The Coma Monologues

By Mario Milosevic

Gary Hawken—husband, father, civil engineer, and accomplished nerd—enjoys a good life with his family in suburban Toronto. Then a crow distracts him at a traffic signal and a truck slams into his car, knocking him into a coma. Doctors doubt he will ever regain consciousness, but Gary’s wife, Melody—English professor and determined mate—undertakes his resurrection by saturating his brain with the voices of storytellers from his past. Old friends, family members, half-forgotten teachers, mythical creatures, dead heroes, and even a few fictional characters stop by Gary’s bedside to tell the tales that will tantalize him out of his vegetative state back to the world. Is the universe made of stories? Melody believes we’re all nothing but stories and she stakes her husband’s life on that ancient promise.
Mario Milosevic is the author of Ani­mal Life, The Last Giant, Kyle’s War, and Terrastina and Mazolli: a Novel in 99-word Episodes. He lives in the Pacific Northwest with his wife, fellow writer Kim Antieau.
mariowrites.com

• Language: English
• Publisher: Green Snake Publishing
• Release date: Nov 11, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465990679

Mario Milosevic

Mario Milosevic was born in a refugee camp in Italy, grew up in Canada, and holds a degree in philosophy and mathematics from the University of Waterloo. He now lives in the Pacific Northwest with his wife, fellow writer Kim Antieau. His poems, stories, and novels have appeared in many venues, both print and online.

Book preview

contents

the coma monologues

also by mario milosevic

title page

copyright page

christopher pratt

isaac asimov

sally lane

lisa mcdonald

scheherazade

robert hawken

x hawken

stephen jensen

a centaur

brawn powers

melody hawken 1

melody hawken 2

melody hawken 3

223 tupperman drive, mississauga, ontario

death

a crow

laura hawken

gary hawken 1

deborah hawken

god

mother nature

mario milosevic

michael cunningham

gary hawken 2

about the author

The Coma Monologues

Also by Mario Milosevic

Animal Life

Claypot Dreamstance

The Doctor and the Clown

Entangled Realities (with Kim Antieau)

Fantasy Life

Kyle’s War

The Last Giant

Labor Days

Love Life

Miniatures

Terrastina and Mazolli: a Novel in 99-word Episodes

The Coma Monologues

Mario Milosevic

The Coma Monologues

by Mario Milosevic

Copyright © 2014 by Mario Milosevic

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced

without written permission of the author.

Cover image copyright © Alexei Sysoev | Dreamstime.com

Special thanks to Nancy Milosevic and Lucia Ploskey.

Published by Green Snake Publishing

www.greensnakepublishing.com

mariowrites.com

christopher pratt

Hey, man.

[long pause]

That really you?

[coughs]

You look different. Gary Hawken. Man. Just your name takes me back.

[another pause]

[more coughing and a pronounced clearing of the throat]

Melody’s got it in her head that you would want me to be first. I don’t get it, but here I am. I made it. I couldn’t get a direct flight from Las Vegas to Toronto. They were all booked up. I had to switch planes in Chicago. Pain in the ass, let me tell you. I hate flying anyway. Plus, now I gotta have a passport to get back into Canada. Or get back to the States. Whatever. Either way, it’s a royal pain. Fucking terrorists. Ruined everything. Also, since I haven’t been back here for ten years, maybe more, I forgot how fucking cold it is. And we’re in March. Time for spring, you know? Hello, spring. We’re fucking ready for you. Wake up! Let’s stop sawing wood and get out here, okay?

Well, whatever. I’m supposed to tell you stories or something. You don’t want to hear about the weather. Or maybe you do. Who the fuck knows? Not your doctor, let me tell you. Doctor Ayles. Cold fish, that guy. No bedside manner at all. That I can see. Doesn’t know anything about what’s going to happen to you. No one knows. Maybe you do. Or maybe you don’t. Maybe you don’t know anything. Do you even know who Melody is? Your wife, that’s who. What the fuck is going on in that head of yours, anyway?

Your wife’s an English professor. Remember that? Teaches college kids all about stories and shit. Literature. Maybe that’s why she thinks stories can save your fucking life. Who the fuck knows? Maybe she’s right.

They tell me you’re still in there, locked up in your cranial capacity or something. Is it possible? I guess so. The nurse showed me this newspaper clipping about a guy who was in a coma for twenty-three years and then one day he woke up. Twenty-three years. Makes you think, that’s for sure. How long has it been for you? Not even twenty-three days yet. You’re just a kid at this. Man, I wouldn’t want to be in your situation for twenty-three minutes. The doc says you only got about three months. If you don’t wake up after that, well, chances are you ain’t gonna. Forget about that twenty-three year guy. He’s just a glitch. Oh. The nurses are back.

[pauses]

Well. Looks like there’s a lot of maintenance to do on you everyday, with all the tubes and fluids and what not. Swapping out bags of—food—I guess. Water. Fucking nutrients or some such shit. Moving you around so you don’t get bedsores. Draining your piss. Shit like that. Don’t worry though, they all look like they want to keep doing it. They’re like robots or zombies or something. Intent on their duty. Oops. Maybe I shouldn’t talk about zombies. Not that you’re a zombie. That’s not what I mean. Okay, forget all that. Just think about the nurses. Yeah, some of them are nice to look at. I appreciate a hot nurse as much as the next guy, know what I mean? But some of these nurses are guys themselves, so what can I say? The main thing is that they’re all dedicated to keeping you going, okay? That must make you feel good. They want you back. It’s kind of sweet. Here you are a lump of nothing, and they just want you back in the world. Shit. I didn’t mean you’re nothing. Forget that. You’re something, okay? There’s a great big one out here, buddy. A world, I mean. The world. You know? Don’t you want to come see it? Don’t you want to wake up?

[pauses]

Is this really doing anything? Or am I wasting my time here? I don’t like leaving Vegas. It’s my home. I’m getting so I resent ever going somewhere else. A town like Las Vegas, you have that in your life, you don’t need anything else. It’s got it all.

[pauses]

I’ve never seen anyone so white. It’s like you’re made of bread. All puffy like. But healthy! You know. Real healthy.

Oh, shit. I didn’t tell you who I am. Chris. Remember me? We went to high school together. We were crazy for science fiction back than. Swapped paperbacks about aliens and space travel shit like other kids swapped baseball cards. Coupla first class nerds as I recall. Then I discovered girls. One in particular. You remember Lisa, right? Sweet girl. Built like a you know what. Shit. I still have dreams about Lisa. You never forget your first one, you know. It’s true. I never forgot. Fucking twenty-five years later and I’ve still got a bone on for her. Wonder what happened to her. I guess I could find out, but maybe I want my memories more. Still, I wouldn’t mind getting back with her, you know? Not a long term thing, or anything. I’m not made that way. Just for a night or two. A good time. Um, maybe I’m not supposed to talk about that kind of thing? I don’t know. What the fuck. I wonder, can you, you know, get it up in your condition? Is it like a morning hardon? It just pops up? That’d be weird. Not that I’m so interested I want to see it or anything. Just idle curiosity is all. Probably they pump you full of something so that it doesn’t happen. Or maybe they don’t? Like who would care if you did? It’d just go down after a while, right?

Damn. Get me off this train of thought. It’s not healthy for either of us. Anyway, if I remember from back then, it’s not like you cared much. About girls, I mean. You mostly stayed away from them. Liked your books more, I guess. Not knocking it. Whatever works, right? We’re all different. But anyway, me and you, we were friendly and everything after I developed my new interest, but we weren’t really friends anymore. We’d say hi, and that’s about it. You went to your chess tournaments and did your homework. I went to a lot of parties and learned other things. Remember any of that? My yammering on like this doing anything for you? After high school we didn’t much know each other. You went to university. Some fancy ass school to learn engineering. Figured you’d improve your life or something. Hah! That didn’t work out the way you planned, did it? I mean, considering your current predicament. Not that going to school had anything to do with your coma. I’m just saying life is funny what it does to you.

Me. I was never cut out for school. My parents gave me a hard time about it, telling me to at least try it for a year. A semester. Whatever. But we are what we are, right? I couldn’t see sitting in classrooms for four years. God, I would die. By my own hand. Put a gun to my head and end it all with one pull of the trigger if anyone made me study for fucking years. I went to work for a garage for a while after high school. I was pretty good at cars and engines and shit. But that didn’t last. I was too young to be stuck in a stupid job. So I went traveling. Saw a bunch of the world. You know what I discovered? In foreign countries I was the exotic foreigner. Wow. I didn’t have to do much pursuing, I’ll tell you that. Women flocked to me, and I’m not kidding. Not lying, either. You can believe it or not. It’s the truth. Eventually I got to playing cards and got pretty good at it. Now I drive a limo in Vegas and gamble my tips. Not my fares. That’s for paying bills and saving. I’m responsible, you know. I have a house, pay a mortgage. Women like a guy with a nice house. But my tips? That’s a different story. I take that money and go to the poker tables. That’s how I financed the pool at my house. And my big ass flat screen TV. Not to mention my car. Other shit, too. It’s a pretty good life. Some casinos don’t let me in anymore. They think I cheat. I don’t. I’m just good at cards. Fortunately, Vegas has more casinos than I could ever gamble at in a lifetime.

Never got married or anything. No kids. Not that I know of, anyway. You’ve got a nice family. Your wife, she’s pretty upset about all this. She’s also kinda hot. Yeah, wouldn’t mind spending some quality time with her. I think she’d want to do it with me. I felt this kind of spark between us, you know. The way she looked me over when I got to the hospital. It was nice. Made me feel warm inside, I’ll tell you. Probably after I talk to you, me and her will find an empty room down the hall or something and get to know each other real well.

[pauses]

Sorry about that. I just wanted to see if you’d get steamed and wake up from your coma. No dice. But it was worth a try. Hope I didn’t make you blow a gasket or anything. Forget all that what I said about your wife and me. There’s nothing there. She’s still in major grief about you. So really, don’t worry; I wouldn’t go after her or anything. I’m not that kind of guy. I never knowingly chase married women, never have and never will, and that’s the honest truth. She’s crazy about you. That’s obvious to anyone. Found my name in your high school yearbook. Said I wrote: keep reaching for the stars, dude. I didn’t remember that. Hell, I didn’t remember we had a fucking yearbook. She figured I must have been some kind of friend of yours so she tracked me down on the internet. Shit, anyone can find anyone now, you know? She found some articles that said voices from the past can bring people back. So here I am. A voice from your past. Hello! Anyone in there?

[knocks edge of bed]

[laughs nervously]

[pauses]

I tell you, I don’t think I’m much good at this. They tell me you need voices you recognize. That’s supposed to bring you back. Stories, too. I’m supposed to tell you stories. Like I’m some kind of writer or something. I don’t know any stories. Mostly they want me to keep talking talking talking.

[pauses]

I sound like an idiot.

[pauses]

To myself. Maybe to you, too. I don’t know.

[pauses]

They told me what happened to you. You’re driving along and some asshole truck driver runs a red light and smashes into you. Banged your head up pretty good. Good enough that you’re in this fucking coma. Scary shit, man. I don’t know what I would want if I was in your position. To keep going, or just fold my cards. Just say, okay, I’ve had my time. A pretty good run, but it’s over. I’m not going to go on as a carrot lying on a hospital bed for a couple of decades. That’s too hard on everyone. Maybe dying would be better. I’m just saying I would think about it. I would. If I could think anymore. That guy that went twenty-three years? He could hear stuff all that time. He took it all in. Spooky. Couldn’t move a muscle, just like you. Couldn’t do anything except listen. I’d go crazy, I think. I’d want to die after a few years of that. After a few days of that. Who wouldn’t? You, maybe. I don’t know. Do you want to die? You can’t tell us, so we assume you want to live and we’ll try to keep you alive. That’s what people do, you know. They look after their kind. When they’re not killing each other, which I noticed, people can be pretty good at. Look, they told me to avoid the topic of death, but fuck ’em. I’m supposed to talk to you one on one, okay? So I’m sure if you can hear anything, if you’re still buried inside there somewhere, you’ve thought about death. Hell, you can practically touch the robes of the grim fucking reaper right now. Borrow his goddamn scythe for a shave. It’s like you and he are neighbors. Am I right? Sure. Maybe you’ve got this white light all around you anyway, and you can’t hear a thing cuz the light drowns everything out. Or maybe I’m like this unintelligible sound. Whaw whaw whaw. Like the teachers on the Charlie Brown shows. You liked those, didn’t you? The whaw whaw whaw. I know you used to make that noise when you thought someone was an asshole. Oops. I was supposed to avoid profanity, too. Some people, when they’re in comas, profanity really embarrasses them and they want to stay in the coma. That’s what the nurses told me. Did you know that? Crazy, huh? Try to figure people. It’s impossible. People in your situation create quite a quandary for the medical professions. They don’t know what to do with you so they try crazy things. Like this. Like some guy from your high school days that you probably forgot about years ago, coming and talking to you. But I remember you weren’t too bothered by profanity. Used it every chance you could get, from when we were kids. Remember how we knew all the curse words even when we were real young and we thought they were words kids made up? How crazy was that? I remember how we thought it was weird when we heard adults using our words. Fuck. We really were fucking nerds. Glad we grew out of it. Sure, nerds run the world, inventing things and making it all work, but they don’t get any, is what I’m saying. But, hell, maybe you didn’t grow out of it. Maybe you’re still a nerd?

[pauses]

Do you even know who you are anymore?

[pauses]

Do you know where you are? You’re in some hospital in Toronto. We grew up in Sudbury. Mining town. Smelters. Big smokestacks spewing shit into the air. Any of this ringing a bell? We went to Barrydowne High School. We worked at the Loblaw’s store, bagging groceries and stocking shelves after school and on the weekends. Every time you saw the boss you made that whaw whaw whaw noise. Yeah, he was an asshole. Not his fault. It was his calling, I think. You went to University of Waterloo. You remember any of this? Any of your life?

[pauses]

Why do I keep asking you questions? I must be dumber than a post. There was this other guy I heard about. He was completely paralyzed. His whole body, except for two things. Can you guess? Go ahead and try. I’ll give you time. I know you can’t answer me, but you might be hearing me and thinking about it, so I’ll give you a few seconds. It’s like you’ll never believe it. It’s the weirdest thing.

[pauses]

Okay I’ll tell you. His fucking eyelids! Can you believe it? The only thing on his whole body that worked were his eyelids. He couldn’t even move his eyes. But he could hear and he could still think, so they figured out a kind of Morse code thing where he could communicate with his goddamn eyelids, blinking them open and closed. First message he blinked out was: Please kill me. I’m not kidding. He wanted to die. But they didn’t kill him. We don’t do that unless we have guns and the other guy is in a uniform. Then it’s okay. Then it’s fucking heroic, right? But to bring peace to someone by ending their wretched life? That’s different. You wouldn’t want to ever do something like that. Shit, no. Maybe for a dog, but not a human being. That’d be wrong.

[pauses]

So they persuaded him that even all gimped up like he was, I mean, gimped to the fucking max, he still had a life. Must have had some super goddamn powers of persuasion there, let me tell you. Eventually he blinked out something like: Thank you for saving my life. Kind of sad, really. But still. Wow. The whole eyelid thing. Communicating that way.

Did you guess it was the eyelids? I bet you did. You were always good at puzzles and stuff. Games. Riddles. You loved that shit. I could take it or leave it, but it was pretty cool how you seemed to enjoy it so much. You always beat me at chess. Too bad your eyelids didn’t work. We could play a few games. You could blink out the codes for the moves. That would probably perk you right up. Maybe wake you up. Hey, that’s an idea. I could play over some games for you. Would you like that?

[pauses]

I’m such an idiot, still thinking you can answer me. But it isn’t my fault. You just look like you’re asleep. You look like if I just kicked your foot you’d pop up in bed, wondering who the asshole is who kicked your foot. Me. I’m the asshole.

[pauses]

You got two kids. That’s cool. I haven’t met them. Still pretty young for all of this. What are they? Twelve and fourteen, right? A girl and a boy. Matched set. No reason to have any more if you got one of each, right? I wonder if they’re going to have your kids come in and talk to you. Naw, that wouldn’t be right. Be too traumatizing for them.

Some of the women I’m with, they want children. Not with me. Hell, no. I’m just a convenient fuck for them. Not that I’m complaining. That’s all I ever want to be. But they talk to me about their lives. Almost all of them, if the subject comes up, they say they want children. Ache for them, you know. For women, it’s not like they have to decide if they want children or not. They want them. They do. With guys, we got this thing going on in our heads: do I want to have kids or don’t I? And we, like, make a conscious decision about it, one way or the other. Usually the other. But for women it’s different. Their biology, I guess. I don’t know. It’s like they have to make themselves not want children, and it ain’t easy for them. Is that what it was like with you and your wife? She have to talk you into it? Bet she did. Or maybe not. I don’t know. Sometimes I wonder what it would have been like, you know, to have children. Anyway, maybe I fucking did, who knows? Maybe next week some teenager from fucking Spain, where I spent a few months, is going to knock on my door and say: Hi Dad! Where you been all my life? Mom says I can get some money from you. In fucking Spanish.

I’m prepared for it. I have some put away. The courts, you know, they’ll make you pay for that mistake. Even if the mother kept the kid from you all that time, it doesn’t matter. So it’s good to have some insurance. They can prove shit now, too, with DNA and all that.

Not that I have anything against children. Sometimes people bring their little kids into the casino. Get them started early with gambling, I guess, who the fuck knows. But casinos are not for children. So they have to get escorted out. Sometimes there’s a big scene, you know, people claiming harassment. Screaming about this is supposed to be a free country. Blah blah blah. Whaw whaw whaw. Let me tell you, there ain’t no free country anywhere. Nothing’s free. We all have to pay in one way or another. Or someone pays for you. Point is, there’s a cost for everything. That’s all I’m saying. But