check. I grab my cane with one hand, the chair arm with the other, and plop myself down with a grunt.
The TV winks on. Anything to rinse that thing out of my brain.
Infomercial, Civil War, history of bubble gum, Extreme Decorating, Iron Chef. Slim pickin's. I find myself watching a show about lions. They're beautiful. I didn't know that they're the only felids that live in social groups. One or two males to a pride of several lionesses. Not bad. I settle back for some nature. I'm too tired to change the channel anyway.
Uh oh. New lion in town. He's marking his territory, all over the place. It's kind of gross.
He's taking over the pride. The lionesses don't look too happy about the idea. One of them leaves. Hopes she makes it.
More marking his territory, got it.
But he's not done yet. He's going to make damn sure the old lion, and all the lionesses, know who's boss. He's killing the cubs. And one of them... he eats.
Am I still dreaming?
1 Comments:
Life with Vogler *is* a bit of a nightmare, isn't it? *ptooey*
I never pegged Chase for a *rat.* But, as you once said about pain, *fear* can make people do some pretty stupid things, too. Pup's in for a shock, though, when he finds out, in the Shakespearean sense--as the Immortal Bard writes in "Hamlet"--that henchmen/stoolies are usually treated thus by tyrants: "he keeps them, like an ape an apple, in the corner of his jaw, first mouthed, to be last swallowed."
Betrayal, treachery and 'backstabbing' *are* forms of violence. Small wonder your unconscious mind would interpret them as such.
On lions: the old lion had better take his pride back, before the cubs get too gummed on and the lionesses... well, you know what lions do to *those.* Nature is hard and sans pity: so, at times, must 'the king of the beasts' be... Because, Vogler's not marking *his* territory, he's muscling in on *yours.* Just remember: "youth and skill will never outdo old age and treachery." My money's on you and Machiavelli, but it's not going to be a Marquis of Queensbury Rules fight...
Sanlin
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