The man on the radio starts in this morning, before there is light, listing the significances of the day.
And finally, it's the 149th anniversary of the Battle of Antietam today. Near Sharpsburg, MD, this was the first major battle to be fought on Northern soil.
Somewhere, in between bragging about seeing the Rolling Stones in '72 and rolling up his sleeves so we could all get a better look at his 17 inch pythons, Mr. T pressed into my head that this was, why yes indeed, the bloodiest battle of the Civil War.
I think about the soldiers, littering the fields, on my way to work. I picture their mangled limbs, the mud and blood. It's not that cold, but I am cold.
The emergency room is strangely still when I arrive. I make beds, fold clothes. I think about soldiers, ether, and muskets, while I work. Wool blankets and whiskey.
A man my ages comes in because he's thrown up a couple times, carrying on as though he might die. When we put an IV in, he cries and threatens to faint.
I say: I know. I know. It's almost over. You're going to be okay.
What I want to say: You're lucky no one has come after you with a bayonet.
A girl my age comes in because her stomach hurts. After the doctor leaves the rooms she tells me that she can't handle being pregnant now, that both she and her husband are starting new jobs.
I say: I know. I know. It's a lot to take in. But you're going to be okay.
What I want to say: You're lucky he's not dead in a field and that you won't hemorrhage to death on a bed of dirty rags when the baby comes.
My friend brings me a cup of tea and says Are you okay? You seem sad today.
I say: I know. I know. I'm a little tired but I'm going to be okay.
What I want to say: What's wrong with the world today? I really don't think I'm fit for modern life.
But I know that what's wrong with people today is the same thing that was wrong with people then, and in the beginning.
And trying to live outside the time you're in is as bad as not knowing what to do with the time you're given.
1 comment:
I stopped at Antietam once, the place gave me the willies. Looking out at the church from the parking lot, at what was a cornfield that day, a cold shiver passed over me. The south had canon set-up at right angles to that cornfield on a misty morn-it said so on the plaque. The north was stealing through the September stalks-the cold shiver came before I read the plaque...
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