settling in.

We sized each other up for a moment.  'You look pretty good,' I said.  'When did you get here?'  'Two days ago,' he said.  'You just came in, huh?  Hurting?'  'Yeah, you know,' I replied.  'I'll be alright.  So, what've you been up to since I last saw you?'  He had gone out west.  Was OK for a while, but met a girl, got back on the needle.  Made his way back east, taking his time, spending his money as he went, staying with friends.  He asked me the same questions, and I told him what I had been doing.  Not much, I realized.  The same old questions.  Where are you going after this?  Have you seen so and so?  We caught up with each other about who had died.  I was running out of energy, but was happy to be there with someone I knew.  It makes it easier; helps to pass the time.  After a while, we sat there in silence.  The dawn was breaking now, and it was time for me to get some sleep.  The second dose of medicine was working, as well as it could, and I knew I had a short window.  'Catch you later, buddy,' I said, and walked down the hallway as those rubber soled socks kept me upright.

There is a smell that you never forget at the Veterans Administration.  I could be on a beach in Spain, blindfolded, and I could pick out the smell of a VA bleached sheet. Over the years, it has become almost comforting.  I looked out the window; the leaves were brown and the trees half bare.  It occurred to me, I didn't even remember the leaves starting to change.  I crawled into bed and pulled those sheets and blankets up to my nose, inhaling deeply.  Well, I thought, here we go again.  I have a couple of rough days ahead, but at least I've started the process.  That, in itself, is always miraculous.  I have had more lives than a litter of kittens.   Something has to change.