Too busy twitching involuntarily; spasming, in fact: Body jerked, convulsed, shuddered in response to multiple random cramps attacking, releasing, attacking again from head to toe. Ravages flopped body about like chicken recently deprived of head (uncomfortably apt simile; brain quite as unable to communicate with body as if physically separated).
Thrashed for timeless, endless interval. Several seconds at least. Then subsided into gently quivering heap, face up, limbs intertwined in Gordian disarray; cramps abated, muscles relaxing, going limp — pain easing toward residual ache. Would have sighed with relief if such possible, but breathing not among voluntary functions then.
Besides, knew relief was only fool’s paradise: Could feel heat; knew face was flushed. Could feel perspiration volume increasing, sweat streaming from entire body; dripping where possible, collecting in hollows elsewhere — one pool quickly threatened to overfill valley formed by nose, cheek; invade eye. And breathing rate such that nose began to run.
Suspected was not pretty sight. But not encouraging to realize Terry, intently peering down from stand, actually had nothing to say. Just made big, round, worried eyes; stared first one eye, then other. And know what it takes to dismay my brother.
But worry surely nullest of exercises. Understood problem; knew only solution was food, sleep. And knew must finish chores first.
So again turned perception inward. Concentrated. Groped for ki within soul. Felt it stir. Created channel, felt flow begin. Gently guided into right arm. Willed dead meat to move.
Terribly pleased to note response. And not a little amazed.
Expanded control zone. Levered body into sitting position; then rolled over onto hands, knees. Moving most carefully (nothing worked without painstaking, step-by-step supervision), crawled forward to driver’s seat.
Where paused momentarily, mulling options, calculating odds. Shortest route involved climbing into seat to reach door handle. But never seriously considered as solution (as well might have been mountaintop). Or could go around; between seats, past engine cover, under steering wheel. Farther to travel. But level.
Even so, had to stop en route, rest. Twice.
Eventually, however, fingers closed limply around door handle. Marshaled forces for effort — pulled door shut hard enough to secure latch. Barely. (Noted, gratefully, front windows rolled up far enough for safety; all others swing-out construction, couldn’t open far enough to pose security risk.)
Then — somehow — managed to turn around under steering wheel, avoiding getting snagged on pedals in process; set off on return trip amidships.
Arrived in due course within reach of side door handles. Again assembled energies (what remained), swung door shut — even remembering to close in proper order: Rear first, then front, so overlapping latches engaged instead of rebounding, negating efforts. Experienced profound thrill, sense of accomplishment, from having done it right.
Considered taking brief time-out for rest but realized wouldn’t help. So heaved self upright on knees, ignoring tendency for surroundings to orbit own vertical axis. Scooped up saucer full of parrot seed mix from container on counter; lumbered (still on knees) to stand, prepared to dump contents into sibling’s food cup.
And stopped, confused: Was full. As was — now visible at far end of perch — water cup.
Set down saucer carefully. Tried to think problem through, but not easy: Data input too fast; of such anomalous, almost contradictory nature; mind functioning so slowly. Shook head — regretted at once: No one in such condition should move head quickly. Ever. Pain obscured vision momentarily. When receded, found self leaning against side doors, head resting against window glass, eyes closed.
Solution obvious, but reached only after labored deliberation: Of course food, water untouched: Had embarked from Harpers’ this morning — several lifetimes prior — something under an hour ago! (Indeed, Albert knew whereof spoke: Time is relative; truly flies when having fun…)
Probably smiled as arrived at conclusion. Which expression surely faded as eyes opened, focusing on glare from holocaust surrounding Trans Am, mere hundred yards behind van. Building in which vehicle embedded now well involved: Smoke, fire gushing from windows many stories up, obviously spreading rapidly.
And given shoulder-to-shoulder nature of downtown concrete-canyon architecture, only matter of hours before entire block ablaze — in fact, as flames gutted high-rises, structures’ collapse sure to follow; filling, bridging streets with burning debris, spreading conflagration from block to block. Only few more hours before entire city engulfed in fire storm.
Implications percolated slowly but with finality. Knew taste of defeat: truly bitter — age-old cliché accurate, but woefully inadequate.
Not that had given up. Though slowed, dulled, mind still functioning more or less coherently; knew if passed out now would never wake: Van’s destruction, together with frail contents, guaranteed as blazing walls crashed down to fill street where parked.
But problem deeper than mere awareness of threat, unflagging resolve. Body pushed too far; was finished: Utterly in grip of fatigue-toxin-overdose-induced myasthenialike collapse, paralysis. Not a single cell from voluntary musculoskeletal group responsive to brain’s commands — doubt house-current application would have elicited so much as twitch.
Tears began to trickle from under lids as eyes closed, body slid limply down door, crumpling onto floor to lie unmoving. Final thoughts were fading jumble fuzzy with disappointment, regret, outrage: Had come so close; felt so cheated —
“Hel-lo, baby…!” wailed Terry in anguished tones.
— and horror: Hoped smoke, fumes, big piece of falling debris would find us before flames; couldn’t bear thought of retarded twin, gorgeous feathers ablaze, rolling about floor, struggling, screaming…
Waking was nice: gradual, luxurious process, allowing time to revel in same cozy lack of urgent purpose which always attended first awareness on summer mornings during school vacation. Bed was lovely: firm; made up with cool, clean-smelling sheets; light, soft blanket. And from somewhere floated lilting chords of Beethoven’s Pathétique sonata.
Once got around to opening eyes, saw that surroundings comprised large, cheerful, well-appointed bedroom, simply reeking of restrained good taste.
Had no idea where might be, how got there, or why; and didn’t much care. Was sufficient that felt marvelously rested, deliciously comfortable — until essayed first lazy stretch.
Accompanying yawn brought cognizance of tube up nose; a discovery so startling, almost distracted from surprise of learning right arm immobile, apparently strapped down. Deliberate swallow confirmed tube also present in esophagus. Unpleasantly so.
Followed tube with eyes to bottle hanging on stand at bedside. Didn’t need to read label to recognize Isocal HCN, first choice amongst medical community for endogastric feeding of comatose patients.
And next to Isocal hung partial baggie of Ringer’s lactate — saline with electrolytes added. From it ran tube to I.V. — plugged into right arm.
As pondered these phenomena (with rapidly dwindling enthusiasm), yet another anomalous sensation intruded amongst already churning thoughts. Or perhaps lack of sensation more accurate: For first time in living memory, had awakened without awareness of overfull bladder. Which realization flowed without pause into dawning perception that Something Was Amiss in that region as well.