Supermarket - Bobby Hall Page 0,54
as some hotels have. As I looked for a place to sit, I noticed it was pretty crowded, and everyone was kind of divided up into cliques like high school. Looking around, I noticed the black man and his chessboard sitting at a table for two, with no one accompanying him. I walked over and placed my tray in front of his chessboard. The pieces were worn. They had a life of their own.
“Where are you today, kid?”
“Uh, excuse me?”
“Here we go again,” he said.
“Pardon?” I replied.
“Have a seat.”
He definitely had a Morgan Freeman–vibe going on—midsixties, black with gray hair. He was tall, was calm, and had a distinguished-looking face. To be honest, he didn’t seem to have anything wrong with him at all.
As I looked around the place, everyone else seemed to have some kind of telling sign. A tic, if you will, that gave away the reason they should be in here.
But not this guy.
As I looked around, judging everyone by their flinching or stuttering, I stopped and wondered: What is my tic? If I even had one.
“So where are you today, kid?” the man said.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know what you mean,” I said, stabbing the scrambled eggs on my plate with the silver fork in my right hand.
“Kid, look around. Where are you?”
“Uh, I’m in an asylum of some kind,” I told him.
“Okay, that’s more like it. You know, so many people don’t appreciate the moment. Appreciate where they are. Appreciate the here and now.”
“Well,” I said, “I’m not exactly sure what’s going on, but I certainly don’t understand why I should appreciate being in a nuthouse.”
“No, boy,” the man said. “You are alive. And in this moment, you are well.”
“So,” I said to him. “What’s your name, old man?”
“You know my name, Flynn. You’ve known it for some time.”
I stared at him, trying to find my bearings. What the hell was this guy talking about?
And how did he know my name?
“The name’s Samson, William Redding Samson. But friends—like you—just call me Red. Pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Red said, extending his hand to be shaken.
“I’m, well . . . I guess you already know who I am,” I said, shaking his hand. “How do you know my name?”
“Well, it’s not the first time we’ve had this conversation. But, if I do say so myself, I’ve never seen you like this. You seem more present, cogent, and certain this time.”
“More certain of what?” I asked.
“Finishing it.” He took a sip of his coffee.
“Hello there,” said Olivia as she walked up to our table.
“Hello,” Red and I said in unison.
“I do hope you don’t mind, but may I borrow you for a moment, Flynn?” she asked, beginning to walk and motioning me to follow.
“Oh, of course not!” I rose to my feet. “See ya around, Red,” I said, walking a bit faster through the halls of the facility to catch up with Dr. Cross.
We didn’t say anything on the way to her office. And even though I had a million and one questions, I just enjoyed the walk. Outside the window, there was a faint snow on the ground—a snowfall that must have been a few weeks old.
“And here we are,” Dr. Cross said as she motioned me into her office.
As I sat down, before she even had a chance to make it behind her desk, the questions just poured out.
“What the hell is going on? Why does that old guy know who I am? Why am I in an asylum? What happened to my job, my book, where’s my mom, and why do I keep thinking you’re Lola? Where’s Mia? And is there even a Mia?”
“Flynn, calm down,” she said. “I know all this must be a lot to take in, but I need you to remain calm. I need you to trust me, listen to me, and accept what I’m about to tell you as the truth.”
I nodded my head and she began.
“You are a patient in the Mayberry Psychiatric Hospital, located one hundred and forty miles north of where you live. You had a psychiatric breakdown more than two years ago.”
“TWO YEARS!” I shouted.
“Now, Flynn, I told you to remain calm. I need you to bear with me. Everything I’m about to tell you will alarm you. There’s no way to sugarcoat it. Just please let me finish and then we can get into it, okay?”
I nodded my head in agreement once more, only this time with greater conviction.
“You were on trial for the