With the Help of a Friend!
“Greetings old fellow.”
“Good morning Rotherby”, replied Willy.
Rotherby Gallantine was a good friend; a little on the superior side but nonetheless a loyal companion to Willy over many years.
“Do you fancy lunch and an ale?”, inquired Rotherby.
“I’m afraid not regarding the ale dear fellow. I’m on these pills you see. Lunch sounds the ticket though.”
“Oh? Oh of course – just out of therapy aren’t you poor chap”. How was it?”
“Nothing’s changed with their methods I’m afraid. Quite condescending I must say. But still, the pills seem to be doing the trick.”
“Let’s walk, shall we?”, urged Rotherby. “The city’s sparkling today don’t you think?”
“Yes. Yes a lovely day for a stroll.”
“The ladies are certainly dressed in their finery would you say. The one that just passed us – musk perhaps? Lovely aroma. I do like the scent of musk”, Rotherby remarked.
Rotherby had always been a bit deluded in younger days in considering himself somewhat of a hit with the ladies. Fortunately this element of his personality had dissipated over the years and he was now content to turn his thoughts to other endeavours.
“Yes, I suppose; as long as you don’t have…….eehh…aaah…aaah-choo! Hay fever!” replied Willy. “But what’s that smell now?”
“Rotting garbage I would surmise”, answered Rotherby. “Smells like lettuce.”
“A distinct aroma of citrus as well I detect”, offered Willy.
“Indeed. I do get that as well. Mandarins I think.”
“I thought oranges.”
“How do you discern the difference dear Willy?”
“Well you could be right.”
“Perhaps? It’s one of the marvels of the city though isn’t it? The sweet scent of a lady’s perfume followed momentarily by stinking garbage as you pass by an alleyway; an astonishing combination!”
“And have you noticed the pavement?” continued Willy.
“The pavement?”
“Yes my friend; the unusual abstract decorations on the pavement. It appears as though the town planners have struck on the remarkable idea to encourage the spitting of gum on the pathway, followed by the grinding of it into the surface to present these polka-dot patterns.”
“Do you really think…….?”, started Rotherby.
“Of course my dear Rotherby; you know how the modern art goes……..in fact anything goes – anything’s possible. It is a pity though that they chew it to the extent that the bubble-gum loses its colour. It would be much prettier if it weren’t just black and grey.”
“I suppose it would weather over time though, resulting in significant colour fade anyway.”
“Quite intuitive Rotherby”, remarked Willy with some level of aloofness. “But wait Rotherby! I do believe I’ve discovered a spot with a shade of colour.”
“Oh?”
“Yes Rotherby – just a moment….I have my miniature magnifying glass! If I can just……?”
At this point Willy descended purposefully to the pavement, in the middle of the city crowd, magnifying glass in hand that was seemingly glued to his eye, and began to studiously observe the hardened spot of chewing gum to confirm his initial observations.
“Oh really!” thought Rotherby who, embarrassed beyond the threshold of what more tolerant people would suffer, and dreadfully regretting that he had encouraged the issue in the first place, advanced himself hurriedly onward down the street in order to disassociate himself from the spectacle.
After some time had elapsed, Willy managed to catch up to Rotherby at the next corner; a meeting that displayed itself with much colourful gesturing followed by a reconciliation demonstrated by a hug and a pat to each other’s back. The two then continued amiably on in their search for a suitable place to dine.
“Oh here we are. What say you about this establishment?” inquired Rotherby. “It’s purported to be one of the finest restaurants in the city.”
“It looks splendid” replied Willy.
“Yes indeed; I believe that they serve up the most delightful samosas.”
“AAAAAAAAARRRRRRRGGGGHHHH!” cried Willy as he collapsed to the pavement in a crumpled heap.
“Oh dear; what did I say?” voiced Rotherby dryly.
An Unwelcome Return!
As he slowly opened his eyes to discern the environs, straining through the heavy film that engulfed his vision, Willy posed the question to himself – where am I? Faint voices echoed as if they were filtering their way through a conduit from a most effectively disguised location. The haze slowly began to lift and he was able now to distinguish a white ceiling and walls, the latter with pictures hung intermittently. Willy recognized one of the pictures and………………….. I’ve seen that before! …………………And yes! ……………….”Oh no! I’m back here again?”
Yes it was true. Due to his latest episode, brought on by the errant comment of someone he supposed to be a long-time friend, namely Rotherby Gallantine, Willy found himself in a place quiet familiar – indeed the same room. Sun Valley Sanatorium for Samophobics had been instrumental in bringing Willy around to some form of normality after his first episode. It specialized in treating those with a fear of samosas and had an outstanding reputation for doing so. The institution did dabble in other treatments such as Nervous Noodle Kneading and Post Pickle Pain Panic but these were quite irregular presentations.
Footsteps approaching at a rapid rate caused Willy’s heart to race even quicker than the realization of his whereabouts had instigated. The door swung open and there she was! Not only was it the same room but the same brute of a nurse he’d encountered previously.
“I really don’t like this place” Willy thought.
“You’re back again!”, spoke the nurse condescendingly.
“It would appear so”, replied Willy.
“Humph; didn’t take your pills no doubt?”
“I did so!”, retorted Willy vehemently.
“If you say so”, responded the nurse.
Without any further conversation, the nurse proceeded to crash and clatter around the room. Re-arranging things that didn’t need to be re-arranged; carrying out her routine in a seemingly purposeful effort to cause as much disturbance as possible. Once completing her unruly visit the nurse exited Willy’s room with a not too delicate closing of the door, proceeding to lock it before she continued on her way. Willy laid there with the unrelenting thought that he could not, and would not, stay in this place another minute. But wait! It was the same room…so he was on the first floor. The window….he could climb down…..there was a drainpipe he was sure. There was minimal security around the perimeter and the fence wasn’t very high, as those with samosa phobia weren’t considered a major threat to society. He would do it! Willy sprung from the bed and commenced to dress. He had to hurry and get the deed done before the therapists came to begin their questioning. It all seemed a blur and before he knew it Willy was darting across the grassed area towards the boundary. Over the fence and……… he was free – a free Willy!
Three therapists reached the door of Willy’s room and upon opening it morphed into startled composures as they realized the room was empty.
“He’s not here”, cried the first.
“The window”, cried the second.
“They locked the door but forgot to lock the window”, cried the third.
“Quickly – to Administration and we’ll notify the police to commence a search.”
The three speedily took themselves to Administration and finding the office unoccupied took matters into their own hands.
“We’ll have to do it ourselves”, exclaimed the first.
“Does anyone know his Surname?”, exclaimed the second.
“Where is the file? Curses! Oh here it is……what’s his name?”, exclaimed the third.
“Whatsisname?”, asked the first. “What kind of a name is that?”
“For whom?”, asked the third.
“Whatsisname. Willy Whatsisname!”
“What are you talking about you fool?”
“Don’t call me a fool…you….you……!”
“Give me the file”, the second therapist interrupting. “I don’t believe it – his Surname hasn’t been entered.”
“Does he have relatives?”
“Yes. Here we go. A brother.”
“What’s his name?”
“Wally.”
How cute – Willy and Wally.”
“Oh just shut up!”
