Tic...Toc

Tic…Toc…

Narrator : Its funny, you know, life can be too funny at times. Well of course im not implying that it goes smooth always. But hey, what do I know about syndromes?

Syndromes?

Hmmmm…..wait where did this came from?

Wait….wait……..Ah, I see.

Forgive my dull headedness its more too common that one living in a cage can speak of one’s mishaps. It does keep me in all the time, so I call it the cage. It has one small bed; a wooden chair which makes my back go strained all the time and a little window which has no glass, just iron bars. Bars to keep me from looking out relaxed. And when it rains it goes all wet and rusty. The water flows down on the dirty old green wall and it’s got these rust particles in it, God they give me the creeps, like clotted blood running down on my wall.

Wait… did I stretched that. Hmm blood is not rusty orange. Wait let me see…all blood is red… except for that sea creature. Now what do you call it? I know, learned about it at school. It’s…..its….ahh octopus. Heard it has purple blood. Purple! or is it blue? Do you know the difference between purple and blue, purple has more of red in it, and well you see blue has just more blue. Funny isn’t it…….blue blood…. Life can be funny at times too. Anyways this cage wont let me go free, reminding me always that…………………well you know…….im caged.

Why am I caged? I do think of it most of the time. You see when you’re having a syndrome of which pathetically I have no idea about, things fall out of perspective.

So it’s hardly my fault, is it now?? My Doc says, my mind never stops, it’s like a tight looped clock and like a clock it goes on and on and on.

What’s that rumbling? Oh, the door opens. I hate that squeaking sound you know the one which doors make when they are pretty old. It pulls up my nerves; the hair on my arms stand. A chill run down my spines. Its like something is scratching me with it nails……God……..it feels horrible……I’m about to lose it , its getting to me ………hah…….. ahhhhhh………control your self……..control……I am in control……don’t panic……easy……..easy

Flash back starts
“Easy darling”. She keeps saying this to me….”easy…..you can do this.”

“Ma, I don’t feel good” tears rolling down my eyes

“Well, sweetie, I'm here with you, don’t you worry; now you hop on to that bus. It will be here anytime now, you don’t miss school. So be a good boy”

“But ma, I don’t wanna go to the school”

“Now Joe, don’t you be saying that anymore, ok. You go to school, and one day when you’re going to be a big man. You will take care of your Ma, wont you darling?”

“I’ll take care of you Ma…. I promise”…..I didn’t know what I promised for, but hey I was just four. What do you expect from a four year old?

“Good morning, Mr. Cramer”

“Oh that’s my doc….she is sweet in a lot of ways, you know that blond hair, shining blue eyes, if you ask me, should have gone into movies. Pretty gal, fair skin, those beautiful lips, she comes here dressed in a white coat that stretches to her knees. Looks like an angel or may be close to one. And I’m not talking about those that you see carved and painted on the walls of Sistine chapel or some Da Vinci painting hung in a museum.

These are kind of gals you see in the TV these days don’t you? Never understood what she is doing in my cell though. It’s funny but then hey, what do I know about movies?

“Mr. Cramer, how are you today?”

You see when you have a syndrome like mine. All other voices seem to fade away. They kind of move in the back of your head in a web of voices tangled all up. Sometimes it’s hard to distinguish them. It makes you feel that you have more than a single side to you. It’s like there are layers of you. You may be talking to someone yet you are some where else questioning yourself at the same time. Most people do when they make new friends. Calculating at the back of their minds, that’s how first dates go. Don’t they?

“Mr. Cramer”
Snap, snap…..oh here I come back to sanity.

“Yes Doc” I look at her and the guard behind her. The man looks like he is a gym freak. He is a tall black man. I don’t like tall people, makes you look up all the times.

“Well Mr. Cramer...” her voice is too hollow. Like banging against metal, you know the weird cold chilling sound. She sounds funny today.

“Please call me Joe, everyone does, My Ma does, old Bob there in the cell across the hall does & Roby shack does who lives in the cell right next…..” I’m earnest about it.

“Mr. Cramer” She insists. As though she never listened

“Joe, please call me Jo….” I’m hopelessly begging her now.

“Joe” she cuts me again. It’s kind of getting rude you know.

“Bob Hartman died. How many times do I have to tell you that?”

Oh, terrible, where was I when he died? I don’t know. He was a buddy.  But how could that happen? I was here talking to him last night wasn’t I. what we were discussing……..its kind of hard……….haaah…….don’t remember but it was kind of funny. You know… life is funny.

“Joe, I’m here, will you look at me please?” Her voice seems very distant.

“Yes Doc” I’m too slow. See I told you, it’s out of perspective now. Didn’t I tell you, when you have a syndrome everything start to fall out of perspective.

“Do you remember how Mr. Roby Shack died? She asks me with those eyes, sharp like needles pinched on me. As if she can see right through my mind. I don’t like it you know. But I’m too afraid to show my fear, I maintain my calm.

“Ah Roby, is he dead? Oh sorry”, I say remorselessly.

“But honestly Doc, never really knew him much”

“So you were not close to Mr. Roby, Joe?” she stresses on the last part.

“Well not to my knowledge I don’t” I have that nervous chuckle on my face. Easy there Joe, I tell me self.

“Well, how can you not know Roby Shack, he was your cell mate for a year”

Im in a blank now, you know the kind of blanks they give you at your first grade in school. I never really liked school though. It’s all blank, blank and blank. As for Roby hmm, never really liked him you know. He had killed his wife. Bad thing to do to a woman, you know. I don’t like guys who do bad things to women. I respect women, my Ma was a very good woman, loved me too much.

“Cell mate?” Im back in front of the Doc. surprised. As if somehow I picked out her voice among all the others that swirl around my head, like bees you know, honey bees, swirling around my head always.

“Yes Joe, don’t you remember Roby Shack” Doc says but her face never moves just her lips.

“Robby Shack”, Im in deep thoughts now.

And slowly the first layer peels off. What is it with memories and layers? People seem to have so much of them. You think you know a guy. And then suddenly you don’t. And these God forsaken memories………..memories is what I have mostly you know. But then when you have a syndrome memories become too…….misty. It’s not my fault you know. Is it now?

“Yes Joe, Mr. Shack shared a cell with you until…..” she is behaving like a cop now.

But I’m so much curious. See layers of memory. It’s a surreal experience you know. Knowing what you already know but still you don’t. But its in the back of your mind. Hiding somewhere, it’s a chase, a cat and mouse game, its trying to escape……….trying to escape…….what is it that you call it…..wait ………wait…. ah conscience. Truth, you see often tries to escape conscience doesn’t it? And fear is the outcome of conscience. Yes?, No? may be? Hell what do I know about conscience.

“Until what?”  My blabbering stops

“Until you choked him to death, Joe” She replies gravely.

“Me?”

I’m not a killer am I now? Did I kill Roby Shack….NO…NO…?

“Hmm. Well you know what? Im not buying it Doc”

“What, you think I’m lying? Mr. Cramer”

“Joe, please, everyone calls…….”

“Joe you killed him with your bare hands. Don’t you remember?” her voice is icy steel

There is a small nick in my head, a vague arrow, a tiny pointer. But something is back there.

“Yes, it was February 8th last year, wasn’t it? Eight, in the evening”


“Yes, that is correct” she affirms carefully nodding her head her eyes glued to me all the while.

“Yes I remember now”

“Do you remember why you killed him?

“The…the truth” I stammer.

“Or …or was it the ….the lie?” I am pausing too much.

“Truth, Joe?” her eyes now skeptical fixed on me.

“Joe,………..Joe, do you know the truth?” her voice fades away again now.


Im at the back of my head again and all I see floating around are memories, too many of them.

“Don’t touch my feet, Roby; I’m not in a good mood right now. You don’t wanna disturb me when I’m not in a good mood.” I’m crying with hysteria.

“I know Joey, I know” Roby hissed.

“How many times have I told you, you rat, call me Joe.”

“Joey, you know…….” He keeps repeating it like he is a toy. Keep repeating the same words. Like those toys you buy you children the ones that sing a song as long as the battery is not dead. Funny isn’t it, dead, how a non-living thing be dead?

Roby laughs hysterically.

“Ahhhrg” I’m losing it again… easy now….calm yourself down.

“Joey, Joey” he won’t shut up.

“Not Joey” I say calmly, trying to level my breathing. My face is red with rage. You know blood; it gets in your face, a kind of warning sign for people who offend you, warning them to back off, to stop, but they do see the red light on the road and stop, don’t they?
Funny isn’t it how often people can’t see it on other people’s face, see it and don’t stop. But then life is funny, isn’t it?

“Not Joey, Call me Joe.”

“Joe, ok, Joe, I want to touch you feet Joe, I want to touch your feet”. Roby keeps tugging at my feet.

“You, moron, stay away from me, why the hell do you wanna touch my feet” Im nervous again. My eyes, I can feel they are wet, am I crying? It’s funny to see a man crying, isn’t it?

Now Roby fades away too. It’s strange; you see when you have a syndrome, like me. Things do go out of perspective.

”Don’t you cry sweet heart, Mama’s gonna take care of you”

“They beat me Mama, those boys with Anderson, they beat me” I’m sitting in her lap now.

“Boys don’t cry, Joe” she wipes my tears off.

“Be strong” she kisses my head.

Memories, layers!

“Be strong” I tell myself.

Im trying to be strong, but what do I do about Roby? He keeps touching my feet. I don’t like it when he touches my feet with those bony scaly hands of his. It makes me shiver when I feel his skin is on me. I hate him for it.

“Stop it Roby!” I’m screaming at the top of my lungs, tears strolling down my cheeks, clutching my pillow like I was cat.

“You gotta be strong Joe, mama’s here. Mama, Mama…… everything is misty…….its all hallucinations……I can’t reach you mama. Mama, are you there? Mama……….that bastard is at my feet again. He looks at me with an evil grin on his face, I can see his yellow teeth all gangly……aggghhh………

“I wanna touch your feet” Roby insists jumping around me. No…..no ….for God sake no…..my voice is getting higher. Roby is laughing hysterically. It’s getting black all over me, I can no longer keep it within me, im gonna burst.

“Roby, you bastard, you filthy scum!” I plunge at him with all my force, I pin him down.

“Let go off me, Joey. Please” his voice is breaking. My hands are younger and they are more powerful, locked around his neck.

“Joe, call me Joe, every one does, My Ma does and old Bob there in the cell across the hall does.” My grip is getting tighter.

“Jo..oe,” he makes it hardly,

“Joeeeee”.  I can see him struggling, but meekly, he is afraid of me now.

I loosen my grip a bit so he can speak easily.

“What, Roby?” There is an air of victory in my voice. Im on him, my hands still around his neck, loose though.

“Bob is dead”

“You killed him Joey; you killed old Bo…..”

“Not Joey, It’s Joe” Im behaving like a blood thirsty animal now.

I can see a grin on his face, his yellow teeth, rotting under his lips.

He signals me to come closer, and then like thin air I can hear him

You killed Bob, Joe” he tells me like it’s a secret. “You killed Bob Hartman”

“No, you piece of shit” I began to loose my grip; my hands are not supporting me anymore, im trembling now.

“You’re lying” I am sobbing now. I retreat like a defeated soldier.

You see truth, it haunts you, tries to escapes your conscience. I read that in Med school, didn’t I? Or was it at the college of theological studies? Hmm well can’t really remember much about it. See when you have a syndrome, you can’t really remember books, can you now?

I’m back at my corner, Roby is on his bed and he is snoring horribly, the kind that would wake you up even if you’re dead.

“Dead, oh my God, Bob is dead, how did he die, where was I when this happened?”

“He was a friend, wasn’t he?”

“Who could have killed Bob? Not me, Nah nah”

See the truth, it is trying to escape right here. If it fails then guilt will overcome. I heard it’s terrible to live with guilt.

“No, I can’t live with guilt. I need to do something about my friend” I clear my tears.

“Roby” I whisper to myself as I begin to get something like an epiphany.

Roby is the one bringing this guilt to me. I won’t let it happen. I slowly crawl towards him, he is fast asleep. His snoring is so horrible; it can make you get up in your grave.

Grave, he is going to his grave isn’t he? Im in full control now, my hands are around his neck. I could hear his muffled screams. But he won’t escape my hands, he brings me shame and guilt, how could I have killed Bob. No way. Roby brought this on himself. Didn’t he now?

Every action has a reaction equal in magnitude and opposite in direction, that’s what that famous scientist said.

Roby must be feeling this right now.

“It’s opposite of what you said Roby, its opposite, I didn’t kill him” I say in his ear, laughing “You did”.

His eyes are bulging out now. His body is shaking violently. So is mine, with all that pressure on his throat but my face well there is an awe of wickedness. Sweat is running down like blood.

“Joe” I can hear now the sweet doctor’s voice again, it’s not as metallic as it was before. It’s more genuine, more concerned.

“Yes Doctor”

“I killed him, I remember now”

You see truth is caught now. Its on my conscience, it will beget guilt. I am trying to remain calm though. But there is something terribly wrong with my left foot. It won’t stop shaking.

“Doctor Oleen, there is a call for you” a woman appears at the door.

“I’ll be there in minute” she quickly replies.

It was “11th December, at eleven in the night, wasn’t it?” I mutter

“No, it was February, remember?” She assures me again

“Yes February” I agree with her nodding, shades of the first smile on my face this morning.

I know how the church fellows would say “Hallelujah” about this, with all that whim and passion.
”…..and the Truth shall set you free.”

You have to get free when you’re caged, that’s what the Bible says, it implies doesn’t it, that the knowledge of truth sets you free.

My God, free at last, I don’t even remember how long I have been here. My hair hasn’t turned much white so I can’t be much old. But then hey when you have a syndrome, things do get funny. Facts do become……misty you know. Just misty, they are right in front of you, but like the mist. You can’t catch them, know them that they are real, can you now? But there they are, right next to you, unreachable.

I try to catch them often, truths you see, but they become hallucinations. Yes, truths become hallucinations. One moment you know it’s there and then blanks just blanks, the kind of ones they give you back when you’re in first grade.

But then Im going to be free at last, I have found the truth, I killed Roby Shack.

Suddenly the guilt seems to evaporate and a calm feeling settles down on me like a warm blanket. The puzzle is solved. No more guilt, all is justified. I breathe like a man who has the whole world.

The doctor notices my changed reaction.

“Good that you remember Joe, look I’m about to go. So just one last question”

“By all means angel” I whisper content at my own retribution grinning while I do it.

“Tell me then, does the feeling that you killed Roby Shack make you uneasy or make you feel sorry?” she asks, I can sense a little coldness in the question, some hint of cynicism.

“Why no Doc, he killed my friend, that sick bastard killed old Bob there that was in the cell right across the hall. He was ………….”

“Mr. Cramer”

“Doc, he accused me of killing Bob, how could I have killed Bob, you know I can’t……….”

“Mr. Cramer” she is getting loud now.

“Look doc, please call me Joe, everyone does, I feel certain everyone does… My Ma’ does and…and old Bob there in the cell across the hall does & Roby shack does who lives in the cell right next…..”

“Mr. Cramer”

My leg is starting again you see, I think my whole body is shaking, the guard is now alarmed.

“Joe, please call me Jo….” My eyes are wet again.

“Joe” she cuts me again now. I feel it’s kind of getting rude, you know.

“Doc, I couldn’t have killed him, you know that, how could I have killed Bob Hart…..”

She looks at me with disappointment.
“Bob Hartman died a week ago from cancer, Joe”

“What?” My whole world pauses here. I am waiting for a shock now.

“And you killed Roby Shack two years back” She said putting her stuff together.

I feel sorry for her, another failed day on me for the young girl. Hey if you ask me, should have gone into movies. You know kind of girl you see on TV, don’t you? See this is the part that’s hiding. It’s somewhere at the back of my mind and no matter how much I try to see it. I only end up doing circles. But its there, like a needle in my skin, its there but I can’t reach it. It’s Misty; it’s like trying to catch the air.

Snap Snap, back to reality.

“The truth shall set you free…………im going to touch your feet……don’t cry Joe, mama’s here, ……Bob Hartman died a week ago from cancer…………..I murdered Roby shack two years back………darkness. It’s all blank now. Blank blank, blank. You know the ones they give you in your first grade……Ma, I don’t like school”
Voices are all over me again. So are close some are distant but they are there. Like bees swirling around my head.

“Stay calm” I’m telling me self again.

“Doc, I’m sorry, I didn’t remember about Bob Hartman” I say trying to wipe my tears away.

You should be Mr. Cram………Joe I mean. You should be sorry for him and for Roby Shack too. He died by your hands.” She says as she gets up.

“But Doc” Im trying to get an extra minute right here

“How could he lie about Bob?” I am trying to solve the puzzle.

“He accused me of killing him”, my rhythm is breaking here.

“He was lying doc, he was bloody lying. Bob was alive; Bob was in his cell right across….” Im trying to find a justification here, there must be one

Every action has a reaction equal in magnitude and opposite in direction, that’s what that famous scientist said.

I am feeling this right now.

“Calm down, control…….you can do it….easy. ….don’t panic” Ma always used to say it.

I am trying to level my breath, the blood that gushed to my face, all that excitement. Yes it’s all coming down now, like the wave that crashes against the rocks and becomes calm.

Doctor Oleen has turned she is at the door now.

“He lied Doc, he was a bloody liar why else would I kill him?” I shout.

She stops at the door and turns.

“No he didn’t lie to you Mr. Cramer and that is exactly why you killed him.” She says promptly, like she was waiting for me to ask.

“Please Doc, call me J……”

“You killed him Joe because he told you the truth, truth that you don’t want to face.”

“Wha…wha..what truth Doc?” Im stuttering now, Funny thing isn’t it?

She takes a long breath and shook her head; she must be very tired I guess.

“Joe, she said turning back,

“He told you the truth; he told you why you are here, don’t you remember?”

“Why Doc?”

“Why am I here Doc?”

I’m so much curious now. See another layer of memory. It’s peeling off. I’m experiencing a surreal experience. It’s all twisted. You think you know the truth but still you don’t. Still it’s in the back of your mind, hiding somewhere. You see, it’s a chase, a cat and mouse game, its trying to escape……….trying to escape…….what is it that you call it…..wait ………wait…. ah conscience. Truth often tries to escape conscience doesn’t it? It’s a great thing to have one Im told. Fear is the outcome of conscience. Yes?, No? may be?

She turns back now comes two steps towards me and I can hear her voice like an announcement, distinguished from all others.

“You are here Mr. Joel Cramer because you murdered your mother; you killed Roby because he reminded you your crime and you couldn’t take that guilt. That night, he was not talking about Bob, Joe. He was talking about your mother.”

“And you killed him; you still refuse to see it”

“What?”

“Goodbye Mr. Cramer, I will waste another day on you again soon” she stomps out frustrated.

“Hey Doc…..wait……wait up………please call me Jo….” she goes away. The door is closed. Im running towards it but alas it’s locked. I’m down on my knees now.

Guilt has started to come again. The warm blanket is not on me anymore. I feel cold. My leg has stopped shaking. I feel heavy now. Can’t live with guilt can you now?
For now the truth ah yes, the truth has come out. All is justified. I killed my mother. Its funny, you know, why would I kill me Ma’……well life can be too funny at times.  I never liked people who do bad things to women, I respect women.

See when you have a syndrome like mine; truth tries to escape the conscience as soon as it can. It’s a cat and mouse game, you know. Truth seems twisted doesn't it? Facts seem misty at times, like its there but still its not. You know it but still you don’t. It’s really not my fault you see. Everything just goes out of perspective.

But hey you know what? What the hell do I know about syndromes?