The elderly husband is in a wheelchair being pushed through the hospital by his elderly wife. They’ve probably been married for 60 years, but he’s presently vanishing before her eyes. No longer the man she met chasing a dog down a street so many years ago. Now he’s frail and stooped, his shoulders curling forward as if some magnet within his body was compelling them together. But in spite of this, in spite of his immobility, the hospital slippers, IV bag and bruises crawling up his legs, he’s trying to be cheerful, trying to make the best of things. He says something to his wife, but his voice is a whisper and she can’t hear him. He tries again and it’s the same result. And then he stops trying to talk, and the two of them, so bound, move in silence toward whatever comes next.
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The only thing it said was, “Stop.”
Intrigued, I called the number to investigate and see who had left the mysterious message and what it might mean, but was immediately sent to a voicemail box that gave no indication of who, or what, might reside at the receiving end. Not wanting to give up on this communication, I texted back. These are the messages that ensued:
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Unknown Texting Entity: Stop
Me: Stop??? Stop what???
(One day passes)
Me: Can’t stop.
Me: Won’t stop.
Me: Maybe in the name of love. Maybe I will stop in the name of love.
(Another day passes)
Me: No. Changed my mind. Will NOT stop in the name of love.
(Two days pass)
Me: Is this the Instant Pot?
Me: You can see into the future, can’t you, Instant Pot?
Me: Is it true? Is it death by water for me? The Tarot reader said it was, but I’m not sure I believe her. I think she might have been unreliable. She was weird, smelled exactly like a Harveys. Very suspicious.
( One day passes)
Me: And I’m never even in the water.
( One day passes)
Me: My wife told me that the Instant Pot cannot send texts, so sorry. I guess you’re not the Instant Pot.
( One day passes)
Unknown texting entity: Just stop.
Me: STOP WHAT???? YOU’RE KILLING ME HERE!!! JUST KNOCK OFF THE MEAN GIRL BULLSHIT AND TELL ME WHAT IT IS I HAVE TO STOP DOING!!!
Me: Sorry. I don’t normally lose my temper like that.
Me: I haven’t been sleeping well.
Me: Lots on my mind.
( Two days pass)
Me: You’re a demon, aren’t you?
Me: I always knew a demon would pick me to seed.
Me: I knew this would happen. Ever since I read The Amityville Horror when I was eleven.
Me: That’s when I created a portal for you to enter into my life, wasn’t it?
Me: Fuck it!
( One day passes)
Me: Well demon, as you can see into my soul, you know that I’ve wanted to stop for a long time.
Me: The problem is I can’t stop.
Me: That’s why I haven’t been sleeping well.
Me: I. Just. Can’t. Stop.
Me: It’s all I fucking think about.
Unknown Texting Entity: Paske, gen anpil moun ki rebèl, plen diskou sans ak desepsyon, espesyalman sa yo ki nan gwoup la sikonskripsyon. Yo dwe bese, paske yo ap deranje tout kay ki nan kay yo lè yo anseye bagay yo pa ta dwe anseye-e ke pou dedomajman pou malonèt.
Me: Is this you, Jen?
Me: Are you fucking with me?
Me: If so, this is NOT funny.
Me: So not funny.
Me: I just had to take two Lorazepams, you fucker.
(One day passes)
Me: Okay, this is Michael’s wife Rachelle writing now. Listen, if you actually are a demon, why did you start off communicating in english and then switch to whatever you switched to, when you saw my husband start to panic? Why not just continue with english? Seems like a rookie mistake to me.
Me: I think you’re a false prophet!
Me: Demon! It’s Michael here again! The above, the blasphemy about you being a false prophet? That was written by my wife, not me! I would NEVER say that about you!!
Me: Rachelle here, demon. Could you make yourself useful and tell me where Jones put the car keys? And if you’re the reason why the remote is always disappearing, you’d better knock it off. Don’t think I won’t holy water the shit out of this whole place. I will. And I have a Bissel steam cleaner that can suck you right out of the sofa.
It’s a real ghostbuster, so just consider yourself on notice.
]]>I had major, very complicated surgery, and for two weeks after the operation– first thing in the morning– the attending nurse would always ask me if I knew where I was. It was a simple question, one that I found a little bit insulting even, but the truth was that I just wasn’t sure.
I mean, I knew who I was, that I’d had heart surgery and was in hospital, but I wasn’t clear on what hospital, or where this hospital was located. Some days I thought I was in Montreal, other days Ottawa, sometimes when I heard the rhythms of an African tongue, I believed I was in Cape Town. Depending on the accents, language and ethnicity of those around me, I imagined I was in India, Australia or China, occasionally, even in Toronto, the city in which all of this was unfolding.
Each day was like waking into a dream, a realm where things were still being shaped. The people moving about in my field of vision were distant from me. It was like they existed in another dimension, and communication was mysterious, even impenetrable, as if something fundamentally untranslatable existed between us. I was, I guess, still disconnected from the conscious, living world and through fogs of trauma and medication, remained a spectator to the existent.
I communicated with very few people during this time, but I did send texts to my wife Rachelle. These are some of the ones I sent to her during the early stages of my recovery:
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Very thirsty. Want popsicle but they won’t let me have popsicle. The nurses are all very mean! Don’t understand. Please bring popsicle. CHERRY.
Why are you not here with popsicles? Very lonely. Very lonely for popsicle.
I love you.
Did I miss the spring?
Why are we in Africa? Were we visiting Douglas?
Oh. Not in Africa. Nurse said that, but thought she was lying.
Am scared when the machines beep. They are sounding an alarm to say that something in my body is broken or on fire.
I miss your blue, blue eyes.
My nurse is an assassin. Cruel eyes and self-loathing. Might be a serial killer. Am terrified when brings me my pills. Must kill her patients and then gets drunk at night, feeling powerful.
I want to be in a lake. Dog just about to jump in from the dock.
What’s going on in Game of Thrones? Has everybody been raped and killed or do some survive?
Food here not made with love. Sort of thing you give jailed enemy.
Do I have jailed enemies now?
Would like to have several jailed enemies. That would be AWESOME.
Brian and Laura should be thrown in tower.
Never heard a word from them. They only care about volleyball and renting house for Pan-Am games.
Is Hunstman spider fastest land creature? Can’t remember.
I want to sit on a sloped field of green with you and our son Jones, drinking lemonade on a checkered blanket, the world around us.
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