by David McNamara

6:32 AM - Zone 5. A security camera activates as a raccoon scuttles through the emergency room drop-off. It wanders past a half-dozen gurneys all huddled near the exit and begins to walk along the edge of the corridor. Daylight shines brightly on the vinyl floor. The raccoon’s claws tic and drag against the tiles as it moves away from the exit; the outline of its ribs visible through the animal’s matted fur. Halfway down the corridor the raccoon crosses the hall to avoid an open door. A high-pitched ringing emanates from inside. Another 40 seconds pass and the raccoon turns a corner, leaving the view of the security camera. Four minutes later the camera’s shutters close and it begins backing up the footage to a cloud server. After three attempts the data is unable to be uploaded. The cache memory transfers to RAM, purging the remaining data for space.

8:00 AM - Zone 5. The coma-ward camera activates as the sound of a woman’s voice is detected coming from a speaker on the left side of an empty bed. A small green light illuminates at the base of the speaker. All the beds are covered in a thick layer of dust. A persistent ringing emanates from a half dozen pulse monitors left hanging by the bedsides.

Morning Justin! I’m making breakfast—your favorite! Avocado, tomato and egg whites. Well, maybe not your absolute favorite, but a good heathy start to the day. I can’t wait to get you home so I can take care of you! No more hospital junk! Doesn’t that sound good? I hope you’re hearing me. And I hope you know your father and I love you very much, no matter what. That’s all. Remember the mantra: Ishram Shrah…Ishram Shrah…Ishram Shrah…

From the right speaker, a male voice begins speaking: 

Hey Justin. This is your father. I’m gonna talk to you about Maui again. Do you remember when we stayed a week at Lahuna Bay Towers? You kept wanting to swim in the resort pool when the bluest waters in the world were just a hundred yards away. There was that buffet too, with the tuna steaks and mango juice. I think that’s all you ate the whole time we were there. That and the soft-serve machines of course. The weather was beautiful—clear skies all week except for that ten minutes of tropical monsoon. I’d never seen rain splash up off the pavement like that before. I’ve been thinking about Maui a lot lately. Hope we can go back someday. This is your father.

The voices cease. The small green light on the speakers fades. Four minutes later the camera’s shutters close and it begins backing up the footage to a cloud server. After three attempts the data is unable to be uploaded. 

8:36 AM - Zone 3. A meal tray crashes to the floor in the cafeteria. The Raccoon is on a table sniffing around for food. Trash cans have been knocked over, their contents spread all over the checkered tile floor. The raccoon walks to the end of the table, hops down to a stool, then to the floor. It continues to sniff around the refuse, but doesn’t find anything. Near the far end of the cafeteria the raccoon walks through the kitchen door. A moment later it appears behind the sneeze-guard in the serving area. Its head dips down into each of the serving pans and pulls out again. A faint scraping noise can be heard as it searches. 

12:00 PM - Zone 5. The little green light on the speakers turns on.

Hey Justin. This is your father. I was doing a little internet research and you’ll never guess what I found out… You remember all that beautiful white sand? Like a fine powder between your toes? Turns out that it’s made from the breaking down of coral reefs offshore. Here’s the best part — there’s this fish that eats pieces of the reef, a parrot fish, and after it’s done eating, it shits out all that beautiful white sand that made the island famous. It’s estimated that one parrot fish will shit out almost 200 pounds of that beautiful white sand a year. How about that? Imagine —crystal blue waters gently lapping the powder-fine, white sand. Largely fish shit. This is your father.

Boopee boo, boopee boo, I see you, I see you. Remember when I used to sing that to you? 

Probably not. You were just a baby, really. That was when I could get you to eat carrots. Granted they were mashed, but man you loved them. I suppose if I were to eat, I would make a quinoa salad with chunks of wild caught salmon. Maybe some olive. Doesn’t that sound good. I bet you’d like that. Someday soon I’m gonna make you all the best meals! But for now we can just focus on the mantra. Ready? Ishram Shrah…Ishram Shrah…Ishram Shrah…

The little green light on the speakers fade. After four minutes the camera’s shutters close. 

5:58 PM - Zone 5. The raccoon wanders into the coma ward. It stays near the door for a moment then moves beneath the nearest bed. It sniffs at a hanging pulse monitor, then moves on. The animal arrives at the bed with the speakers just as the little green lights turn on. 

Hey sweet-pea. Mama here. Just getting home from a heck of a day. Having a smoothie for dinner — I doubt your father can make it home. These things aren’t really that bad. I don’t know why people complain about them so much. But people find a way to complain about everything these days. It’s sad… I miss you so much, sweetie… Goodnight. Ishram Shrah…Ishram Shrah…Ishram Shrah…

Justin, this is your father. I’m at the office right now waiting for the power to come back. Trains are down again; thank God the hospital went solar. Anyways, I don’t have any Maui left in me today. I’m Mauied out. I’ll probably I have to stay here again tonight. There’s candles if I need them. Got a couple of nips from the bodega downstairs. Could be worse… I’m on my last 1%. Maybe the power will come back soon. I hope I’m reaching you. This is your father.

Beside the speaker mount lay a broken catheter still attached to its I.V. The raccoon sniffs at the clear hardened bubble formed around its stem. It licks the bubble cautiously for a moment — then frantically. The catheter begins to drip, steadily. A half hour passes as the raccoon licks at the tile floor as the drops fall out. The last few take nearly a minute to arrive, then they stop altogether. The raccoon disappears beneath the empty bed. After a while the it wanders into the white light of the corridor. Four minutes later the camera’s shutters close and it begins backing up the footage to a cloud server. After three attempts the data is unable to be uploaded. The cache memory transfers to RAM, purging the remaining data for space.

 David McNamara received his MFA from the University of Massachusetts, Boston, where he now works as an adjunct English Lecturer. His work has been published in the Broad River Review and Non-Conformist Magazine.