Delusions

DELUSIONS

By Jan Kozlowski

“I can’t believe they stuck us on a psych transfer to Norwich,” paramedic RayCheskukski muttered as he pulled the ambulance up to the large iron gates. Martha Levitt thought briefly of slapping her rookie partner upside the head, but restrained herself. Instead she picked up the radio mike.

“Medic Car Eight, arrival Cornwall Institute.”

“10-4, Car Eight, arrival 0223. You will be picking up the patient and a staff member outside the front door.”

“10-4 Dispatch. Any special instructions or restraints?”

“No, the trip sheet says the patient is ambulatory and non-violent.”

“Read you, Dispatch, we’ll let you know when we’re enroute.”

Martha was impressed by the facility as they drove up the long driveway leading to the mansion-like main building. Window bars were discreetly disguised with intricate wrought iron work and security lights resembled English gas lights. The place oozed money and privilege and discretion. 

Two men were standing beneath the lighted portico as Ray brought the ambulance to a stop. Martha tried to size up the men as she walked towards them. The one in jeans and a leather jacket looked to be in his sixties, the taller one in chinos and a ski sweater looked slightly younger. Neither gave any immediate clue as to which one was staff and which one was the patient.

“We’re here to pick up a patient going to Norwich,” Martha said.

The taller man stepped forward. “I’m Dan Fisher, the rehab counselor,” he said extending his hand. “And I’d like to introduce you to our patient, this is Elvis Aaron.”

Martha didn’t even skip a beat. In the four plus years she had been an urban medic she had met an Abe Lincoln, two General Pattons and her personal favorite, a 400 pound transvestite who insisted he was Oprah Winfrey. The easiest way to handle the situation was to smile and go along for the ride.

“Mr. Presley, very nice to meet you. I’m a big fan.”

“Thank you Ma’am, please call me Elvis.”

“Are you all set to go?” Martha asked.

“I think we’re all set.” Dan said. “All we have is the small suitcase and the guitar. Would it be okay if he keeps the guitar with him?”

“No problem, we can put it right on the stretcher.”

“Okay Ray, we’re all set back here.” Martha called up as soon as everyone was strapped in. Elvis and his guitar sat upright on the stretcher, Dan was in the jump seat at the stretcher head and she was on the bench seat across from the patient.

“Elvis, I’m going to need to ask you a few questions for my paper work.”

“Shoot little lady.”

“I’ve got your name, is it Aaron with one “a” or two?”

“Daddy always spelled it with one.”

“Okay, age?”

“Well, I was born January 8, 1935. This being 1958, it would make me…uh, 23, Ma’am.”

Martha dutifully took down the information, but looked over at Dan. He nodded to confirm that this was part of the psychosis. Everything else about Elvis was fairly normal. No known allergies or non-prescribed medications and the insurance information was all up to date and in order. She recorded her impressions under transport notes, stating that the patient appeared physically healthy and oriented to place, but not to person or time.

As she finished up the forms, Martha began to think about Elvis, the real Elvis, and how she had felt about him growing up. He had been so young and handsome and talented back in the sixties. She and her older brother had spent hours watching his silly movies and listening to his albums. Allan was ten years older, but Elvis was the one thing they could share without him complaining about getting “little sister cooties”. Then in 1972, Allan was sent to Vietnam. He was one of the last casualties before the Americans pulled out.

“Ma’am?”

Martha pulled out of her memory slip. “Yes Elvis, is there something I can get for you?”

“No Ma’am, I’m fine. You just looked real sad there for a minute.”

“Would it cheer you up any if I played you a little song?”

“Well, it’s going to be another half hour at least before we get to Norwich. I’d love to hear you play, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“No Ma’am, no trouble at all. I just put this on my Golden Records album, it’s called Love Me Tender. I hope you like it.”

Elvis pulled the guitar onto his lap and began to strum. The notes of the familiar intro rang out sweet and clear, and then he began to sing. It was easily the worst sound that Martha had ever heard in her life. The patient who called himself Elvis, was entirely tone deaf. Or as Martha’s grandmother would say, that boy couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket. She looked over at Dan and he smiled back at her. She had the impression that he had suffered through many a concert in the line of duty.

None the less, as Elvis finished his song, she smiled and clapped enthusiastically, hoping it was enough to satisfy him, yet not enough to encourage him into an encore. She needn’t have worried.

“Ma’am, performing takes a lot out of me, do you mind if I take a nap?”

“Not at all. Why don’t you let Dan hang onto your guitar and I’ll put the stretcher back so you can lay down.”

“Thank you, thank you very much.”

He was asleep in moments.

“Thanks for going along with him, Ms. Levitt.”

“Please, call me Martha. I learned a long time ago that it was easier to go along with their fantasies, especially for the short time that I have to deal with them.”

“Elvis may be deep into his own world, but he is very perceptive. What did he remind you of?”

“Ah counselors, they’re never off the clock.”

“Come on, you told him he reminded you of someone, there has to be a story there.”

“Okay, Elvis was something my brother and I shared when we were growing up. He was ten years older and I idolized him, but he hated having a little sister tagging along. We both loved Elvis though. Watched every one of those silly movies and listened to every one of his albums until our parents told us to turn that noise down. He died in Vietnam.”

“I’m sorry. I’ve lost people too. I know what a hole that can leave in you. A hole that sometimes you’ll do anything to fill up.”

“Is that how you ended up a rehab counselor? Trying to fill the hole?”

“Yep, like a lot of others, I tried everything. Drugs, alcohol, food, bad relationships.”

“But then you had a wake up call.”

“You might say that. Dying is an enormous wake up call. At least they told me I died. I woke up in a locked facility. Almost died again during withdrawal, and then the HARD work started. It took me about five years, but I finally found out who I really was and got an idea of why I was here. I looked around at the counselors and the nurses and saw “ordinary” people who had more courage and strength and love than all the rich and famous that I had bumped up against in my other life. And I decided that this is where I needed to be. Been doing this ever since.”

“Elvis is lucky to have you with him.”

“Maybe, but I really wish he could just learn to carry a tune.”

“That would help,” Martha laughed.

She watched as Dan began to absently pick at the guitar strings, fingers seemingly itching to play it.

“Do you play?”

“A little.”

“Would you play something for me?”

“Okay, Big El is a sound sleeper. Let me see what comes out.”

Dan balanced the guitar on his knee between the suction machine and the supply cabinets and began to play. The chords were simple and beautiful, but as he began the vocals she could only listen with her mouth hanging open.

“Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me.”

The song was a beautiful gospel that Elvis had recorded in 1972, just before her brother had died. They had played it at his funeral and she had listened to the song over and over for months afterward. She knew every note, every pause, every nuance in Elvis’ version of the song and that was what she was hearing now, all these years later.

Dan finished just as she heard Ray tell Dispatch that they were taking arrival at Norwich State Hospital. There was no time for questions or comments beyond a weak thank you for such a beautiful song. Ray, Martha and Dan walked Elvis and the stretcher through the admitting doors and transferred him to a hospital bed. Ray was anxious to get back to the city, back to the action. Martha turned for one last look as they wheeled their stretcher back out to the ambulance. Dan looked up at her as he stood by Elvis’ side and smiled.