Recycled
Buddy was furious.
Through force of will the soles of his small soul-feet made big echo-y noises in the great white halls. Childish? Maybe, but look at him; all he’d ever been was a child. The toddler spirit willed the door open without knocking and stomped into the Assignment Angel’s office.
“This has to stop. I demand to speak to someone in charge!”
The Angel’s expression, ever silent and infuriatingly patient, was slightly amused. He gestured towards a chair that appeared next to Buddy, who was about to fume that he would NOT by-golly sit down when he realized it would give his form a much needed boost. So Buddy climbed up and sat.
The Angel studied his scroll-board. It occurred to Buddy that it glowed like a TV or computer screen; and that perhaps Earthly inventions were born out of hidden memories from this time -- a person’s before-time -- spent in this realm.
“If you’re looking me up, I was Buddy McGraw,” he volunteered. “Actually named ‘Buddy,’ not a nickname like those other times. Does that say how I got here? I’ll tell you. There was a short in the smoke detector! Sparks set off the whole house. Billion to one odds something that stupid happens, and naturally it happens to me - again. Smoke inhalation, gone before the fireman even finds me.”
The Angel sat down the board and his stylus, fixed his eyes on Buddy with a “go on” expression.
“This is getting old,” Buddy continued. “But I’m not! You know what I died of the first time? The PLAGUE. Centuries ago. But I’m a baby, not really lived yet, so I go back. I’m born. I DIE. I’m back here. Still too small. Going back. Oops, pox! Try again. Ugh, measles! One more time. - Influenza! - Influenza! - Influenza! - Fall off a wagon! - Influenza! - Drunken father! - Measles! - Fire! - Influenza! Over and over again. It’s like I’m cursed or something. Sometimes I’m even stillborn - that’s the worst. Just settled into the body, then yanked back out for another try. I tell you, every possible way that a baby can die, I’ve done it!”
The Angel nodded slightly.
“And I hardly know who I’m supposed to be - John, Michael, Mary, Earnest, Celeste, Emanuel, Mohammed, Lars, Stephen, Martha, Elizabeth, Charles, Charlotte, Robin - both male AND female -- and Angela - ugh -- every time I’m ‘Angela’ I go in the most painful ways. Is that a joke you guys pull? Because it’s ‘Angel’-a?”
Ever unperturbed, the Angel’s expression betrayed nothing.
“Whatever. The point is, I should be done with this. You know what time it is down there? The 1980s! I should have moved on years ago. Every infant who cycled back with me over the ages has gone on through the Golden Door. I miss them, I’m ready to go!”
The Angel smiled a little.
“Look. Just add up all the time I’ve been alive - more than a lifetime! Even with little baby, one-year-old, or two-year-old eyes, I’ve seen so much. I’ve learned life’s lessons. Don’t laugh. Compare my hodge-podge to any old man who spends 80 boring years in the same house in the same village - he’s welcomed ‘up there’ with harps, but I’ve gotta go back? It’s not right. It doesn’t make sense.”
The Angel suddenly glanced down at his glowing tablet. Then his smile grew wider. He picked up his stylus and tapped briskly on the surface. An opaque orb appeared next to him.
“No! Nonononono-NO! You can’t do this. I’m begging you. Haven’t I made my case at all? Please!”
The orb floated around the desk, gently approaching the frantic toddler.
“I can’t do this again! Why must I do this again? What purpose could there possibly be…” he protested as the orb grew and engulfed him.
-----
“Wow,” the proud father said. “She’s got a set of lungs - you didn’t even have to spank her.”
“Sir, we don’t ‘spank’ the newborns,” the nurse beside him said.
“Jerry, let me see her,” the exhausted mother said. Moments later, she proudly held her perfectly healthy, though agitated, baby girl. “Hi,” she said into the infant’s face, “Welcome to the world, Angela.”
Jerry Carson could have sworn his new daughter had just screamed “NOOOOO!” at the top of her lungs.
-----
“We’re moving up the Cortez surgery,” Dr. Brown said as she rushed by Dr. Ericson. Moments later, Angi Carson Brown was scrubbed, masked and focused on the child before her, life signs barely stable. Ericson, the Director of Pediatric Medicine, stood at an observation window watching his star at work.
This was why he put up with her contrary nature. They had argued over something just that morning, in fact - something about funding that made him the bad guy, fighting for the bottom line, against her, fighting for what could save more children’s lives. But he didn’t dare let her get under his skin; if Dr. Brown were to leave this hospital, there would be a bidding war for her services at others. What was it he once said about her? That this young surgeon seemed to have the wisdom of generations in her, saw symptoms and complications long before her peers would have a clue. And the younger the patient, the sharper her focus.
“C’mon, Buddy, stay with me,” Angi said to the small life in her hands.
Ericson stifled an involuntary smile. She called the patient “Buddy” only when things got critical, on the edge. But when she said it, the patient lived. And so would this one.
- - - - - - -
This is my entry for LJ Idol Exhibit A, Week 2, Topic: “ Throw back the little ones.” Hoping this entertains more than it disturbs.
Through force of will the soles of his small soul-feet made big echo-y noises in the great white halls. Childish? Maybe, but look at him; all he’d ever been was a child. The toddler spirit willed the door open without knocking and stomped into the Assignment Angel’s office.
“This has to stop. I demand to speak to someone in charge!”
The Angel’s expression, ever silent and infuriatingly patient, was slightly amused. He gestured towards a chair that appeared next to Buddy, who was about to fume that he would NOT by-golly sit down when he realized it would give his form a much needed boost. So Buddy climbed up and sat.
The Angel studied his scroll-board. It occurred to Buddy that it glowed like a TV or computer screen; and that perhaps Earthly inventions were born out of hidden memories from this time -- a person’s before-time -- spent in this realm.
“If you’re looking me up, I was Buddy McGraw,” he volunteered. “Actually named ‘Buddy,’ not a nickname like those other times. Does that say how I got here? I’ll tell you. There was a short in the smoke detector! Sparks set off the whole house. Billion to one odds something that stupid happens, and naturally it happens to me - again. Smoke inhalation, gone before the fireman even finds me.”
The Angel sat down the board and his stylus, fixed his eyes on Buddy with a “go on” expression.
“This is getting old,” Buddy continued. “But I’m not! You know what I died of the first time? The PLAGUE. Centuries ago. But I’m a baby, not really lived yet, so I go back. I’m born. I DIE. I’m back here. Still too small. Going back. Oops, pox! Try again. Ugh, measles! One more time. - Influenza! - Influenza! - Influenza! - Fall off a wagon! - Influenza! - Drunken father! - Measles! - Fire! - Influenza! Over and over again. It’s like I’m cursed or something. Sometimes I’m even stillborn - that’s the worst. Just settled into the body, then yanked back out for another try. I tell you, every possible way that a baby can die, I’ve done it!”
The Angel nodded slightly.
“And I hardly know who I’m supposed to be - John, Michael, Mary, Earnest, Celeste, Emanuel, Mohammed, Lars, Stephen, Martha, Elizabeth, Charles, Charlotte, Robin - both male AND female -- and Angela - ugh -- every time I’m ‘Angela’ I go in the most painful ways. Is that a joke you guys pull? Because it’s ‘Angel’-a?”
Ever unperturbed, the Angel’s expression betrayed nothing.
“Whatever. The point is, I should be done with this. You know what time it is down there? The 1980s! I should have moved on years ago. Every infant who cycled back with me over the ages has gone on through the Golden Door. I miss them, I’m ready to go!”
The Angel smiled a little.
“Look. Just add up all the time I’ve been alive - more than a lifetime! Even with little baby, one-year-old, or two-year-old eyes, I’ve seen so much. I’ve learned life’s lessons. Don’t laugh. Compare my hodge-podge to any old man who spends 80 boring years in the same house in the same village - he’s welcomed ‘up there’ with harps, but I’ve gotta go back? It’s not right. It doesn’t make sense.”
The Angel suddenly glanced down at his glowing tablet. Then his smile grew wider. He picked up his stylus and tapped briskly on the surface. An opaque orb appeared next to him.
“No! Nonononono-NO! You can’t do this. I’m begging you. Haven’t I made my case at all? Please!”
The orb floated around the desk, gently approaching the frantic toddler.
“I can’t do this again! Why must I do this again? What purpose could there possibly be…” he protested as the orb grew and engulfed him.
-----
“Wow,” the proud father said. “She’s got a set of lungs - you didn’t even have to spank her.”
“Sir, we don’t ‘spank’ the newborns,” the nurse beside him said.
“Jerry, let me see her,” the exhausted mother said. Moments later, she proudly held her perfectly healthy, though agitated, baby girl. “Hi,” she said into the infant’s face, “Welcome to the world, Angela.”
Jerry Carson could have sworn his new daughter had just screamed “NOOOOO!” at the top of her lungs.
-----
“We’re moving up the Cortez surgery,” Dr. Brown said as she rushed by Dr. Ericson. Moments later, Angi Carson Brown was scrubbed, masked and focused on the child before her, life signs barely stable. Ericson, the Director of Pediatric Medicine, stood at an observation window watching his star at work.
This was why he put up with her contrary nature. They had argued over something just that morning, in fact - something about funding that made him the bad guy, fighting for the bottom line, against her, fighting for what could save more children’s lives. But he didn’t dare let her get under his skin; if Dr. Brown were to leave this hospital, there would be a bidding war for her services at others. What was it he once said about her? That this young surgeon seemed to have the wisdom of generations in her, saw symptoms and complications long before her peers would have a clue. And the younger the patient, the sharper her focus.
“C’mon, Buddy, stay with me,” Angi said to the small life in her hands.
Ericson stifled an involuntary smile. She called the patient “Buddy” only when things got critical, on the edge. But when she said it, the patient lived. And so would this one.
- - - - - - -
This is my entry for LJ Idol Exhibit A, Week 2, Topic: “ Throw back the little ones.” Hoping this entertains more than it disturbs.