A Canny Christmas Carol- Part III

 

Ashcroft slowly awoke and tried to poke some heat into the dead fire. A few small embers glowed to reveal the Attorney General pulling a half pint of Wild Turkey from under his rocking chair cushion and draining the contents in feverish gulps. As the booze hit the General’s rattled brain he thought the night would never end. First his past and that weird Bob Marley then the terrible present with President Nixon who seemed to have changed and now just the cold and the dark and a small whisper from the back of the room.

 

Ashcroft heard the soft padding of steps moving into the firelight and there stood a site that chilled the General to the bone. It was the ghost of Christmas Future, the fugitive bear known as Buttons.

 

 

Deep green wildly dilated Bear eyes bored into John Ashcroft’s pasty gaze. “I am the elusive Buttons that you and your men have hunted across the land to no avail. “I am not only the Ghost of Christmas Future but also the spirit of those killed and wounded in your mad pursuit to stop medical cannabis. Look closely General; Peter McWilliams is here, so is Brownie Marie and LJ Carden and many others. We are here to take you on your last journey”, the bear whispered.

 

Ashcroft was pale and shaking as the bear took his hand and guided him out the window and into the dark moonless night. Ashcroft shook with cold and shook with fear as they flew out West into the bad lands of the San Fernando Valley and into the wretched community of Reseda, California. Buttons and Ashcroft traveled down a narrow street passing the “Rascals” Men’s Club, the Dew Drop Inn Tavern, Arturo’s Body and Fender, and there next store to an abandoned thrift shop stood a dilapidated white washed concrete building covered with gang graffiti. A crudely painted sign declared the place to be “The Art Bell All Night Nursing Home and UFO museum.”

 

“What the hell is that?” demanded Ashcroft. “Hey, we’re home dude. Come on inside. It’s time to face the music and I’m not talking about any singing Senators.” Said the bear.

 

Ashcroft and Buttons entered the home and were immediately struck by the stale odor of urine, Lysol, and chlorine bleach. Ashcroft’s nose quivered and his stomach jumped as he gazed over the row of beds filled with the old, sick, and dying. Soiled linens stood in heaps on the yellowed linoleum floor. The air was filled with moans, shouts, and soft sobbing. The patient’s tussled bedding was streaked with brown and red wet stains. In the far corner lay a bed by itself. The frail body in the bed was covered with deep sores. Tubes ran into the patient’s throat, nose, and arms. The patient was trying to write a note to give to a nurse standing by the bed with a disinterested gaze. A name plate on her starched white uniform declared the bearer to be Philomena Phillipina, Charge Nurse- Call me “PP”. The nurse didn’t notice or respond as Ashcroft moved closer peering down at a wrecked and ruined version of himself in the bed trying to scrawl a message. The respirator prevented speech. He bent down closer and read the note:

 

“Ashcroft, Senator, and Attorney General. Pain. Pain. Need pain medicine. Torture! Let me DIE. Help!”

 

PP read the note dispassionately and said to the patient, “Now John, quit that sniveling. Of course it hurts. You’re dying of cancer. Didn’t anyone tell you that dying can hurt? Besides, the government won’t allow and certainly won’t pay for anymore pain drugs. You could get addicted. I could get arrested. It could ruin everyone’s Christmas.”

 

The dying Ashcroft shakily took the pad back and added: “Then DIE?”

 

“Of course you can’t die John”, declared Philomena. That would be illegal. Wasn’t it you that went after doctors croaking sick people or giving them too many drugs?” Once more Ashcroft took the pad and wrote but a single word: “BROWNIE!”

 

“Oh for God’s sake, John, no you can’t have one of those brownies that you’ve been rambling on about for weeks. They’re illegal too. Do want all of us to go to jail just so you can trip out? If you don’t like our medicine then you don’t have to take it”. One final time Ashcroft took the pad and scrawled “Need More”.

 

“Oh John, you are so silly. Don’t you know that one is too many and a thousand never enough? I tell you what I’ll do. I’ll put in a requisition to have your sheets changed next month and I’ll bring you some good boiled chicken in vinegar. I’ll just grind it up and put in the tube. You’ll love it. And I have a special Christmas present for you tomorrow. Yes, John, a new catheter and I’ll put it in myself”, declared PP with a gleam in her eyes. 

 

“Oh my God, Buttons, this can’t be happening to me”, sobbed the Attorney General. “This is cruel, this is horrible. This can’t be real. It’s crazy”.

 

“Well, reality looks different depending upon what side of the pain threshold you’re living in. As to crazy you’re the guy who thought it a sane idea that the way to protect kids from drugs was to make old and sick people suffer. Now that’s crazy. “

 

“Hey Big John, it’s not that bad. If you’re lucky you don’t live long enough to realize you can’t get used to it”, said Buttons. “Guess that brownie must be wearing off. Too bad there aren’t any more because it looks like you’re going to need them.”

 

“Well, how long can I go on that way”, wailed Ashcroft. Buttons took the Attorney General by the hand and they lifted into the air and flew east into the darkness. “Forever, John, only for forever”. 

 

Ashcroft was soon back in his cold study collapsed in his chair. The fire was out. It was dark and deadly cold. The Attorney General felt his bones freeze as he sunk into unconsciousness. Far away a clock struck 4:00 AM.    

 

 

(End of Part III)

 

Go to Part I    Go to Part II    Go to Part IV