PART 3 – Lonelier Than Hell 7. When I finished by soda, Grandpa handed me a fresh can. His eyes were glazed. I felt sorry for him, but this feeling failed to overpower my happiness. At that moment, on that day, I felt like God himself. “Your Grandma would be proud about your girlfriend. She always complemented you on your looks. ‘You look just like your dad,’ she’d say. Remember that?” I nodded. “She was a great woman.” Outside the dirty kitchen window, the sun was out and enjoying its shift. It bathed everything in sunlight; my mother’s well kept lawn, her flowerbed, my shirtless father and our soap covered electric blue minivan. My father always washed the car in July. It was a ritual. My eyes found Misty’s tiny lime colored house. Her mother was seated on a porch swing, reading a thick Stephen King novel. Mom’s asleep. Come up to my room. Did her mother know about our kiss? I doubted it. “Boy, what’re you looking at?” “Oh, uh…nothing.” “Yep, you’re in love. I’d bet money on it.” Grandpa was right, as usual. I was in love, and you know what? It felt great. I cracked open my second soda can, but didn’t take a drink. I wasn’t thirsty. I wasn’t hungry. The only thing I wanted at the moment was to be with Misty. “Grandpa?” “Hm?” “I’m going outside for awhile.” “Alright, Ash. Don’t stay out too late.” 8. The park was deserted, as usual. Our hang out place was deserted, as usual. I collapsed into the newest-looking tire swing, my hands dug inside my jacket pockets. Despite the harsh sunlight, the air was cool. I thought of Misty, of course. I didn’t stop at her house and invite her to the park, not because I wanted to be alone, but because I physically couldn’t. My legs and feet locked the instant they hit her driveway. I blamed it on the kiss. What in the hell was I going to say to her? Hey, how ya doing? How’s the weather? Still, that kiss. And her taste. And that wet dream. I picked up my swinging speed. I watched the park blur, then focus, blur, then focus. My hair fell across my brow. I let it. “Goddamn hippy hair,” Grandpa had called it the day before school let out. “Hey! That’s my swing!” My sneakers dug into the grass, stopping my tire. I let out a strangled gasp and turned. Misty was standing a few feet away. Her hair was pulled into a tight ponytail. She was smiling, and by god, that smile stole my breath. I couldn’t talk for a second. Finally, I said: “Hey, Misty.” “Your hair is a mess,” she said, and giggled. “You look like a shaggy dog.” “Thanks.” --- “You look really pretty,” I said. An hour and a half had passed. Misty and I swung in unison, our hands linked. “I like your hair.” “My mom says it makes me look even cuter. She gave me the scrunchy. I think it looks stupid.” “It doesn’t look stupid. She’s right, it does make you look cuter.” She blushed. “Your hair isn’t bad, either,” she said. She put her hand on top of my head and ran a hand through it. I could smell pomegranate on her skin. “Ooh, it feels really soft!” “My Grandpa calls it hippy hair,” I said. “Whatever that is.” “Misty?” “Hmm?” “Can I kiss you again?” “Sure.” I did. I held on longer than before. Her taste lingered in my mouth for the rest of the day, until I crawled beneath my blanket and fell asleep. “Eddie Green is a faggot,” Misty said later on as I was walking her home. “You’re, like, the greatest kisser ever.” 9. On the morning of July 4th, Grandpa shook me awake. When I opened my heavy eyelids, he took my hand and led me into the kitchen. He sat me down at the table and handed me a fresh can of Dr. Pepper. “It’ll help you stay awake,” he said. “Grandpa, what’s going on?” “I need to tell you something. It won’t take long, but it’s important.” “Wha-“ “Hush! I don’t want your folks to come down here and give me hell. That’s the last thing I need.” He picked up my can and opened it for me. I looked down at it, still confused, still on sleep’s edge. I wished Grandpa would start so I could get back to sleep. “Remember that story I told you back in June?” “Yeah. That place without a name.” “Well, I need to tell you something else about that place. Did I tell you what it looked like inside?” I shook my head no. Grandpa nodded. It was just as he expected. “I was lyin’ about something, Ash. Remember how I told you my friend, Henry Ellen, came back from there and told me all about it? There’s no such man. I was makin’ him up because I didn’t want to frighten you.” “Frighten me? What are you talking about?” “I went there. Back in 1993 or 1992. You were way too young to remember. I had a pretty bad heart attack, cracked my head on this kitchen table on the way to the floor. They loaded me into the ambulance and told me everything was alright, but everything wasn’t. I died on the way to the hospital.” My jaw unhinged. My throat dried up, just like it had during Grandpa’s June story. “Wha-what?” “A couple of hours passed before they got me back, but I went there, alright.” He stuck a Camel into his mouth, lit, took a huge drag. His hands weren’t steady. “Grandpa…” “Like I said before, it was lonelier than hell up there, but it was nice enough. They treated me like gold. Hell, I felt like gold, even after they broke the news to me.” “Who treated you like gold?” “Everyone.” He tapped his ashes onto the table. “Well, almost everyone.” 10. “I woke up in a hospital room. I was hooked up and everything. I didn’t have a clue where I was, what had happened. A good-looking nurse leaned over me and asked, ‘How are you feeling, Mr. Ketchum?’ ‘Where am I?’ I asked, but she didn’t answer. She handed me a cup of water. I finished it off. ‘Where am I?’ I asked again. ‘In a hospital,’ she said. ‘You had a heart attack. You must’ve hit your head on a table. You have a dilly of an egg coming out of your head.’ I ran my hand across my forehead. Sure enough, there was a lump just above my brow. ‘Does it hurt?’ she asked. I shook my head no. ‘Alrighty. The doctor will be in shortly.’ And then she was gone. I still had a shit load, sorry, crap load of questions. I was still thirsty. The doc came in a few minutes after the good-looking nurse left. He was a tall mother, handsome, had a crooked smile you could barely make out behind his beard. ‘Mr. Ketchum, I presume?’ he asked. ‘Who are you?’ I asked ‘Dr. Tebble. You can call me Abe, if you like.’ ‘When can I go home?’ ‘Shortly,’ he said. He flipped open his notebook and began scribbling. ‘We just need to mend that bump on your head.’ ‘Am I in Pallet Town Hospital?’ I asked. ‘Oh, no. Far from Pallet Town.’ ‘Then where am I?’ I asked. But he changed the subject. He handed me his notebook and fountain pen. ‘Sign there,’ he said. ‘And there. Initials there.’ ‘What’s this for?’ I asked. Like I said, I had a lot of questions. ‘It doesn’t concern you.’ And then he was gone. I dozed off. When I came to, I had a roommate. His name was Charlie Shaw. He was a nice, old man. His right leg was missing. The stump was wearing a thick plaster cast. ‘You’re new here,’ he said. ‘Yeah. I had a heart attack.’ My eyes dropped to his stump. ‘Looks like you had somethin’ worse.’ ‘Car accident,’ he said matter-of-factly. ‘Door cut through the bone. I was awake when it happened. It was the worst pain of my life. I’m Charlie Shaw, by the way.’ ‘Jim Ketchum. Can I ask you something?’ ‘We got the time,’ he said. ‘Where are we?’ ‘I don’t know, Jim. I’d like to know, though.’ --- “I was eating breakfast when Dr. Tebble broke the news. ‘You’re going home in a little while, Mr. Ketchum. You’re fine.’ ‘That’s good,’ I said. ‘I see you’ve meet Mr. Shaw?’ ‘Yep. Nice guy.’ I said. ‘It’s a shame what happened,’ the doc said sadly. ‘When is he goin’ home?’ I asked. ‘He won’t be going home. He lost a tremendous amount of blood. He died inside his car.’ I dropped my spoon into my oatmeal. I gave the doc a look he was familiar with, I’m sure. ‘He aint dead,’ I said slowly. ‘But he is, Mr. Ketchum.’ ‘He’s right there,’ I said, pointing to his bed. He was sleeping. ‘I just talked to him a couple of hours ago.’ ‘Yes’, the doc said calmly, ‘but he’s dead.’ ‘Am I dead?’ I asked. ‘Well…’ ‘Doc,’ I said, ‘it’s a simple question. Am I dead?’ ‘Yes. But you’re going back. We made a mistake.’ He made a mistake, Ash. I couldn’t digest that back then, but I can now. I died in the ambulance, but they brought me back from…like I said, it don’t have a name. It don’t need one. Charlie Shaw, now he was dead. They fixed his leg up before sendin’ him off to heaven. They were fixing my lump, getting ready to send me off to heaven, when they realized their mistake. I know it’s hard to believe, Ash, but it’s true. All of it.” 11. Grandpa crushed his Camel out onto the table. He didn’t bother with a fresh one. “So…That place was like, uh…hospital?” “Sorta. There were docs and nurses and everything.” “Were they angels, do you think?” “I dunno. I thought about it, long and hard. Then I gave up.” “Did you see anyone else besides Charlie?” “Nope. But there must’ve been thousands. Think about it.” I did think about it. I imagined a hospital as big as a mansion, no, a castle, hiding behind a cloud. The nurses inside were young and really pretty. The patients weren’t in pain, because the pain went away the instant they died. The pain never returned. “Let’s keep this between you and me, Ash. Is that okay with you? Don’t even tell Misty. Okay?” “Alright. But I have another question. Does hell have one?” Grandpa closed his eyes, searched for an answer, or perhaps, an image. “You bet it has one. I saw it, I think. I was looking out my window that afternoon, humming, when I spotted a gigantic black building a few yards away. A nurse in a black uniform was standing outside of the entrance doors, smoking a cigarette. She must’ve been on break. This scared me, Ash. Scared the…well, hell outta me.” “Why?” “I knew that was hell’s hospital. Something inside confirmed it. My heart, maybe. I dunno. I asked Charlie about it, and he agreed that it was hell’s hospital. ‘Fucking millions in there,’ he said. ‘They have a lot more than we do.’” “Were the patients in pain, do you think?” “I imagine they were. I think they were in mental pain. Think about it. Would you be laughing and jumpin’ up and down if you knew hell was right around the corner?” I shook my head, slowly, then shuddered. “I still have nightmares about that place, you know. I keep thinking about what Charlie said. ‘Fucking millions in there.’ That aint good, Ash. That aint good at all.” A thick silence grew between us, then. We glanced out the dirty kitchen window, watched the sun reappear from behind the black mountains. Fucking millions. Aint good at all. “Do you think Grandma saw it? Hell’s hospital?” “I hope she didn’t. No one deserves to see that. She was on the edge of death, could’ve kissed God on his cheek. That was the last thing she needed to see.” “I miss Grandma.” “I do, too. A lot.” “I think Grandma was their favorite patient.” A tear ran down Grandpa’s wrinkled cheek. He took my hand and squeezed it. “I think she was God’s favorite patient, as well.” ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- That’s all, folks. I hope you enjoyed it. Remember to send your comments to adriancold@yahoo.com. Thanks for reading! N.