Chapter 1/The Velvet Book
My world reminded me of an old picture... viewed in hues' of black and white. I'd lost my vision of color so long ago, but it seemed as only yesterday. I sighed as I played music, the sound sending a cold draft in my colorless world. Though empting my thoughts into the music. I felt the melody equalizing across the room. Bringing out my best memories, in a time I could see more then the dull shades. Arts' had always been my passion. My mother and father were rich people and every Saturday we'd visit the Opera House. Ah, the sound of the sweet mistress who played Christine in the musical, 'Phantom of the Opera'. Museums, Libraries and Art Galleries etched out my life as a young boy.
I still shared some of my old luxuries, but now I had a life of hectic settings in the E.R. Seemed as though my lifeless eyes served a purpose. That might unmask a key element to saving the lives of innocent people. Our longest patient was an unconscious ballet dancer who'd gotten hit with a rod (A pole used to hold stage curtains up.). Her name was, Maydean. Something about the unconscious woman hypnotized me. Naturally I fed my curiosity, visiting the woman and stroking my chin's goatee with wonder. What was she like conscious? She was very beautiful, a sleek bodice, long curly locks that rounded her faces skin which lacked wrinkles.
My thoughts cleared away as I stroked the Baby Grand's wood. I picked myself up out of the chair and made my way to the front door of the house. The cold immediately cast a swift breeze, blowing back my fine, strands of hair. Cold flakes fluttered down from the heavens and I reached for my keys and trench coat. My car was a Ferrari decked out in tribal vinyl. When I revved up the engine I felt powerful. My car didn't care if I was color blind and when I drove, it was like a dream. Flowing against the land to any destination I so desired. I opened the car door and slipped in some Beethoven. The Ninth Symphony composed in 1824 to be exact. Driving down my neighborhood road I saw an old lady wrapped in an old fashioned, cotton, sweater. Her hair was short, curled and seemed as pale as the snow itself. Though she herself; however referred to the color as platinum blonde. Miss. Mabel, no doubt she'd catch her death in this cold. No more then a few weeks ago she was released from 'Green View Hospital'. An old widow who'd been happily singled a few years gone. Her husband died from blood flow to the brain. Somehow I felt responsible for his death. I knew her husband and had I knew his vision was being viewed upside down; I could have alerted the staff. I stopped at the end of the road giving one final look at Miss. Mabel entering her house. The rest of my trip was several lights and wavy roads.
When I did manage to reach 'Green View', I was suddenly passed by a blaring siren of an ambulance. What now? I thought and pulled into the reserved spot for yours truly, Dr. Truman (AKA: David Allen Truman). I pulled the keys from there slot and slid out the door. Giving the keys a jangle as I threw them in the air to return to my once course hands. I looked to the hospital, a rather large building with the acreage like a mall. Perhaps bigger now that I thought about it… the windows were sheen, blue tinted glass to create a cleaner look. However the exterior did not compare to the inside of the pristine corridors. I passed under the lit green letters that spelled the hospitals name. This led me through a compact place filled with ill people. The receptionist turned to the patient being rushed in... We both knew my duties as a doctor would be fulfilled tonight. The patient was suffering from an injured cauterized artery in a shattering of glass in car wreckage. The basic procedure for paramedics was simple for a cut like this. Apply pressure to the wound so the patient would not hemorrhage during his transport to the hospital. One of the escorts handed me the patient's information on a clip board. Handling the patient with care I spoke soothingly.
"Mr. Cuvearo you've injured your left cauterized artery. You're going to have to undergo surgery to repair the damage, so STAY WITH ME!"
Entering the operation room I immediately cleansed my hands and snapped on latex, gloves. My assistant remained pressed against the wound. Directing myself to the patient the scrub nurse provided me with a needle for the save. My hands steadily, worked to the shouts of the anesthesiologist (Vitals monitor.) a mattress stitch binding Mr. Cuvearo's open cut. Another brilliant save. I walked away with a step to my stride. About this point my assistant would attend to any necessary needs Mr. Cuvearo would have. My next patient was a newly advertised, teen, model with a strained back. Apparently she was trying to exercise the weight off by doing set-ups and over exerted herself. I prescribed Flexeril and Tylenol three and smiled to myself. I wasn't a teen, but at this point I sure wish I was! The night welcomed me with easy going patients, in the case of some I wanted to ask with much sarcasm.
"What is Loritab?"
The end of my duration led me to gorgeous Maydean.
"Who were you?"
I questioned madly, always repeating her elegant name in my mind. After a while I'd tend to down myself. Falling in love with unconscious patients... what is wrong with me? I thought with no answer to any of my questions relating to the woman laid stretched before me.
Finally I turned to the night, exiting the hospital with my hands sheathed in my coat pockets. The snow had provided me with beautiful scenery; however slick roads. I pulled out the link of keys, and spun the ring till I found a slender metal piece. A device any small advertising company would be proud of. The device was used to chip away frost over the key hole. Honestly if this was the best they could do with our technology. Soon they'd tell us to pick up our shit with little baggies. I chuckled with pride at my witty response. David ol' boy, you really are dashing. my key hole free, I got into my car and slowly made my way home. The road home guided me past a restaurant where two lovers could be seen in the window, toasting with a glass of champagne. My weakness expensive liquor, of course when I say this I mean wine.
I remembered my first taste of wine… it was bitter from the start with a tart aftertaste. Though every drink sweetened my taste buds and gave me a divine passion.
Those were the days… I thought as the world zipped by my car. Sometime back home I found myself rummaging through my closet for an old box that held secrets of childhood. Each object brought back a memory. Photo albums, sheet music and an empty journal bind with a black, velvet cover. I removed the journal and placed it on my desk piled with papers centered by a flat screen dell. I still didn't know what I'd write, but somehow I owed it to myself to do something great. I sighed and sunk back in the leather chair spinning around while a headache drowned any energy I had left.