"Brian Plante - Something Meaningful" - читать интересную книгу автора (Plante Brian)

Something Meaningful
Brian Plante

Sometimes, cures don’t exactly work out as they are intended. Such is the case in
Brian Plante’s story about a unique second chance.

****

“Irene, where’s my pipe?” I called. That woman was always hiding it on me. Can’t a
man even smoke his pipe without his wife interfering?

Irene pointed to my hand. I looked down, but the pipe wasn’t there. In my
palm were pills. Lots of them. Blue, like the color of those space aliens. Was that
really my hand, all covered with freckles? When did I get freckles? No, wait, they
were ... liver spots. And the knuckles were all gnarled. I remember now, I had
arthritis. Stop shaking.

When had I gotten so old? What year was this, 2011? No, that would make
me 55, and my hands looked older than that. The aliens came in 2020, and that was
... how many years ago? I was holding ten or twelve blue pills and a couple of white
ones. The blue ones were the nighttime ones, for when I couldn’t get to sleep. See, I
do remember! And the white ones were for motion sickness, so I wouldn’t barf.
Was I going on a trip, then? Could this be the aliens’ ship? Irene kept telling me
something like that ... something about a lottery and the aliens coming for me. Did I
win? But no, the surroundings looked too familiar. It was just a regular bedroom, not
a cabin on a spaceship. Was this ... yes, I think I was in my own bedroom.

“What are these for?” I asked, dropping the pills onto the sheets beside me.
Didn’t I just take a bunch of pills? Was it time for more?

Irene gathered them up and put them back in my shaking hand. “It’s to help
you sleep, George.”

Irene was all gray-haired and wrinkled. Perhaps sixty or so. Older than I
remembered, and I was ten years older than she was, so I must be really old,
although I couldn’t remember when that might have happened.

“Sleep?” I said, looking over at the alarm clock and squinting. Both hands
were on the ten ... it was ... it was...”But it’s ten o’clock in the morning. Where’s my
pipe, Irene? Have you seen my pipe around here? You’re always losing my things.”

Irene frowned. “You haven’t smoked a pipe for twenty years, George. Now
swallow these pills. It’s time to go to sleep.”

“Ten o’clock in the morning and time to go to sleep? And they say I’m the
one losing my marbles. Bring me my breakfast, and stop this nonsense.”
 Irene walked over to the window and opened the blinds to show the inky
blackness outside. “It’s nighttime, George, not morning. Time for a rest. Please
don’t make this any more difficult than it already is.”