After a fall, there’s always a blank moment, while the brain ignores external input to assess damage and gear up for pain. Hip: groan. Good knee: yeouch. Palms: double yeouch. Bad knee: Holey Moley! Crank up the endorphins!
When vision returns, I find myself staring at a cough drop that flew out as I jerked my hands from my pockets. Printed on the wrapper, in tiny letters, like sympathetic encouragement from a miniscule god, are the words: You’ve survived worse!
I’m seriously disturbed by this message. Sane people never receive personal consolation from a deity (of any size) and the cough drop delivery method freaks me right out. Has the fictional universe I inhabit while writing spilled over into reality? Have I fallen through an inter-dimensional portal where cough drops are not only sentient, but compassionate? Or maybe it’s only the cherry-flavored ones that are compassionate. Maybe the licorice ones are cranky and the extra strength ones are disciplinary.
Above me, a gruff, kindly voice asks, “Are you hurt, ma’am?”
“I don’t think so,” I reply as I roll over and find myself looking into the concerned blue eyes of a bald man. His face is half-hidden by an explosion of curly white beard, and he’s wearing a bright orange jump suit.
For a split second, I wonder if I hit my head after all, suffered a massive brain hemorrhage, and am looking into the face of the God I don’t believe exists. Then sanity prevails. Any omnipotent deity with a modicum of self-respect would never represent himself as a pink bowling ball nestling in a mound of angel hair pasta. Also, an omniscient deity wouldn’t have to ask me if I was hurt. As final proof, dead people’s knees don’t feel like there’s a spike driven into the patella.
“Here,” the non-deity grabs my wrist and elbow, “let me help you up.” He hauls me to my feet with surprising strength for a man of his apparent age.
From a vertical perspective, I can see he is a member of the work crew setting up orange cones around a utility truck parked by the curb. I thank him for his help, retrieve my compassionate cough drop from the sidewalk, and limp half a block to the nearest coffee emporium. I order a cappuccino and find an out-of-the way seat at the back of the room to minimize the number of people who witness my next act, which is to read the wrappers on the rest of the cough drops in my pocket. If I’m going to receive any more miraculous messages, the fewer people who witness it the better.
Here are all the messages I receive from my cough drops:
You’ve survived worse!
Let’s hear your battle cry!
Impress yourself today!
Don’t waste a precious minute!
Go for it!
Don’t give up on you!
Get back in there, chump!
Keep your chin up!
Start today!
Obviously, one of the designers at the cough drop wrapper production facility is a frustrated motivational speaker, and it just happened that the first message I noticed applied to my situation at the time.
With reality restored, I finish my latte and toss the cough drops into the garbage. Crossing the street to the variety store, I buy a bag of scotch mints wrapped in transparent, blank cellophane and the rest of my day proceeds in the dull, boring fashion of a typical winter Wednesday. Which is fine by me. I suddenly have a much a deeper appreciation of mundane reality.
Where can I get some of those motivational cough drops? They sound just like something I could use!
ReplyDeleteHey Rita,
ReplyDeleteThey are Halls cough drops, the kind that come in a square tube. I can only vouch for the motivational value of cherry-flavored ones, since that's the only flavor I've tested so far.