Sandstorm

Sand trickled through the cracks in the walls like water as the winds whistled through his delipadated house.

Derreck sat alone wondering how and why things had turned out the way they had. No one knew his answers, but he dragged his thoughts through the painful memories of desperation.

Everyone was gone from his life. He had never felt such loneliness. He questioned whether he deserved his situation. He tried to remember what he could have done to warrant this prison of destitution and hunger.

For years he had given of his time and life to working in the music store, even though he knew little to nothing about music other than what he appreciated and what he did not.

He tried looking out the window. The sand storm darkened the sun and street lights tried vainly to light the road. Nothing could be seen beyond his windows.

Drumming his fingers on the chair arm, his mind flittered from one memory to another.

Before stood the footstool neatly placed under the high chandelier. Properly tied hung the rope that was going to end his plight.

One clear thought stuck out in his mind like a ray of sunlight streaking through overcast skies. He looked into it to see if his answer lay there.

Inside the mental beam he saw himself lying in the hospital bed already drugged from the pre-op shot given him a few minutes earlier. The nurses skittered back and forth in the hallways.

The telephone rang.

"Hello?" Derreck answered with the thick tongued voice.

"Hello? Derreck Jackson?" The familiar voice did not sound pleasant.

"Yes."

"How are you feeling?" the voice asked without true caring coming through the deep voice. "This is Mr Swellth at the office."

Derreck did not need to be reminded of who his boss was. He knew that voice all too well from all the interviews of keeping his job through the transitions taking place at the office.

"I'm not doing too well, right now. They've given me my pre-op shot and I'm just waiting for them to come in and get me and take me to surgery." Derreck's heart was in his throat, both from awaiting surgery and hearing the dark, somber voice of his boss.

"Well, at least you're lucky to be indoors and not have to get out in this mess. Have you ever seen such a sandstorm in your life?"

"No, not really." Derreck did not feel like conversing with anyone at the moment. All he wanted to do was to go to sleep and let the world fly by. Stepping out of his memory for a moment, he looked out the window again and muttered dryly, "No, not then, but I've seen one worse now." Then stepping back into his memory, his fingers tightened white as he asked, "What can I do for you?"

"Well ... uh ... I know this may not be an appropriate time, but I just needed to let you know that we had to go ahead an fill your position with Martha Whiting. I'm sure you understand."

Looking at the receiver Derreck thought, "Yes, I understand. She's not having health problems right now and you can't wait to see how I'm going to be doing. What a shitty time to be calling me to let me know I'm fired!" Then replacing the receiver to his ear, he spoke softly, "Yes, I understand. Thanks for calling me. I think I need to hangup now. A nurse just came into the room." He lied.

"Well, you let us know is there is anything we can do for you, okay?" The former boss's voice sounded flat to Derreck's drugged ears.

"Yeah, sure." Derreck fought back the temptation to tell Mr. Swellth where to go. "I'll see you later." He hung up the phone.

Laying his head back on the pillow, tears oozed out the sides of his eyes.

"Here I am going into surgery, not knowing what's really wrong with me ... possibly dying of cancer, and you sob's call me to let me know I'm fired. What a bunch of creeps you are. Well, I don't need people like you. Good riddance!"

Just as he finished mumbling his last word, the nurse entered his room, all cheery and smiling broadly, her overweight body burdening her creaking ankles.

"Well, Mr Jackson, they're ready for you down stairs. Are you ready to go?"

"Yeah," Derreck tried hiding his hurt and anger and fear, "let's get this over with. Has my wife shown up yet?"

"No, we haven't seen her yet, but she'll be here. I'm sure she will be by the time you come back to your room."

"If I come back," his thick tongue mumbled. "Well, tell her that I really need to talk to her."

"You'll have plenty of time to talk with your wife after you come out of your surgery." The nurse pulled his bed out from the wall and began working with the intravenous solutions hanging from their fixed pole. As she pulled the bottles from the pole, two men ushered a gurney into his room.

"Okay, Mr. Jackson ... is it?" One orderly, the one wearing the green uniform from surgery looked at the chart, flipping through the pages. "Yeah, that's right," he said. "Well, it's time to go downstairs. Ready?"

"Could I stop you if I wasn't?" Derreck felt an instant disliking for his demeanor.

"Well, I'd see what I could do to stop this if you would stop the sand from blowing so I could take your doc out on the golf course," he chuckled.

The two men stood one on each side of Derreck's bed. They each grabbed the bottom sheet of the bed and prepared themselves as though for a long haul.

"Okay. You just lay there and let us do all the work." The nurse held onto the bottles of sugar water and antibiotics high as each orderly began their countdown to hauling him over to the gurney.

"On the count of three," the dark skinned orderly commanded. "One - two - three" and they heaved him up and over onto the hard plastic top of the surgical gurney.

Derreck felt the cold hardness of the makeshift bed and immediately a picture of his ex-boss jumped into his mind.

The ride to the surgical suite seemed rough and cold. He asked for a blanket, but the two men were too busy talking about some party they had been to the night before and did not hear him.

Then the beam of memory faded away as if a darker cloud had recovered the sun. Derreck found himself alone, seated on his recliner, drumming his fingers to some unheard music, and watching the sandstorm alone once more.

"Oh, God, why didn't You let me die on that table?" he screamed, shaking a fist at the ceiling. "I would have been better off if I had!"

He stood up and walked around his makeshift death rope.

Sitting back down, looking at the stool placed beneath the rope, he lit a cigarette and huffed the smoke out of his lungs. His hands shook slightly as he looked the at the cigarette, itS ember glowing slightly in the room darkened by the sand blowing outside. "Damn things." He smashed the butt in the overflowing ashtray. "Should never have ever started smoking in the first place. But, then, what did I know? I wanted to be like the rest of my family. I really do hate these things. But, that's okay. Soon I won't have the craving for any more of them."

He stood up and walked to the stool and shakily climbed on top. Knees trying to buckle as if trying to avoid what was going to happen, he took the loop of the rope and with shaky hands, placed the noose over his head. The ringing of the telephone almost caused him to fall off the stool, prematurely bringing about the end he wanted. Quickly he removed the noose and jumped off the stool. Feeling a momentary respite from his fate, he reached the phone just as it stopped ringing. He picked up the receiver and got nothing but a dial tone.

"Yeah, That's just about the way my whole life has gone, either nothing there, or the wrong number." After slamming the receiver back in its cradle, not caring if the contraption broke, he grabbed his stomach. Rubbing it in a circular motion, he felt the bubbling going on, reminding him had eaten nothing all day long.

"Now, do I want to end this misery with a full stomach, or an empty one?" He talked with himself as though he were someone else in the room observing what was going on.

"Nah, it doesn't really matter now, does it?" Having his answer, he climbed back on the stool and replaced the noose around his neck. Tightening the thirteen knots he'd so expertly made earlier around his neck, he looked up to the ceiling as though he could see directly into God's Palace. "Father, forgive me, for I do know what I'm about to do and know that it is wrong. But I do not see any other way for me. I've lost every thing in my life. I have given so much of myself to others, and they have all turned away from me. My friends, my family, and now my wife."

Tears streamed down his face, making little mud puddles after mixing with the dirt flying through his house.

"I don't understand why You've allowed things to go the way they have. Why did Sally leave me? Why couldn't You at least provide me with a job after my surgery? Well, Father, no one seems to care anymore. No one! I don't even care anymore!" He looked around the room and continued, "Good-by house. Good-bye world! Hello Father!" And he shoved the stool away with by feet.

Dangling on the end of the rope, he heard the door bell ringing becoming fainter and fainter as his consciousness slowly ebbed his troubles away. The darkened room turned black. His arms hung limply at his side. His thoughts settled down to his feet.

A bright light began shining through his eyelids. He fluttered them open, fully expecting to see himself standing before his Maker, ready to take whatever punishment that was going to be doled out to him for his actions. Instead, he found himself lying in a hospital bed. Turning his head to one side, he saw Sally sitting in a chair close by, her head limply hung over to one side in sleep. Her face looked very tired.

"Hello, Derreck."

The voice sounded familiar. He turned his head the other direction and saw the two people he thought had turned their backs on him. He smiled as he closed his eyes.

He gave a deep, slow sigh . . . then . . . nothing.