The Tunnel

tunnel635Almost spring I think, still cold enough for sleeves, but not too much for a jacket.  Me, Gary and Kenny Hicks had just moved some equipment in the wareroom at Shreveport. Our motel was near I-20.  It was across from the big white steamboat attraction, setting in a small pond along side of interstate 20.

Gary and Kenny planned on working together that day, I rode out by myself.  At least I wouldn’t have to “split” with anybody.  I wanted to head out into the country and see where the road leads, in search of places to “pitch.”  Before we left the motel room, the three of us, burly, redneck, beer drinkers, stood in a circle and joined hands in prayer.  We said our morning prayer, gave thanks for our many blessings, asked the Lord to forgive us our sins and those who sin against us.  Then we would ask him to bless us in our endeavors, help us keep our faith and provide us with the opportunity to prosper.  Last, we asked the Lord if he would see to it that we stayed safe and cause no harm today in our travels.  After a big amen, we went to work.

So to give up and not make a sale, for us, is to show little faith.  Keep working, have faith, don’t quit.

I was headed through the back woods from Shreveport to Marshall, Texas (The hometown of Lady Bird Johnson).  I was driving a Toyota U-haul truck with a load of tools, going over the words in my pitch.  Fired up and excited, because “I’m gonna find somebody that could use this load of tools and help them get it cheap”.

We manufactured our own brochures for the equipment.  Yeah, we were scammers, I guess.  We jacked up the price of or equipment in our catalogues about $12,000.00 total, try to get ‘em to “call the boss on the what number, the number “what don’t cost no money” and make him a serial offer.” You know, one with a bunch of zeroes behind it.  We acted like dumb ass truck drivers, it didn’t take a whole lot of acting on my part.

I can see that the road I’m on approaching is approaching a four way stop sign.  I stop, and then I see a big green Oldsmobile Delta 88 cruising toward the intersection coming from my left.  I could tell the driver was a woman and it looked to me like she was slowing down to stop.

Since it was a four way stop and I was the first one into the intersection, I figured I should be the first to leave.  I never figured on what happened next.

I remember now, getting slammed from the left and then from the impact smashing into the passenger door, the door lock pierced my shoulder.  The Toyota U-Haul truck I was driving, took the full force of that Oldsmobile, at about 45 miles an hour.   Ouch.

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Next thing I remember, I am walking down a dark tunnel towards a bright light, the closer I got, the brighter the light got until it was blinding.  I left the “enclosure” of the tunnel and walked towards the light, then down a winding path.  The further I walked away from the light, the dimmer the light got, until the air was hazy or kinda misty.  I walked up to an opening in a wall.  I might have been a gate.  It had walls that were about 4 feet high in the front, taller in the back, surrounding what looked like a waiting area.  Built like a Grecco/Roman park, what looked like people, were walking around some, were sitting down.

 

As I came up to the first group of people sitting at a concrete or marble table, a woman stands up to hold my arm and hug my neck.  “I’m like …who is this woman?”  Then there is a young man standing next to me shaking my hand and clapping my back.  There were two more gentlemen standing in the background.  They all acted as if they were very glad to see me.

My new found friends stood up and kind of corralled me into walking in the same direction as them down a winding path, until we get into a brighter lit area, closer to the entrance.  As I walked into little semi enclosed area, there was a tall marble table with a very large book, opened to about the middle pages.  Majestically, behind the table, stood a man that had a bright light behind him.  So bright I couldn’t see his face clearly, but  I could see that he was thumbing through the book flipping the pages slowly, back and forth, sometimes nodding and sometimes shaking his head.

This guy must be St. Peter I think now, but he looked a lot like Senator Chuck Schumer.  He lowered his head towards me and he looked at me through the tops off his eyes and asked me “What have you got to say for yourself?”  “About what?”  I asked.  He rolled his eyes this time and said “I want to hear the good and the bad.  I want to know if you deserve to be here or not, I want to know it all, so tell me your story.”

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I replied that I didn’t have a story to tell.  I didn’t remember anything, just walking in a dark tunnel until I saw this light and here I am.”

St. Peter then waved at the four people standing behind me and asked “What about these people that came up here to stand up for you?”  I looked at them, drawing a blank and said “No Sir, I don’t know ‘em.”  Then he asked “What about that crowd of people outside the wall that came up to speak against you, do you know any of them?”  I just shook my head and said “No Sir, I don’t.”

This guy musta had some awesome power because he raised a quill feather in his hand and waved it.  Instantly I recognized that the four people that greeted me were my mother and younger brother, my brother in law Bug and my Uncle J.P.  When I looked over at the crowd of people waving arms and making ugly faces, I thought that I saw a ugly face or two that looked familiar.  Hey wait a minute, these people are supposed to be dead, but no, they don’t look dead.  What am I?  I’m still here, where ever “here” is.

The guy that I later figured out to be St. Peter says “So you don’t remember huh?”  I said “Not a thing before walking in here”.  St. Peter says “Every man should have a right to defend himself.  I want you to remember, from now on, all of the goods things you did in your life and all of the bad things you’ve done, so that the next time I see you, we can talk about your “deeds.”  “Understood?”  I asked him if I should be afraid and he answered “A man like you, what do you think?”  Then with out a word, court was dismissed.  My Mom and brother grabbed me by the hand, with my brother n law and my uncle walking on either side of them.  We walked towards the tunnel, the five of us, side by side, with the bright light beaming behind us.  We walked slowly towards the tunnel, as we got closer, things got darker.  Mom and Duane were sending me well wishes telepathically.  Before I could respond, we stepped up to the mouth of the tunnel, at the line in the sand between light and darkness, without notice, they let go of my hands and stopped walking , disappeared, just faded away, I could feel their love and support for me, as I kept walking.  Telling me that they will be here, waiting for me.  I entered the dark tunnel, saw a small light at the other end and walked towards it.

The other end of the tunnel turned into an Intensive Care Unit.  I was at the top of the ceiling looking down, with my back against it and the wall, looking down on this poor slob that was in the hospital bed, strapped down, head bandaged and tubes running in his mouth, his nose, his penis, IV’s coming from every where, even had tubes running from his lungs.  I started zeroing in on this poor guys bloodied, swollen head with blackened eyes and see that he’s wearing a St. Christopher medallion on a chain, just like I do.  “Hey, that looks like me.”

I woke up then, there was that bright light again, maybe this time not so bright, but it was shining right in my face, I could read the words “Westinghouse” on the 6 inch circular bulb about 12 inches from my face.

Nothing, I didn’t remember nothing, not a thing,… except visiting with my Mom and my kin, but they had already passed on.  Talking to this strange dude about giving me time to remember the things I’ve done.  But then again, all of a sudden, I did remember something.

I remember the EMTs trying to save my life, hearing them say that I was a goner.  They called the life flight from LSU Trauma Center in Shreveport, the medivac helicopter arrived within a few minutes.  The EMT had me on a stretcher, one of them grabbed my brother’s wallet that was laying on the floorboard.  On his driver’s license it says “ORGAN DONOR”.  He put it in my shirt pocket.  The EMT’s put me in a body bag, they partially filled it with ice to keep my body cold.  So much ice they couldn’t zip it all of the way up, I can still feel the chill from the ice.  I can remember now that they had a hard time zipping it up past my waist because of all the ice, and that I was thinking to myself, “No, not all of the way up” and the let down I felt once that got past my belt line, thinking they were going to zip it all the way up and block out the sky, finally stopping just short of my chin.

They put my body bag in a hand held, wire mesh gurney,  then strapped it to the outside runners of the helicopter.  I can still hear the steady whomp whomp noise of the rotor blades as they propelled us through the air.  I remember hearing the chatter on the radio and the voices of the two pilots screaming at each other, their faces only a foot apart.  The pilot was saying “Hang on Buddy” then asking the EMT, “Is he going to make it?”  Then the other guy said “No, he’s gone”.  I knew they had to be talking about somebody else, because I am still right here.

Next thing I remember clearly is what I now figure to be a Catholic Priest giving me the last rights. I was lying on an operating table.  Bending over me, he touched rosary beads to my forehead, whispered something in Latin, then, he made the sign of the cross on my face.

There it was.  I was officially pronounced dead and sent on my way.  Soon after I was wheeled into the operating room, I remember now hearing someone speak about harvesting my organs that they had to hurry.

Seconds later I can remember hearing someone screaming “We got a bleeder”.

Now here I am.  I’m waking up in this body that’s hog-tied to a hospital bed, no more staring down from the ceiling with  a bright light behind me,  now it was shining in my face until I see the doctor’s face grinning at me like a “jackass”.  After he moved the light away, I thought that he looked a lot like the “Cheshire Cat” in the Alice in Wonderland story.

 

 

 

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This guy looked like he was Asian, he wore thick gold rim glasses.  He had a doctor’s operating skull cap on, a gown and had pulled his masked down before leaning over to say something to me.  He was missing a few bottom teeth and his breath smelled like fish, I pushed him out of my face and when I did, the tubes and lines pulled against me, holding me back, I think he could tell I didn’t like him.

The Doctor told me that I had been pronounced “DOA”.  I had been given the last rites by a Catholic Priest.  He said that because I was listed as an organ donor on my license, they tried to “save” some of my body parts.  When they cut my spleen to remove it, blood started spurting everywhere, bringing to their attention that I was alive.  I guess that if blood was spurting, that meant my heart was still beating.

It was six days after the accident that I awoke.  My brother Gary, Dad and Step Mother came in to see me.  I didn’t know them.  I had amnesia.  I didn’t remember anything but the walk down the tunnel, then the helicopter ride and the trip through the ER.  My brother Gary had called them and they had driven from Jacksonville to see me.  I had been unconscious for six days, woke up with amnesia, they showed me a picture of my wife Bonnie and my stepsister Debbie.  I had to ask which one was Bonnie?  That worked out pretty good I thought.  I was relieved at their answer.  My wife Bonnie is a lot prettier than my stepsister.

 

I had tubes and needles protruding from every orifice in body, my eyes had been swollen almost shut, my jaw was dislocated.  I had bitten my tongue almost in two.  I had an incision up and down my stomach 15 inches long.  Stitches in my head, on my chest and on my tongue.  I had broken 5 ribs, a couple went through my lungs, so that’s why, when the EMTs tried to give me oxygen, I just blew up like a balloon.  When they checked my heart they didn’t get a response.

Now, everyone is asking me what happened?  Wait, Y’all are asking me?  All I can remember is walking towards a light in the tunnel and everything that has happened since then. When I started telling everybody about that, they just looked at me like I was crazy.

The Asian Doctor came up to me and told me that I had “No Insurance, you been here 6 days, now you wake, now you leave.”  A few minutes later they put me in a wheel chair and pushed me to the curb.  A tag was still wired to my big toe, it read “DOA, Organ Donor.”

Since then, it’s been a long journey.  Getting back physically was hard enough, but the mental part, “Did I really see this or hear that?”  Or look at everyone in the face and wonder if I know them or not?  Will you be there to speak for me or against me?  It took a while to regain my memories.  I had to work on it, while pretending that I already had. Now that I near the end of my road and I think about that meeting I got coming up, I wonder, “Do I remember everything?”

 

I spend my free time now, trying to remember my life’s events.  I write them down as I go.  I hope that I don’t overlook anything serious because the next time I’m standing at the table in front of the “Big Guy”, I want to make sure that I’m able to tell my side of it.

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One thought on “The Tunnel

  1. I like the dialogue you added – it makes the story flow naturally, as if you are telling it to us. The Tunnel is a great way to start your blog of stories from your lifetime of adventures. Thanks for the home page shortcut; I will definitely use it when I rebuild my site. The man is on fire.

    Like

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