Four Score and Seven Years Ago

I was the newest doctor in the county psyche ward. Fresh out of school and low man on the totem pole, this is why I now found myself working with the homeless and nameless. To make my job even better, I was also given the graveyard shift, which guaranteed I wouldn’t have a social life.

I was making my rounds, my white shoes silent as I walked the halls, stopping at each door to peer through the windows at the sleeping patients. They weren’t all still in their sleep, many tossed and turned, talked and yelled or fought against their restraints and I sympathized with them as they fought their demons.

The janitor didn’t hear my approach; he was too busy making faces through one of the door windows at whoever was inside. “Hey coo coo bird,” he said, tucking his hands into his arm pits and flapping from side to side.

“Excuse me.” My voice sounded loud in the quiet hallway, and the janitor jumped and spun to face me. “What are you doing?”

He had the decency to look embarrassed, shifting his weight nervously from one foot to another. “Just talking to Abe here, doctor,” he replied, jabbing his thumb in the direction of the door.

I walked to the door and looked through the window at the man inside. He sat quietly on his bed, his back braced against the wall and his arms wrapped around his drawn up knees. His dark hair was shaggy and hung in his eyes, eyes that watched me sharply, unblinking.

“Abe?” I asked, shifting my attention back to the janitor.

“Yeah, that’s what they call him on account of his funny talking. He won’t give his real name, what else they gonna do?”

“Who are ‘they’ and what kind of funny talk?” I asked, folding my arms across my chest and cocking my hips to one side.

“They’s the other doctors,” the janitor explained, wringing his hands, “He talks like Abe Lincoln, like in his speech.”

I frowned at him, “Four score and seven years ago? That speech?”

“Yup, just like that.” The janitor nodded.

“You can carry on with your work now,” I said and he looked more than relieved to be dismissed. “And please don’t taunt the patients any more.”

“Yes ma’am. Never again ma’am.” He took the handle of his cart and hurriedly made his way down the hall.

I lingered at the window, watching as Abe rose from the bed and walked toward the door, his eyes locked on my face. In the brighter light from the hall I saw that his eyes were gold, like warm honey, and in them I saw no insanity, no instability; I saw only a man.

“Who are you?” I asked, despite not expecting an answer.

“Victor,” he answered, his voice vibrating through the mesh enforced glass and I blinked in surprise.

“How old are you?”

“Two and a half score.”

“30?” I was surprised I remembered what a ‘score’ was in terms of time, and Victor looked equally surprised, a tentative smile spreading across his face and I couldn’t help but smile back.

I laid my hand on the glass and he stared at it, clearly suspicious. “You don’t belong here, do you?” He replied by laying his hand against the glass to mirror mine. Without a word I moved away, turning away and heading back up the hall and I could feel the press of his gaze against my back like a hand.

Returning to the nurse’s station I was conveniently ignored by Susan, the tenured nurse who was there to supervise me, but instead went between watching bad late night TV and sleeping. At the moment she was engrossed in a re-run of the Jerry Springer show and was shouting loudly at the screen.

The door to the records room was open so I slipped inside, rifling through the file cabinets until I came up with Victor’s file, labeled ‘Abe, room 342.’ He had been picked up a year before for disturbing the peace. When he was arrested he had been wearing a fine suit and top hat, and the mug shot from the police looked like one of the old fashioned photos you can get at the fair.

When the police weren’t able to identify him they sent him here, claiming he was insane and not safe to be on the streets; he’d been scrutinized by doctor after doctor and all the notes said the same thing: ‘Amnesia and delusions of grandeur.’ I didn’t believe it, there was something in his eyes and I was inexplicably compelled to help him.

I tucked the file into the waist of my pants and pulled my shirt over it before slipping back out into the hallway, grateful there were still people fighting on TV to hold Susan’s attention. Pocketing the master key I quietly made my way back down the hall, glancing up and down its length to make sure no one was watching.

Stepping up to Victor’s window I saw him sitting again on his bed. Surprise flashed across his face and he stood, walking toward me and again laying his hand on the glass. I kept my eyes locked with his as I slipped the key into the lock and turned the bolt, pulling the door open.

“Trust me,” I said quietly, taking him by the hand and leading him down the hall.

Susan was snoring softly and we moved past her and out the doors easily. The butterflies in my stomach were making me sick, and I was hyperaware of every movement and every noise around us as we walked.

We made it out a side entrance of the hospital and into the dark streets without incident, and a block away I stopped, dropping his file into a nearby trash can. “This is all the help I have to offer,” I said, shrugging and feeling helpless. Had I let him out just so he could freeze to death on the streets?

Without a word he reclaimed my hand and walked with purpose, his bare feet navigating the dark city streets with ease. Rounding one final corner he stopped and stared at a blank brick wall, into which was set a single row of stones that formed an arch. I wouldn’t have thought it was anything more then an architectural detail, but Victor looked at it and clearly saw something very different.

“Come with me,” he said, and the confusion must have been clear on my face. He caressed his fingers across my cheek and smiled, “Trust me.” It didn’t occur to me to protest, I simply walked with him toward the wall, and only had a heartbeat to be afraid before I found myself in an elegant garden, a large stone wall at my back into which was set a brick arch.

I stared at the people milling around at what was clearly a party, but it must have been a costume party based on how they were dressed; it had to be, didn’t it? Clinging to Victor’s hand as he walked toward the crowd I whispered to him, “Where are we?”

He smiled at me, wrapping his arms around my shoulders as he replied, “1837.”