Emergency

CHANNELS

 

He won't look up, can't look up. His computer screen enslaves him. Elmer- glued to it, his emails reach him with devilish speed. They arrive faster than seconds leave minutes. Harry glimpses names of senders, sometimes a topic and channels each to what he hopes is the best window where he will find them when he has time. Being his wife for ten years, I still am not able to understand Harry's passion for amount rather than importance of subject. I've caught him almost giving up, throwing his hands in the air, shouting, 'Stop! Stop! ' He breathes in deeply and his unbelievable  control returns.  There are moments when I catch a smile, a smirk, on his handsome face as he deletes two or three ads that are meaningless to him.

 

The strong smell of the brewed coffee and warming chocolate covered donut I ready for him, snakes down the basement stairs to his organized office. Harry calls to me, 'I'm not ready. Give me 10.' I turn off the coffee maker, tear the donut in half and relish both halves.   . Oops, my watch alarm let's me know eleven minutes have flown away and Harry hasn't called again for his morning pick-me-up. I micro-wave the coffee for ten seconds, do another donut for five, put them on the slightly bent tray that is always handy, sloppily juggle it down the stairs. A few hot drops hit my wrist.

 

I hear Harry's puter making sounds and let out an uncontrollable scream. Harry is lying still, absolutely still, over the screen. My face twitches. My heart beats loudly, erratically. Under the best of circumstances I have never been able to accurately take someone's pulse, but I try. I put my face close to his mouth and am almost certain I detect low, even breathing. 

 

A terrible thought zaps my mind. Maybe the computer can electrocute Harry. Knowing just about nothing regarding my husband's fantasy world, I start pulling plugs out of the electric sockets. I see the surge buster he mentioned once in case there is a power shortage or lightning strike and pull that out, too. I see no result except a little red light goes off.

 

Sirens wail. The 911 team I called first, just found our house. Some stupid jerk knocks on the front door. I dare not leave Harry dying on his computer so yell, as loud as I can. 'The door is open. Come to the basement. Hurry! Hurry!  Flying feet of four men and one woman sound like music to me. The leader, wearing a 911 bright red cap, takes charge, looks over Harry, takes his pulse. An oxygen mask covers Harry's face. I stare but see no air bag going in and out. There is just no way I can hold back my tears, my fears. The woman who resembles a young girl except for her gray hair, puts a blanket over Harry as he is stretched on a gurney and is taken around the house rather than up the steep stairs. I follow the ambulance in my sports car that I don't even care about. What good will it do me if I am a widow?

 

With me right behind it, the gurney is rolled into the hospital. The crew stops for just a minute at the front desk and whoosh, Harry and I are on the elevator. Nurses are waiting on the sixth floor as we get off. Wheels clatter on the tile floor. Strange noises make the nurses stop in their tracks. I bump hard into the last one.

 

The blanket over Harry drops on the floor when he sits straight up, looks quizzically around him and begins to bitch. 'What's going on here? I was having such a long, much needed rest and you guys woke me up.
He looks straight at me, blames me and asks for his coffee and donuts. He keeps going, asking what happened to his emails.

 

'Did anybody disturb my channeling?'