Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Chapter 1 (Continued): Green House
It is dark outside of our little green house. I have just completed phase two of my nightly ritual of dinner, bath, prayer, sleep. The house is quiet right now as if I am an only child. This is a rare moment in my world, between two older sisters who are very capable but every bit as demanding and my older brother's need for almost constant help and attention parental alone time is somewhat of a commodity for me. As I have just stated though it is quiet right now and my father has just returned from work. I was in my bath but could recognize the strong but somehow sullen footsteps of a man quietly holding up the weight of his family. My mom talks about how dad owns a store that sells pieces of cars to people when theirs aren't working anymore. I remember feeling a sense of a wakeless pressure, like how the sky looks and feels just before a heavy winter snow storm, when I would sit next to and talk with my dad during this time of the green house. I felt excited though that he was home. Surely we would play my favorite game "Sammy the spider" where my fathers hand would turn into a ravenous spider that seemed to feed only upon the soft ticklish flesh of my stomach. I would run and scream with laughter as an escaped mental patient every time I heard the phrase out of my fathers mouth of "Oh, now is that Sammy the spider swinging from the ceiling?". Or at least I could hear and make him laugh with one of my patented silly phrases or faces I loved to make. That's it I said to myself, "I will make him laugh". Somehow I communicated to my mother that I wanted to surprise my dad with a silly rainbow colored kite pillow that my mom got me that even a three year old realised the corny gaudiness of. Surely my dad would think it was funny as well. The thing was ridiculous I still remember its half witted grin of a clown sown onto his face that not even all of my faux boxing skills could wipe off. I grabbed the kite out of my moms hands and held it in front of my face like a mask, then silently slid down the carpeted basement stairs where my father was watching his baseball game in the rec/family room. My stomach bubbled with anticipation of the outrages laughter that would exude from my fathers face when I jumped out from underneath the couch and scared him with that ridiculous kite pillow on my face. With one fluid movement I turned the corner from under the couch and leaped into my fathers lap. "Ooof, Aaron! be careful don't jump on me while I'm watching my game." As he picked me up from off his lap I slowly brought the kite down from my face only to see my fathers face full of consternation at my attempt at being funny, but more heart wrenching to me; was seeing my indestructible dad's face full of worry lines and a quiet beaten desperation in his eyes that the memory of still stays with me to this day. And to this day I could not love him more for enduring that pain I saw in his eyes and finding a way beyond all the terrible odds of this world to support our family and that little green house.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Chapter One: Flash Cards and Horse Pastures
The sun feels like how God's laughter must sound today. It overwhelms my eyes with colors fresh and vivid. It reminds me of how light does that funny, rainbow, reflection dance as it bounces through and around the prismatic surface of a clear blue pool on a hot summers day. As I struggle to keep my balance on the grass I am almost overwhelmed by the deep soothing tones of greens that surround my feet and spread a sense of cool refreshment through and up my stubby 2 1/2 year old legs. Behind me I can hear the soft trickle of water over rocks coming from the small creek that separates our yard from the horse pasture behind our house. I watch as my mother is showing flash cards to my older brother on a blanket under the shade of one of the many walnut trees in my parents back yard. "That's right Adam good job! That is a car!" Her voice has a wrinkle of half laughter, half high school football cheerleader enthusiasm to it, that makes me feel as good as if I had been the one to recognize the shape of the car on the card she is holding. She and Adam have been going over these flash cards quite often lately. She always makes it fun for him like a game but even in my young brain I can tell it's not a game. There is a secret mission behind it. A faint but frantic energy surrounds this activity; as if she and Adam have something to prove to the world and not much time to do it. At this point in my life however I did not know why this was so. Soon I would understand their mission and why it was so important to my mother. All that is important to me now though is that my mother is happy my brother finally got a card right and my brother is happy that my mother and I are with him. Somehow the sun is always warm and the air is always sweet when life is young and you live in front of a horse pasture in Idaho. (to be continued)
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Let us not decieve.
Can love and anger exist in the same space?
The maker of man says, yes.
Let us not forget that the devils greatest lie is that he doesn't exist.
But his second is that god could never forgive us.
Oh, but it is easier to remove the sliver from my neighbor's eye than to see the two by four sticking out of mine.
So let us not pretend that what is wrong is right; and try to make the un-holy look somehow divine.
Yes, let us not create our own god who loves the sins that we make, but remember our maker loves the sinner despite our mistakes.
He hates our violence...
He hates our crudeness...
He hates racism and anger towards each other in all it's ugly forms...
He hates what we have done and what some are still trying to do to marriage...
He hates how we treat our children both the born and unborn...
And yet he loves us as individuals struggling through life with whatever pages of truth we have torn.
Help us to do better is all I ask of today, and help me to forgive my own self and those around me for the mistakes that we have made.
The maker of man says, yes.
Let us not forget that the devils greatest lie is that he doesn't exist.
But his second is that god could never forgive us.
Oh, but it is easier to remove the sliver from my neighbor's eye than to see the two by four sticking out of mine.
So let us not pretend that what is wrong is right; and try to make the un-holy look somehow divine.
Yes, let us not create our own god who loves the sins that we make, but remember our maker loves the sinner despite our mistakes.
He hates our violence...
He hates our crudeness...
He hates racism and anger towards each other in all it's ugly forms...
He hates what we have done and what some are still trying to do to marriage...
He hates how we treat our children both the born and unborn...
And yet he loves us as individuals struggling through life with whatever pages of truth we have torn.
Help us to do better is all I ask of today, and help me to forgive my own self and those around me for the mistakes that we have made.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Pock Ridden Streets
Trust me it says as I run into a wall. To move forward sometimes you have to take a few steps back. However, why would I want to go back there the people are all the same.
Adults still wishing they were children clinging on to lost friends and clicks, never fully realizing they now are the brunt of all those cool teenagers jokes.
Still, though the prom queen puts on her make up and the jock still feels that he's got something to prove; except now for both it's shopping carts and used car sales that dominate their day.
The train still runs through the center of town past broken down buildings and pock ridden streets. If you squint your eyes tight enough you can still see the dreams and hopes that were once built there.
How did we get here? How do we go back? Is there a way we can take the open minded kindness of today and keep the order and discipline of our grandparents?
I'm afraid in this economy and culture we're going to lose both.
Adults still wishing they were children clinging on to lost friends and clicks, never fully realizing they now are the brunt of all those cool teenagers jokes.
Still, though the prom queen puts on her make up and the jock still feels that he's got something to prove; except now for both it's shopping carts and used car sales that dominate their day.
The train still runs through the center of town past broken down buildings and pock ridden streets. If you squint your eyes tight enough you can still see the dreams and hopes that were once built there.
How did we get here? How do we go back? Is there a way we can take the open minded kindness of today and keep the order and discipline of our grandparents?
I'm afraid in this economy and culture we're going to lose both.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Bread crumbs for lunch
I am sitting on a park bench in Manhattan. Crumbs of bread fall out of my hand and on to the dirty streets below.
They say only four families control over 90% of the worlds banks.
As soon as the crumbs hit the ground and even before then, pigeons flutter, fly, fall and fight for the remnants of my ham sandwich.
I watch as fat business men return to work from their lunch breaks, cops writing parking tickets on the streets in the heat of the sun and pan-handlers begging for money.
With my new found power I then begin to cast my potato chip crumbs into the sea of feathers.
The big pigeons puff up, peck, and intimidate the other smaller pigeons from receiving their fair share.
I'm thinking about John Stewart yelling at a popular stock analyst as if he had something to do with the crash. His head bobs up and down in anger almost as if he's dancing.
I then notice some brave pigeons hopping up on the bench to the left of me. They're heads bobbing up and down for my attention as they start to turn around in their place almost as if they're dancing. I toss crumbs at them and they begin to fight over it.
I watch a young man with gaudy gold jewelry in the shape of a marijuana leaf and brand new expensive shoes strut up the street with attitude; borrowed confidence, I suppose, from either credit cards or somebody else's drug habit.
As I watch this young man I think of all the beautiful monuments and buildings built in Washington D.C. and how each one is a work of art, strutting the borrowed confidence of an 11 trillion dollar deficit.
I again watch the fat pigeons strutting around and intimidating the others with their borrowed bread crumbs from my lunch resting in their stomachs.
They say only four families control over 90% of the worlds banks... And the U.S. keeps borrowing from them.
As I finish throwing away the cellophane remnants of my lunch and prepare to head back to my office building to bob and weave for my daily bread crumbs; I notice a lone pigeon on a grassy knoll under the shade of a tree pulling up a worm, for his lunch, from the ground.
No dancing needed,
just lunch.
Somehow I envied that...
President Andrew Jackson, the only one of our presidents whose administration totally abolished the National Debt, condemned the international bankers as a "den of vipers" which he was determined to "rout out" of the fabric of American life. Jackson claimed that if only the American people understood how these vipers operated on the American scene "there would be a revolution before morning."
Witten by Aaron Gabrielsen
They say only four families control over 90% of the worlds banks.
As soon as the crumbs hit the ground and even before then, pigeons flutter, fly, fall and fight for the remnants of my ham sandwich.
I watch as fat business men return to work from their lunch breaks, cops writing parking tickets on the streets in the heat of the sun and pan-handlers begging for money.
With my new found power I then begin to cast my potato chip crumbs into the sea of feathers.
The big pigeons puff up, peck, and intimidate the other smaller pigeons from receiving their fair share.
I'm thinking about John Stewart yelling at a popular stock analyst as if he had something to do with the crash. His head bobs up and down in anger almost as if he's dancing.
I then notice some brave pigeons hopping up on the bench to the left of me. They're heads bobbing up and down for my attention as they start to turn around in their place almost as if they're dancing. I toss crumbs at them and they begin to fight over it.
I watch a young man with gaudy gold jewelry in the shape of a marijuana leaf and brand new expensive shoes strut up the street with attitude; borrowed confidence, I suppose, from either credit cards or somebody else's drug habit.
As I watch this young man I think of all the beautiful monuments and buildings built in Washington D.C. and how each one is a work of art, strutting the borrowed confidence of an 11 trillion dollar deficit.
I again watch the fat pigeons strutting around and intimidating the others with their borrowed bread crumbs from my lunch resting in their stomachs.
They say only four families control over 90% of the worlds banks... And the U.S. keeps borrowing from them.
As I finish throwing away the cellophane remnants of my lunch and prepare to head back to my office building to bob and weave for my daily bread crumbs; I notice a lone pigeon on a grassy knoll under the shade of a tree pulling up a worm, for his lunch, from the ground.
No dancing needed,
just lunch.
Somehow I envied that...
President Andrew Jackson, the only one of our presidents whose administration totally abolished the National Debt, condemned the international bankers as a "den of vipers" which he was determined to "rout out" of the fabric of American life. Jackson claimed that if only the American people understood how these vipers operated on the American scene "there would be a revolution before morning."
Witten by Aaron Gabrielsen
Monday, March 2, 2009
It's all Re-runs
Church bells ring from a forgotten hill.
The wind's sting sloppily sums up this towns existence.
As the grave-yard shift employee's language attempts to compensate for a glaring lack of self worth, ink ridden arms scan the energy drink that summarizes the sad, unrealistic dreams of this generation.
Rock stars, actors, and NBA superstars.
Sesame street and after school specials told us that if we believed in ourselves we could be anything we wanted.
However when the welfare check replaces the father and MTV becomes the babysitter of choice for mother, things like work ethic and God become a punchline.
Even now as TV. feeds the chip on all of our shoulder's we pass on the sickness to the next generation.
Maybe some day we'll get it? But when rapstars are revered as prophets and cage-fighters are our new hero's the only people we can blame for our violent and stupid culture is ourselves.
I want to leave this town, but Ive checked the other channels and it's all re-runs
The wind's sting sloppily sums up this towns existence.
As the grave-yard shift employee's language attempts to compensate for a glaring lack of self worth, ink ridden arms scan the energy drink that summarizes the sad, unrealistic dreams of this generation.
Rock stars, actors, and NBA superstars.
Sesame street and after school specials told us that if we believed in ourselves we could be anything we wanted.
However when the welfare check replaces the father and MTV becomes the babysitter of choice for mother, things like work ethic and God become a punchline.
Even now as TV. feeds the chip on all of our shoulder's we pass on the sickness to the next generation.
Maybe some day we'll get it? But when rapstars are revered as prophets and cage-fighters are our new hero's the only people we can blame for our violent and stupid culture is ourselves.
I want to leave this town, but Ive checked the other channels and it's all re-runs
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
work in progress, trying to write lyrics to "suo ghan" melody
To my savior my sins surrender.
Calm and perfect is thy rest.
With thy love and power surrounding,
I crush my tempter through thy holiness.
Let no thoughts this night upset me,
yes, through thy name I have no fear.
As my soul slips slowy to slumber, I can feel thy presence near.
(still working on more verses and cadence)
Calm and perfect is thy rest.
With thy love and power surrounding,
I crush my tempter through thy holiness.
Let no thoughts this night upset me,
yes, through thy name I have no fear.
As my soul slips slowy to slumber, I can feel thy presence near.
(still working on more verses and cadence)
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Captive
Laying.
Waiting.
Watching.
Lurking; This acid bubbles and boils with anticipation.
It churns... then turns... and eventually burns its way up my esophagus and out of my body, spewing a hateful soliloquy of pain in every direction.
I am bound captive.
If only I could take a hot white ember of truth and cauterize the cavernous, cancerous acid within me. I would at once be free!
However, no; that would be too easy.
And as we all know, that which is easy rarely ever is of worth or permanence.
So I will let it burn, bubble, bleed and ooze; yet, at the same time, I will never allow myself to succumb completely or loose.
Yes, it is better to know and fight the evil of today, than succumb to the consequence of ignorance and cowardice.
So with this knowledge of weakness, what then is left for me to do... besides pray?
Yes, the acid is still there, but it is continually held at bay through the simple and silent power of a man's humble prayer.
Waiting.
Watching.
Lurking; This acid bubbles and boils with anticipation.
It churns... then turns... and eventually burns its way up my esophagus and out of my body, spewing a hateful soliloquy of pain in every direction.
I am bound captive.
If only I could take a hot white ember of truth and cauterize the cavernous, cancerous acid within me. I would at once be free!
However, no; that would be too easy.
And as we all know, that which is easy rarely ever is of worth or permanence.
So I will let it burn, bubble, bleed and ooze; yet, at the same time, I will never allow myself to succumb completely or loose.
Yes, it is better to know and fight the evil of today, than succumb to the consequence of ignorance and cowardice.
So with this knowledge of weakness, what then is left for me to do... besides pray?
Yes, the acid is still there, but it is continually held at bay through the simple and silent power of a man's humble prayer.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
The Nothing
As twilight begins to set in, I can taste the lack of interest in the air around me.
Still it fills a void.
As planes begin to take off and my rambling turns to scoff; The humidity creeps through my window as a physical manifestation of the boring phantasm I have created, through my vapid chatting.
Still it feels a void, as I try to fill the void of silence around me.
Why now am I scared of silence?
Because silence is the microphone of the minds conscience.
I've done nothing wrong though, leave me alone.
That's a lie, in wrong things done we humans are always one.
Talking for me? Well it fills the void, and it helps me feel the void.
So, some drink, some smoke, some laugh with and at others to cover up and and make numb. However as long as we try, the souls stinging silence will always come.
I talk.
Does it fill the void?
Still it feels the void.
Still it fills a void.
As planes begin to take off and my rambling turns to scoff; The humidity creeps through my window as a physical manifestation of the boring phantasm I have created, through my vapid chatting.
Still it feels a void, as I try to fill the void of silence around me.
Why now am I scared of silence?
Because silence is the microphone of the minds conscience.
I've done nothing wrong though, leave me alone.
That's a lie, in wrong things done we humans are always one.
Talking for me? Well it fills the void, and it helps me feel the void.
So, some drink, some smoke, some laugh with and at others to cover up and and make numb. However as long as we try, the souls stinging silence will always come.
I talk.
Does it fill the void?
Still it feels the void.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Embrace
Horns honking people pushing.
Lights flash and so do minds.
The smell of stress and humanity overpowers my senses.
Yet as eyes slowly embrace lips are not far behind.
At once all is lost but somehow 'one'.
She is the energy of a thousand winds rushing;
but with the wisper of a pine trees first breath.
Around us though are horns honking, people pushing.
lights flashing...
lights flashing...
Lights flash and so do minds.
The smell of stress and humanity overpowers my senses.
Yet as eyes slowly embrace lips are not far behind.
At once all is lost but somehow 'one'.
She is the energy of a thousand winds rushing;
but with the wisper of a pine trees first breath.
Around us though are horns honking, people pushing.
lights flashing...
lights flashing...
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Happy Birthday at the Hospital
As the chair smashes my face I am amazed at the lack of pain I feel. Did it really just happen? Did he really just slam the protruding metal legs of a chair into my face? As the chair leg strikes just above my left eye, inches away from my temple but thankfully towards the more resilient part of the human skull (the forehead) a flash of pure white light streams across my eyes that lasts the duration of the impact.
That's it I think we have been chasing this patient around the hospital for the better part of two hours, hopping fences running in and out of buildings, making sure he doesn't leave the campus or harm any other patients; and offcourse listening to all sourts of verbal abuse and name calling. It's a silly game and although he's crazy he knows the rules better than any of us. He can punch, kick bite, hit you over the head with a chair once and as long as he stops and attempts to go to his room the staff can not restrain him and the game can go on.
At this time however I have drawn the line since he is raising the chair above his head again to strike me with it. As I lower my body and then spring up and forward lunging towards my assailant like a defensive lineman I remember what he said when I arrived to this party a few hours ago responding to the red alert call I heard over the radio. "I think we can take them Satan theres only three of them". I almost laugh at this thought as I with one hand knock the chair out of his hands and and with my other grab his right leg, good thing I am 6'1 and he's short or I wouldn't be able to do both. With adrenaline and pure, white-hot rage pumping through me, I drive my shoulder into his gut. A satisfying "ugh" of pain and loss of air exits the patients mouth. I usually have a higher tolerance for the clients negative behavior but this patient is what we call at the hospital a "tourist". A tourist is a client who is melingering or exagerating his disorder in order to be placed in a Mental Hospital rather than a prison. We know it, he knows it, but the psychologists in charge are clueless. So I am mad, I have a kid and a wife waiting for me at home and this punk was trying to stop all of that by ending me.
Now that the chair is out of his hands and falling towards the ground I bring my other hand down to his other leg. With the momentum of my forward running movement and the springing upward of my back I pick him off the ground. Only one place to go now and that's towards the wall. Before the impact I move my head to the left now to make sure the only impact with the wall is his body. This is a good thing as I hear the cabinet walls shatter and sharp, shards of glass spill around me like a tipped bucket of ice hitting the ground. Oh yea I forgot the glass case was there. This startles me as well as the fact that the impact did little to slow my attacker down. He is on his feet and throwing sloppy punches at me now as I am trying to tie him up again with my arms. A few make contact with me but they're too wild and off balance to cause any harm or even faze me.
I am determined now that he is going to the ground. In the back of my mind however I am wondering why the other two staff behind me haven't backed me up yet then I realize that it has only been about a second and a half since this live wire hit me over the head with the chair. This time I catch him off balance put one of my legs in front of him and half trip half throw him to the ground. He falls face forward but when he hits the ground he spins onto his back, as I try to lunge on top of him he kicks me square in the face with his sketcher boots. He caught me good, right on the eye. I lunge forward again and again I am really pissed off now. With each lunge he kicks me in the same spot, over my left eye. I am laughing at myself on the inside I look ridiculous getting hit three time by two different feet on the same eye. On the fourth time I wise up a little and fake a lunge forward doge the two kicks and catch his right leg.
I push his legs over and move to what I think they call a half guard in wrestling. Now he is punching me in the face again, he catches my right eye now pretty well and then catches my chin, another flash of light over my eyes but as soon as I see it I am back. More white hot anger for me to feed on. With one movement I flip him on his back and with every bit of energy pull his struggling arms to the side of his body. At the mental hospital this is what we call a prone restraint. I learned how to do it in training and in the past three months working out here I have become quite good at it.
He doesn't stop squirming he really does fight like he has the devil in him, this feeling is amplified by the non-stop stream of profanity and ferrel like gasps, screams and gnashing of teeth that exits his mouth. Now the other two staff finally jump on his back a legs as I try to maintain his arms. One arm breaks free and tries to claw me through my sweat shirt, then he grabs my right arm and attempts to bite my forearm, I am used to it and can see it coming before he even thinks it. Even more adrenaline flows, with every bit of energy left I pull his arm back down and to the side of his body. It's hard though he feels like he has the strength of three men. There's no way I could even compete with this kid without the aid of my adrenaline and rage.
Even more staff arrive one comes over to me, "Man are you alright your bleeding pretty bad?"
"Ya I'm fine."
"No really your bleeding pretty bad let me take over and you go get some help."
I look down at the back of the patients head and wonder why he would choose his birthday to dump a scalding pot of coffee over another patients head. That's what started this whole incident anyway. He was having his birthday cake and everything and then just decides to dump some boiling coffee on another persons head. Needless to say she is over in the medical wing of the hospital receiving attention.
Happy birthday Saul, Happy birthday to you.
That's it I think we have been chasing this patient around the hospital for the better part of two hours, hopping fences running in and out of buildings, making sure he doesn't leave the campus or harm any other patients; and offcourse listening to all sourts of verbal abuse and name calling. It's a silly game and although he's crazy he knows the rules better than any of us. He can punch, kick bite, hit you over the head with a chair once and as long as he stops and attempts to go to his room the staff can not restrain him and the game can go on.
At this time however I have drawn the line since he is raising the chair above his head again to strike me with it. As I lower my body and then spring up and forward lunging towards my assailant like a defensive lineman I remember what he said when I arrived to this party a few hours ago responding to the red alert call I heard over the radio. "I think we can take them Satan theres only three of them". I almost laugh at this thought as I with one hand knock the chair out of his hands and and with my other grab his right leg, good thing I am 6'1 and he's short or I wouldn't be able to do both. With adrenaline and pure, white-hot rage pumping through me, I drive my shoulder into his gut. A satisfying "ugh" of pain and loss of air exits the patients mouth. I usually have a higher tolerance for the clients negative behavior but this patient is what we call at the hospital a "tourist". A tourist is a client who is melingering or exagerating his disorder in order to be placed in a Mental Hospital rather than a prison. We know it, he knows it, but the psychologists in charge are clueless. So I am mad, I have a kid and a wife waiting for me at home and this punk was trying to stop all of that by ending me.
Now that the chair is out of his hands and falling towards the ground I bring my other hand down to his other leg. With the momentum of my forward running movement and the springing upward of my back I pick him off the ground. Only one place to go now and that's towards the wall. Before the impact I move my head to the left now to make sure the only impact with the wall is his body. This is a good thing as I hear the cabinet walls shatter and sharp, shards of glass spill around me like a tipped bucket of ice hitting the ground. Oh yea I forgot the glass case was there. This startles me as well as the fact that the impact did little to slow my attacker down. He is on his feet and throwing sloppy punches at me now as I am trying to tie him up again with my arms. A few make contact with me but they're too wild and off balance to cause any harm or even faze me.
I am determined now that he is going to the ground. In the back of my mind however I am wondering why the other two staff behind me haven't backed me up yet then I realize that it has only been about a second and a half since this live wire hit me over the head with the chair. This time I catch him off balance put one of my legs in front of him and half trip half throw him to the ground. He falls face forward but when he hits the ground he spins onto his back, as I try to lunge on top of him he kicks me square in the face with his sketcher boots. He caught me good, right on the eye. I lunge forward again and again I am really pissed off now. With each lunge he kicks me in the same spot, over my left eye. I am laughing at myself on the inside I look ridiculous getting hit three time by two different feet on the same eye. On the fourth time I wise up a little and fake a lunge forward doge the two kicks and catch his right leg.
I push his legs over and move to what I think they call a half guard in wrestling. Now he is punching me in the face again, he catches my right eye now pretty well and then catches my chin, another flash of light over my eyes but as soon as I see it I am back. More white hot anger for me to feed on. With one movement I flip him on his back and with every bit of energy pull his struggling arms to the side of his body. At the mental hospital this is what we call a prone restraint. I learned how to do it in training and in the past three months working out here I have become quite good at it.
He doesn't stop squirming he really does fight like he has the devil in him, this feeling is amplified by the non-stop stream of profanity and ferrel like gasps, screams and gnashing of teeth that exits his mouth. Now the other two staff finally jump on his back a legs as I try to maintain his arms. One arm breaks free and tries to claw me through my sweat shirt, then he grabs my right arm and attempts to bite my forearm, I am used to it and can see it coming before he even thinks it. Even more adrenaline flows, with every bit of energy left I pull his arm back down and to the side of his body. It's hard though he feels like he has the strength of three men. There's no way I could even compete with this kid without the aid of my adrenaline and rage.
Even more staff arrive one comes over to me, "Man are you alright your bleeding pretty bad?"
"Ya I'm fine."
"No really your bleeding pretty bad let me take over and you go get some help."
I look down at the back of the patients head and wonder why he would choose his birthday to dump a scalding pot of coffee over another patients head. That's what started this whole incident anyway. He was having his birthday cake and everything and then just decides to dump some boiling coffee on another persons head. Needless to say she is over in the medical wing of the hospital receiving attention.
Happy birthday Saul, Happy birthday to you.
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