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little
doolally. A little ‘I’m-a-little-teapot’ thrown in for good
measure. You practically welcomed me with open arms, didn’t you?
Thanks for that. Really. I mean it most sincerely folks. Yeah,
there were no ‘12 good men and true,’ were there? Just that nice,
bespectacled, slightly balding (yes, Doctor, everyone knows) man in
the suit creased so sharply it could cut butter.
    Thank you. You took me in and
doped me up. Helped me pack up all my troubles. What a guy.
    Unfortunately…
    Should have known, eh?
    It’s almost like aerobics. And,
one and two and one and two and step and slide and flip and catch
and one and two and on and on. That’s why I throw a wobbler. It’s
why I go Lala every so often. Not because I’m a Teletubby, but
because it’s still with me, in here. I can’t escape it. Even with
the world a fading memory, I know! The brakes on Brenda
Thomas’s shiny new Audi failed as she was driving her daughter into
school. Not a single one of the Humber Flying Club’s parachute
display team’s chutes opened as they attempted, and failed, to
build a pyramid three thousand feet up. Flight HB762, returning
from Palma in Majorca, forgot to give its pilot control when they
were landing back at Humberside. Or the pilot forgot how to land.
Or it was the wrong type of snow on the tracks.
    And step and slide. And flip and
catch.
    You see why I wanted the drugs?
I think Jeremy (who really doesn’t have to be so nice to your
patients – half of them wouldn’t even notice) knows that I’m not
really crazy. When he comes to calm me down if I ‘wobble’, bringing
his trusty syringe, I’m sure he sees it in my eyes. He’s a clever
one, Dr. Connors. You want to treat him right. He does the same for
your patients, and most would prefer him to be the doctor and you
to be the orderly. Hey, just saying it like it is.
    But the drugs are not enough,
not any more. Were they ever? I think at first, when they were new,
I think maybe I fooled myself into believing that they were
working. They kept me out of it enough so I didn’t feel the flip,
and I didn’t see the catch. It was still happening though. So they
are not enough. Joy knew. She understood that there was only one
way.
    I’ve figured something else out,
Doc, and this one will lay you right out. You know how that damned
coin always kept coming back? It was like a pet dog I’d been trying
to get rid of. Kept nipping at my ankles, never realising I just
wanted to kick it. I threw it away. I chucked it into the bloody
sea! Yet it was always there, in my pocket, on top of the tens and
the ones and the fifties. Always ready to wave and smile and say
‘Hi!’ I figured out that that was me too. I was bringing it
back.
    Yup-a-doozy.
    Have you ever seen the film
Phenomenon, with John Travolta? Very understated and quite
excellent. I wonder if it’s a bit like that, except my light from
the sky was a two pence coin. I did, for a little while, hope that
I’d have some brain tumour that was eating away at my central
cortex wotsit and that was causing it all. No such luck. Fine and
dandy and healthy as can be, that’s me. So I couldn’t hope for Him
upstairs to help me out. Old Mr. Grim the Reaperman wasn’t going to
come a-calling either. I was on my own.
    But the coin, yes indeedy. The
coin was the trigger, but, bless its sweet little copper heart, it
was also the key.
    “What’s he on about?” I don’t
hear you say. Teleportation, that’s what. If you’re a believer, let
me hear ya say ‘I BELIEVE!’ A little louder, please. I can’t hear
you! Well, actually, it ain’t that at all, I don’t think. Don’t you
think? A question without an answer. Yes, I don’t think. No, I
don’t think. You could go round in circles with that one. Anywho.
Teleportation makes it sound like some cheap sideshow conjuring
trick. Cups and balls-a-go-go. It doesn’t feel like that, though.
It doesn’t feel like teleportation. I don’t know, but the coin
always