Rambo 5

“It is late night in Hope Retirement Home – 7:30 pm. 2 hours past dinnertime and that bitch still hasn’t brought me my pudding. Nurse Teasel has had it out for me since I first got here. I make an effort to shoot a wad of paper at her at least once a day. I do this by stretching a rubber band between the thumb and pointer finger of my left hand and using it like a bow to launch my paper balls.
A friend of mine named “Walker” tries to come see me on occasion. We met years ago at the VFW. Nurse Teasel says I have to get out of bed to have visitors. I would if I could – if my body would cooperate with my mind. Teasel is always trying to tell me what to do. She says I look like a hippie with my long hair. The women here love my long hair. So do their daughters. Charlie, another patient here, likes to get it on when we can get a moment alone. She wears dentures. I’m sure I don’t have to explain the benefits of her ability to remove her teeth. We share a dislike for Nurse Teasel. Nurse Teasel is always trying to get Charlie to use a wheel chair. But Charlie doesn’t need one. I think Teasel is just trying to cover her own ass. Lawsuits against Hope Retirement Home are common. As Nurse Teasel’s announcement echoes throughout the halls of this sterile establishment, “Lights Out”, I think to myself, “Not this time”. I use my cane to push Charlie’s wheelchair into the corner and out of Nurse Teasel’s sight. Teasel reaches in with her right arm and flips the light switch on the wall into the “off” position.
I wait for the sound of the closing door at the end of the hall and glide the wheelchair back over to my bed with my cane. I climb into the chair and reach for the red tourniquet that rests on the end table and tie it around my forehead to keep my hair out of my face. I have to be quick. Murdock, the night security guard will be making his rounds soon. I hurry across the hall to Charlie’s room. We will make our escape. But first, I’m going to leave a surprise for Teasel. Charlie agrees to meet me out front. A few moments later, I come wheeling out the front door with a great speed. My chair sails over the concrete steps in front of the Hope Retirement Home as the front of the building goes up in a great explosion. My chair screeches to a halt at the bottom of the staircase. Charlie stands there next to me, barefoot, in her nightgown, holding her teeth next to her side…
And that’s it Doc. What do you think?” John Rambo sits across from a man in glasses. Rambo wears a suit and tie; his hair is short. The man holds a pen and notepad with his left hand as it rests on the arm of his chair.
“Well John,” the man says, “I think we’ll increase your anti-psychotic meds. Are you seeing anyone about your arthritis?”
John Rambo: “Yeah. But the stuff they give me isn’t working very well”.
“Clearly”, the man says, “I would recommend you revisit the issue with your PCV. Have you reconsidered the use of a walker?”
John Rambo: “I don’t need one.”
“It could help you get out of bed more. You have to understand how absurd the premises of these dreams are. To think a 66 year-old Vietnam vet who has suffered as significant injuries as you could engage in such strenuous activities…”