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Doug sat on the edge of the bed and considered the latest circumstance in which he found himself. The light was dim in the room but he had gotten used to it several days past. Through the window high up on the wall opposite the door, it was near impossible to judge the time. He got up off the bed and began to pace again. He'd been doing that a lot, lately. It seemed that he could think better when he was moving and not just sitting. He had to contact his mother. She would get him out of this mess; not only that, but she might send the plane down here to pick him up. His car was useless for a while. He could even get her to buy him a new one. He was good at getting her to buy him anything he wanted. He was good at getting what he wanted from anyone; well, almost anyone. Being here was not his cup of tea and this was not where he wanted to spend his holiday. All he needed was to get someone to either lend him a cell phone or let him use the phone in the hallway. Unfortunately, the one person who could have done that was all used up by Doug. He had tricked her to getting a dozen donuts for him. She wasn't about to be tricked for anything else. It was so humiliating for her. Doug was good at humiliating people, too.
He heard the noise down the hall; breakfast was on its way. Scrambled eggs and beef brains with cold, dry toast and some very weak coffee. It was mid-week. Two more days till his sponge-bath. Small southern towns, far off the main highways, have their own standards, their own way of doing things and, if you analyze it carefully, it's a diabolical method of driving the incarcerated people insane. Maybe this was their method of deterring crime. The cart stopped at his door. A tray was on its way through the squatty wide slot in the door. If he didn't grab it in time, it would tip forward and hit the floor. There were only two meals a day. Both meals were the same: scrambled eggs and beef brains with dry toast and weak coffee. Doug was hungry. Once he discovered the combination this establishment served, all he would eat was the dry toast and a few sips of the weak, luke-warm coffee. It was more than a week; maybe nine or ten days. Yeah, he was hungry. If he could only get to a telephone.
Doug had been in messes before, but had always been able to talk himself out the mess. He was a born con. His father had always told him that there was nothing he could not do for himself, that he was born with the innate talent of a silver tongue. If he couldn't buy it, then he could talk the proprietor out of what he wanted. Sadly, though, Daddy wasn't around very long. He died in a plane crash when Doug was very young. From that time on, his mother became a party girl with all the employees at the commercial plumbing company she inherited from her deceased husband. Mom also got hooked on cocaine, marijuana, and alcohol. And she never slept alone in the California king-sized bed. But Mom would never let Doug grow up. It was like she would be his mother till the day he died and he would never know what it was like to be a man. An independent man. He hated that. It was not something to look forward to for so many years.
When Doug had recently celebrated his twenty-second birthday, his mother bought him the Ford sports car he told her about. That's all he had to do with his mother. Just mention something he wanted and it was his. Although he had a younger sister at home, along with an older girl, unrelated to his family but residing there at the very large estate, and with Mom's sleep-in boyfriends, Doug was still a loner. He trusted no one. He had no relationship with anyone that is, unless he wanted something. But that was just how long the relationship lasted, until he got what he wanted. And Doug was running out of acquaintances in his neighborhood. He had no friends. He'd lost them quite some time back. All he needed now was a cell phone; or to use the phone in the hallway. Crap! Mom would accept a collect call from him. She had no idea where he was or why he was gone so long. Doug was so good at talking himself out of jams. Now, he had to put his skill to work. It was more important this time than ever before.
He almost vomited at the sight of scrambled eggs and beef brains. He turned away from the gray, metal tray resting on the floor and, sitting on the edge of his bunk, ate the dry toast. Just to wash the crumbs down, he took a couple sips of the almost cold, watery coffee from the styrofoam cup. His stomach growled loudly, telling him he needed a meal of substance. After putting the foam cup back on the metal tray, he sat back down on the edge of the metal cot and began putting a plan together that would get him out of this mess. His father's words began coming back to him; "You can do any thing you want to do; you're capable of anything you set your mind to." His memory recalled seeing a program on television of a man who sat down in a chair in front of the camera and in just two or three minutes, created a swelling in his jaw. Like having a very bad tooth ache. The man called it "mind power." Finally, Doug had a plan; at least one he could try. After only ten, or so, of the ninety days he'd been sentenced to, that or a three hundred dollar fine, he was already going out of his mind. Now was the time for action.
He lay his slender frame on the old, thin, bug-infested mattress and began thinking of a pain in his stomach. If this worked, he could get to the building's clinic and be seen by the old doctor. Sure, they would have to call him in and he would probably be drunk. He was told that the doctor was always drunk. No matter. One step at a time. Doug closed his blue eyes and began thinking of a pain in his guts. He put everything else out of his thoughts. There was no way of telling time unless someone came by his cell door. Again, no matter; he was working one of his plans a plan to get him out of the cubicle wherein he had spent what seemed like a life time.
It wasn't until the trustee with the food cart came to his door to pick up the tray and called him three or four times. Doug only lay still on the cot. Finally, the trustee called the guard and the guard opened the cell door. He stood near the metal cot and poked Doug with his night stick. From the light in the cell, he could see that his skin was an ashen color. "Go call the doc. I think something's wrong with this guy." After issuing the order to the trustee, the guard began backing away from the bunk, nightstick in hand, expecting some kind of trick. Doug did not move.
Sometime later, the old doctor arrived at the jailhouse. Under the supervision of two other guards, Doug was moved to the clinic. Doug could hear everything that was being said. He just couldn't open his eyes. His plan was working. A few minutes after looking at Doug, counting pulse beats and listening to his lungs, the old man, whiskey on his breath, told the guard, "Unless he gets to the hospital, he may die before the day is finished." Doug thought, "even better. I'll be at the hospital and for sure can get to a phone." An ambulance was summoned soon after, and, again, under the supervision of two guards, Doug was transferred to the town's only hospital. The admitting doctor immediately put an oxygen mask over Doug's face and nose. There was still no movement in the young man's body. His mind, however, was working just fine. But he was confused about his physical condition. His eyes wouldn't open. He had only thought about a pain in his stomach. Why all the fuss? Why the oxygen? Why the hospital?
In only a few moments, Doug was transferred from the ambulance gurney to a hospital gurney and moved to a room with three other men. The plastic mask over his face was connected to the oxygen system in the room. And it must have been blocking his vision. He could not see what was going on. Doug was placed on the bed. Wow! A real mattress. Though he could not open his eyes, he heard everything going on around him. A needle was stuck in his upper left arm but he did not smart at the prick as he usually did. This, too, seemed strange. People were fussing over him on both sides of the bed. A doctor was talking to someone else, issuing orders for this and that. He was connected to something that made a beeping sound. As soon as these people were finished with him, he would see about the telephone. He would call Mom and she would get him out this mess. Like wow she had been doing that most of his life. This would be nothing new to her. Yeah, she would yell, cuss at him, threaten him, but she would take care of business and he would be on his home. Then, the tone in the beeping machine stopped beeping and was just one steady tone.
Suddenly, the doctor seemed agitated and cried out, "We're losing him; defrib, stat." Finally, he could see. His eyes were open. He could see all the fuss and the strange machines. "Clear." He saw the upper part of his body literally rise up off the bed and crash back down. The steady beep from the machine was still there. Why could he see everything that was going on around him? He could even see himself lying on the bed with the mask over his nose and mouth. He touched his face; there was nothing extra on it. "Clear." A second time, he saw the upper part of his body rise up from the bed and back down. Doug cleared his thoughts and planned on making the phone call when all these people left the room. His plan had succeeded. He was out of the jailhouse and near a public phone. And, hospitals had decent food; he would eat like a horse.
Something wasn't right. He was standing at the foot of the bed watching everything. How could that be? "Time of death, seven twenty-six pm." Doug froze in the instant he heard those last words. Yeah, his plan had really succeeded. His mother would be pissed at him, now. But he was out of the jailhouse for ever and he did it, at last, on his own.
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