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OLD KEY WEST ARMORY, WHITE ST.
Friday, June 26, 2009. 7:05 P.M.
"I thank the Studios of Key West for allowing me to speak in the old Key West Armory tonight, as I thank members of our local press for attending, and also my dear family and friends. My unbounded gratitude goes to the wonderful physicians at Key West Memorial Hospital, without whose magnanimous compassion and generosity I probably would not have the strength to stand here before you now.
"As many of you know, I am Bryan Chesterton, more colloquially known as 'The Two Headed Man,' for reasons which need no explanation. Formerly I was an innkeeper, a salesman and a one-time sailor. I am here to bid farewell to all, in whatever way all have known me. I can't tell you that I am dying, and quite possibly this body may continue to function for many years to come. However, the consciousness that occupies this body, the mind of Bryan Chesterton as he speaks to you tonight is quickly losing the battle with whatever is to replace it. I first felt something amiss, a forgetfulness combined with a dissociation from reality only a few weeks ago. Thinking my 'episodes' had something to do with the medication I started taking for pain, I stopped taking medicine. But, it didn't help. The periods of dissociation steadily increased.
"Two weeks ago my wife told me I had spent an entire morning staring at a wall. I don't remember. I panicked at finding myself chewing on a piece of steak in the evening, at the family dinner table. I nearly choked, coming back to myself in mid-chew.
"My condition is still a medical mystery. Unlike mono zygotic twins that sometimes don't completely separate during prenatal development, resulting in the familiar Siamese twins where the unfortunate condition leaves the two identities usually locked together for a lifetime of sharing the same circulatory system, the same bed, toilet, bath, and secrets, what happened to me is altogether different.
"This dwarfish looking head you see growing out the top of my left shoulder, with its eerie opaqued eyes that occasionally blink in disaffected boredom didn't exist three years ago.
"About two and a half years ago a pimple arose on my shoulder, causing mild aggravation, and later, pain. It never went away, but proceeded to grow into a thick dome. The growth frightened me, of course, as it still does. The doctors had no idea what it was, other than to say it was reinforced by bone, and that surgical removal might be an option. Of course, as doctors studied it, they also observed its growth, and became astonished.
"After one year the bump's growth rate accelerated wildly. But instead of a gnarled malignancy, my growth took on an organized pattern. Imagine my horror as its shallow ridges shaped themselves into rudimentary ears, a brow, eyes, cheeks and finally a mouth.
"My wife Grace has lived up to her name, ever supportive, standing with me every step of the way, from the day she brought home acne cream to the day to the day when we gathered in the living room watching television, and Grace gaped in horror as Ivan (Grace's pet name for this Terrible' addition to our home) blinked for the first time.
"My son Rob, a normal rebellious teenager really grew up fast, and we've bonded strongly throughout my ordeal. People tend to think they are blessed when times are good for them. Get the money, get the girl, get the house. It is when the tides of fortune turn against us that we learn if we are truly blessed...or not. So many have given so much to help me through this frightening ordeal, never treating me like a freak, never too shy or embarrassed to allow me to stay within the social circle I had been accustomed to."
[Note: The small, round head on Mr. Chesterton's shoulder turns briefly, left to right, but its eyes remain closed. The mouth opens and closes in what appears to be a narrow yawn, or even a verbalization. Mr. Chesterton stops speaking for several minutes. The 30 or so members of the audience wait patiently and quietly. Someone eventually murmurs. Some appear embarrassed, looking around at others as if they had missed their cue. The time is now 7:22, and Mr. Chesterton comes to, continuing with his speech.]
"There, I believe it has happened again. These lapses bring a measure of comfort. How can that be, you ask? Because the mind is never blank. It is always somewhere. What I think is happening to me, though my body seems well enough, is that my ego is being pushed out by this new head. It is hard for me to notice, just like it is impossible to catch your eyes moving while looking at yourself in a mirror. Others have noticed, though, increased activity of...this...this other fellow.
"I am left to conclude that what is going on is this: That the personality you all know, that of Bryan Chesterton is leaving for good and at the same time this new, silent stranger to my left is taking over. The pace of the switch is accelerating. There isn't much time left for me here.
"Where will my consciousness go? Does personality survive beyond the confines of this wonderful world where we live, love and laugh for a time? You have only to examine your own dreams for the answer to that one. Of course, I believe it does. And, I believe I will see each one of you again.
"Good night, and bless you all."
[End of speech. Chesterton walks away from the podium. The audience applauds, with some calling out, "We love you Bryan," and "It's not 'goodbye' Bryan, it's 'until we meet again'" etc.]
Freelance journalist Gregory G. Lewis was a regular contributor to the West County News of Shelburne Falls, Massachusetts. As a correspondent to several Franklin County towns Mr. Lewis was better known by his Arts & Entertainment contributions, especially On the Marquee, a review of the region's outstanding art, music and drama.
"My assignments took me to dinners and breakfasts with the Governor; and to the 2006 Massachusetts Democratic Convention where I met candidate Deval Patrick, US Senator John Kerry, and even Kitty Dukakis," said Mr. Lewis.
Since the West County News closed its doors in August, Mr. Lewis has pursued the night life and high life of South Florida, in the
Proustian tradition. He now carouses tropical climes and exotic personalities, capitalizing on years of experience thrusting himself in the public eye.
You have no reason to defend yourself. It clearly says it was submitted under fiction. I didn't look. You aren't sick (clearing throat), just gifted! LOL Ya nut! Respond to this comment
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