I woke up, eventually, in a hospital with hoses pumping
fluids into me and tubes spilling fluids out of me, a respirator forcing air in
and out of my lungs and an entire Radio Shack worth of sensors and wires taped
to my head, chest, arms, fingers, spine… There were machines of various sorts
softly whirring, and pinging, and hissing, performing a sort of biomechanical
fugue. Bach for the sleeping Aesculapian.
The newsscreen mounted on the wall opposite me was running a
story about a computer programmer from NASA named John Corvino who’d been
missing since 1999. He’d become frightened by his calculations. Corvino predicted
that the Comet C/1999 H1 (Lee) – a wild, non-periodic comet - would impact upon
the Earth’s surface. “It’s erratic!” He shouted at his coworkers. “It’s a lawless
rock,” he said.
He told anyone and everyone who would listen about how Comet
C/1999 H1 (Lee) would strike in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, creating
massive tidal waves, tsunami over 200 feet high. But unable to convince anyone
to take action, Corvino left his job, and left his family, and ran to the
hills. Or, more accurately, ran beneath the hills. He took a tent, bedroll, camping
supplies, dried food, and over a dozen handguns and rifles down into a cave in
southern Ohio. And he’d been there since 1999.
He emerged from his apocalyptic hidey-hole, bearded and blinded,
believing that he was the sole survivor of a catastrophic event. When he saw
that the world had gone on without him, that Comet C/1999 H1 (Lee) had not
struck the Earth, had not even come close to the Earth (not even close by cosmic
standards) he took his guns and retreated back down into his cave.
My recovery roommate laughed and laughed at the story. He
howled with laughter until the nurses came and gave him a powerful sedative. He
told me later that while he had been in the hospital for a CAT scan of his
brain, he’d lost all of his psychic abilities. Before entering the hospital he
had been able to read people’s auras and see a few hours into the future. He
told me that he’d also once hypnotized a jaguar. But after the scan, those
abilities were completely suppressed. He was planning to sue the hospital, the doctor
and the technicians who’d operated the CAT scan machine. His lawyer told him
that he had a solid case.
The last thing he said to me before he left the hospital was: “We are lost and occasionally found, found shining among the stars.” Then he
leaned close to me and whispered, “We are children of a lesser apocrypha.” Then
he popped his knuckles and laughed and laughed. He laughed all the way out the
door.
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