I Spy With My Little Eye

I Spy With My Little Eye

by Kelli Norris

Joe lies on his back looking out the window of his room, much like any other day. The sun is high and the sky is bright blue. Lazy clouds drift by like downy feathers on the wind. The sounds of nature and melodious Native American flute music fill the air. He has  the compact stereo system, a gift from his brother, to thank for the beautiful mood music. It sits on the nightstand beside the bed.

The squirrels are out today and Joe is granted a special showing of their astounding aerial acrobatics. Joe likes to believe that the fur-covered daredevils perform their death defying feats for his benefit alone.

It is an invitation and before long Joe is rollicking with the squirrels. He imagines the exhilaration of running across the backs of branches at breakneck speed, jumping from tree to tree with them. He feels the warmth of the sun on his skin. It burns his back. The sensation is difficult to describe but to Joe it is a miracle and anyone looking would see tears in his eyes.

The sweet scent of honeysuckle fills his lungs as he breaths deep the crisp morning air. A butterfly flutters past and he paws at it softly like a newborn swats at a mobile. The colorful insect bobs up and down just out his reach, teasing the man joyfully. He laughs with delight. Bending in half at the waist, Joe bows low acknowledging defeat.

“You win my friend. I promise to keep my hands to myself.”

The butterfly dips once in response and then flies away like a drunken man walking a straight line. Joe watches it go, still smiling.

“S C R E E E-A W K!”

The hawk’s cry splits the air like a lightening bolt at night. Time slows and Joe sees the raptor in full stoop silhouetted against the blue sky. Joe stands frozen as panic threatens to incapacitate him.

There is a frantic exodus as the squirrels flee past him en mass. It is the frightened chittering and scurrying that finally coaxes Joe’s legs to move. He runs as fast as he can, trying to catch up to his furry friends, always expecting to feel the razor sharp talons pierce his skin and puncture his flesh. He knows in his heart there is no escaping death from above.


Gathering his courage, he grabs the bow strapped to his back and turns to face this feathered foe. The hawk is bearing down on him, talons out-stretched like steel fish hooks glinting in the sunlight. Joe nocks an arrow and draws his bow. He waits for his chance, ignoring the deafening sound of his heartbeat pounding in his ears. He resists the urge to blink when beads of sweat sting his eyes. The vicious bird rears its head, positioning itself to deliver the killing blow.

Joe takes aim and exhales, loosing an arrow with practiced precision. The hawk screams in fury and recoils but it is too late to stop the advance. The bird hurtles into Joe-- its momentum never slowing. The impact knocks the man from his feet and then it is Joe screaming as he falls from the Sycamore tree. He watches the hawk now with an arrow protruding from its chest moving away in slow motion. The tree is also growing further away as he again experiences the time distortion.

Then he hears it. He is once again aware of the music, seeping into his mind like water through a paper towel. Something is wrong. It is skipping. The flute is repeating the same note over and over.

NO! The cd is stuck! NO! Please God NO! This can’t be happening. I’m not ready! I don’t want to go! PLEASE!!!

Joe feels himself being pulled through the air, no longer just falling, but physically pulled as if by a rope. He passes through the open window of the hospital. The antiseptic smell of sterile air burns his nostrils. He wants to gag but can’t.

NO! Please…

His mind cries out in anguish at the familiar jolt, and he is back in his bed.

Why? Why can’t I just go? Please, God.

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“Hey Joe, sounds like your cd player needs a good cleaning. It’s sticking again,” said a middle aged black woman in nursing clothes.

She was followed into the room by a pretty young blond woman, also in a nurse’s uniform. The black nurse walked over to the window and pulled the curtains before turning to the blond nurse.

“Shelia can you get that, please?” she asked, pointing to the stereo.

The pretty nurse nodded and turned the knob to the off position until it clicked into place. Deep in the recesses of Joe’s mind, he felt it. He sensed the absence of the note whose ceaseless barrage had caused him to retreat into the catatonic sanctuary of his subconscious.  He started the painful emergence process. It was like surfacing from the bottom of a deep ocean. The closer he got to the surface the clearer things became. It started with the ears. He tried to pin point the sound of the voices. He tuned in on the one he knew first. Melissa his day nurse is talking. What is she saying? He listened intently.

“Joe this is Sheila your new night nurse. Sheila this is Joe-- Joe Carrington. He is our longest and most famous resident. Joe was a bestselling writer back in the day before his accident. He has been with us for almost ten years now.”

Melissa walked over to the far side of his bed and started examining his sheets. She grabbed his linen and pajamas using them expertly as leverage to flip him over onto his side. Sheila helped to guide him and keep him from rolling too far.

No, wait please. I want to look out the window. It’s still light out wait don’t turn me… please, wait…

“I thought the doctors said he is in a coma and his family just refuses to pull the plug. Why the music and open shades?” Shelia asked.

“It is mainly the brother’s doing. He bought the stereo and brings him new cds every week or two, especially audio books. He says the doctors tell him Joe is gone so he will take him off of life support and let him go. He believes his brother is still in there and might come back.”

I’m here! I’m here! I am back damn it! I just can’t move. You fools can’t hear me.  Oh god…

The two women worked while they talked, using the lift to raise Joe off the bed, they change the sheets. Melissa started unbuttoning his night shirt searching his skin for any bruises or blemishes, the first signs of bedsores.

“That’s just crazy. He suffered massive brain damage. He can’t have a mind left, besides, it has been ten years even if he survived the brain damage after all that time trapped inside his mind…” Sheila shuddered.

The women finished changing Joe’s linen and bed clothes. Sheila repositioned Joe so he was lying on his side facing the plain white wall.

No please not the wall. I hate the wall. I want to see out the window.

Melissa checked off all the items on the list and signed off on the chart.

“I know. It’s unthinkable.” Melissa said, as they walked out the door leaving the room silent.

Wait, please…

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Sheila entered Joe’s room and set a framed picture on the stand by his bed directly in his line of sight. It is a beautiful foil lithograph of a fantasy realm. There in the forefront is a lovely princess, petting a golden unicorn, with a small copper colored dragon at her feet, and dainty little fairies flying in the air around her. In the background is a huge crystal castle complete with moat and banners. There are knights on pure white chargers in the courtyard.

“This is just in case your brother is right and the doctor’s are wrong, Joe.” Sheila said, putting a new Celtic Woman cd in the cd player before leaving to complete her rounds.

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Joe lies on his side looking at the picture in his room, much like any other night.

(Word Count: 1386)