A Moment To Amend

    Eyelids swung open like monstrous iron doors.  Dreamy-headed chatter ebbed as muted morning hugged two pupils.  Appendages teased into waking – fingers then toes, arms and legs.  Cole felt fortunate for a day off.  Despite this, he still caught a familiar nothing-in-particular in his neck.  His feet hammered down for support as he craned his sulking head into his hands.
  
    Cole stared back at himself from the bathroom mirror.  Still half asleep, he followed the loose elliptical he made with his toothbrush.  The bristles found their way between his bottom molars and caught in the gaps.  He tugged softly at first.  The bristles held tight.  He tugged harder.  A tooth flew out, bouncing back at him from against the mirror. 
    Nausea hit him when he touched it, pinching it between thumb and forefinger.  A second tooth rolled under his tongue.  His eyes shot wide.  Perspiration beaded at his hairline.  His pale, now gap-toothed reflection grimaced back.  Another front tooth dangled.  He screamed and two more teeth broke free.  They dropped like ripe fruit to the floor, bouncing away unseen.
     Cole stumbled backwards into the living room.  He found his phone and dialed without thought.  His free hand pressed against his mouth while, from miles away, a ringer pulsed.  His arm dangled - a tiny voice near his knees, “Hello?”
    First a tickle, then a numbness shot through his forefinger.  He looked down as it lumbered back from the phone.  It toppled onto the worn, brown carpet at the edge of the living room.  He marveled - detached and a little scientifically - at a smooth, fleshy knoll where his finger had been.  As though for effect, his thumb dropped off.  It left in its absence a companion knoll and three lonely fingers.
    The tiny voice again, “Hello?”
    He slid the phone to the table and leaned in, left ear to the speaker, “Hello?”
    The line disconnected.  Cole stared across the living room at his plants which sat sternly in the windowsill.  Silence pulsed through the room.  He hung up and shut his eyes.  Colors fumed together into loose shapes behind his eyelids.  His heart skipped on the first ring; it took two more rings for him to answer.
    “Adam!”
    “Yea-?”
    “Lithen.  Thomethingth happening.  Thomthing…” Cole cursed his missing teeth, “…I’m falling apart.”
    “What’s happen-?”
    “I’m deconthtructing, Adam.”
    “Wh-?”
    “I wath bruthing my teeth, thome fell out.  Juth now, two fingerth fell off.  No blood though, juth gone.”
    He surveyed the ground, glumly noting the absence of both fingers.
    “Have you spoken to anyone about this?”
    “Juth you, now.  Doeth thith thound like anything?”
    A silence.  “Elaborate.”
    “Anything! Thath all there ith!  You tell me, I don’ know!”
    Amplified silence hovered below Cole’s ear.  He noticed his ivy needed pruning. A small rash of fallen leaves was edged by others, tired and bleaching into memories. He shut his eyes.
    “I’m going to the hothpital, the doctor.”
    “You should,” Adam confirmed.   “Talk to someone soon, if this is as serious as you think.  Keep an eye on yourself.”
    The words fell to a deaf ear.  It had detached and was resting atop the phone.
    Cole retched back, hearing only faintly the beginnings of his restrained sobs.

    Haze gray clouds draped bulging over everything, capped in charcoal and the notion of rain.  He squinted and continued to negotiate his car down the block.  His right palm pressed on the wheel.  His left hand rested with caution on his thigh.  Five fingers remained, united in solidarity.
    He gawked, head turned in distraction as he passed a gas station.  A woman - spotlighted in a single break of the clouds - rose from her car.  He leaned forward to get a better look and his hand fell off, down to the floorboard.  His foot bent sideways then broke off.  His ankle plunged down on the accelerator.  The car screamed forward and sideways past the woman.  The ground trembled as the car smashed into the gas pump next to hers.  He maneuvered out, embarrassed.  With some difficulty he braced himself against the car to gasp into the woman’s direction.
    “I’m - I’m okay!” he shouted wild-eyed and through her.
    “You look tried.”
    “Tired?” he turned his single ear towards her, “A little. I’m in need of a doctor.”
    He waved his pegged arm to illustrate the extent of his problem.

    The woman offered to walk him up to the emergency room.
    “No need,” Cole responded.
    Instead, he shut her car door and the rest of his right arm fell to the ground.  She questioned silently through the window as he shook his head, waving his good hand in response.  She drove off, her car narrowing to a point down the road.  He thought of the offered ride and her remarkable complacency.
    Twice he had cried.  Each time the tears blanched his gray-green iris’ milky.  She offered a handkerchief and he sat, dabbing.  All his hair fell out shortly before arriving.  It caught in the open window to cyclone though the car and into their faces.  Though it was gone by the time they arrived, he apologized anyway and she sat, understanding.
    He chanced an awkward pivot to face the hospital.  Its drab façade loomed across an expanse of concrete.  He balanced as best he could and questioned his lack of foresight.  Fatigue hung on his shoulders.  Bitter restraint kept him standing.  Finally, he managed an uneasy crouch and laid down.  He didn’t care if anyone found him.
    Cole’s eyes grew heavy.  Clouds hugged around and through each other.  A wind blew low to roll lightly over him.
  
    Fluorescent lights accented the doctor’s bald head.
    “You appear healthy, aside from the obvious,” was his prognosis.
    Cole swallowed, carefully.
    “If anything, the speed with which you heal is something to be admired, something maybe to be in awe of.”
    Cole’s hard stare was his only sign of life.  “You’re telling me thith ith normal?”
    “Not normal, necessarily, just-”
    “How can you be tho calm?”  
    “Well… not calm, necessarily, just-”
    “Lithen to me!“  Cole pounded his fist on the counter top.  His last five fingers scattered, rolling in awkward circles to the floor.  Thoughts of breakfast sausage, pancakes and eggs distracted him.  His stomach churned and he felt cranky.
    He tried to stand up but his tired body failed him.     
    “Thith ith not!-”
    His arm caught long enough to break the fall.  It hammered into his shoulder, shooting off to the side.  His legs divorced themselves from their sockets as his knees pounded on the floor.
    “I’m sorry,” he panted.
    He closed his eyes and heard the doctor scribble something onto a notepad.  Two sharp knocks resonated from the door before a gaunt-faced police officer stuck his head in.  He smiled at the doctor, nodding at Cole.
    The doctor smiled back, “Here about the accident?”
    “Yes sir.  Is this our man?”
    “What’s left, yes.  I take it you can carry him?”   
    Cole drifted into sleep.  He felt the able hands of the officer lift him from the floor.  While the officer carried him through the hallways, he dreamt he was paraded through a sea of cheering heads.

    The world flashed past as though through wax paper.  From the non-roar of it came the officer’s voice, meaningless at first and finally, “Sir?”
    The title made him smile. He questioned back, “Offither?”
    “There you are.”  His eyes caught Cole’s in the rearview mirror. “I’m taking you home now, okay? The doctor feels it’s best you get some rest.”
    Cole grinned down at his torso, buckled in the backseat.  “If you thay tho.”
  
    “Is this okay?”  The officer stood back to admire his work.
    Cole knew he looked ridiculous - balanced against the wall at the head of his bed.  
    “I’m sure it ith.  Thank you.”
    The officer made his exit politely.  Cole stared out the window.  He followed the thin dance of naked branches.  Exhaustion lulled him to sleep, heartbeats pounding in his ears.  His head slumped against his chest and slowly, his weight pulled him forward.  With impact came the youthful recollection of jumping on the bed.  He opened his eyes to see the silhouette of his torso, across the bed from him. 
    “This is it,” he thought, “a head now.  Ahead now?  Who knows…  All of life and this is it.  A head on a bed.”
     Anger and regret swelled then dissipated across his scalp.  
    “A head with thoughts I’ve not put much thought into.”
    Brightness bleached the room, scrubbing at what was left of him.  He felt his head breaking down, one atom at a time.  Each atom stitched itself neatly back into the world around him.  His thoughts, voice, and memories all echoed together in mind, space, and nothing.  They hugged around and through each other.  All that he had been boiled down, a human reduction offered at the foot of existence.  Existence churned against the rocks of time.  Time counted out to infinity.  The universe bellowed back from its beginning.  Everything fused for one still second.

A time, a chance, majestically.

     The other night, I had a dream.  It lasted as long as any other.  When it was over, I found myself where I have been, looking plainly at where I had been. 
     It was off-putting at first, floating around the room, listening to the ceiling's heartbeat.  Below me stirred such great confusion, in the form of two ornate rugs.  They leaned against each other and grappled like tired wrestlers.
     I coughed.  Everything around me vanished - everything.  A warmth flooded the back of my skull.  Everything found its way in.  I coughed again and it all came out through me - everything.  It hung itself appropriately back where it had been.  Keenly, with an inherent knowing, I viewed my consciousness.  In a private, unshared moment, the world made more sense.  Or, at a minimum, it didn't make any less sense.  In frequent gasps - a fish out of water - I took in what I could.
     Coming back to where I had been, nothing really changed. There was a loss of sharpness, though.  Call it a necessary glaze, or a mandatory perspective.  Even now I feel it fitted snug against my face.  This doesn't bother me.  Dreams have their way of sneaking in, to see how things are.  I dream now of meeting them.