There are two sides to every story.It’s who you believe that matters.
Most of my travels had taken me around the globe. I had always dreamed of seeing the world as a child, and through the graciousness from the fellow upstairs, I was able to see the world from behind a camera.
In 1995, while on assignment in for Sol Magazine, I was involved in a rather complicated car crash in Manchester, England. Being from the States, I simply forgot that while driving elsewhere, right is left and left is right.
Long story short, my leg was broken in two places
. I remember the pain and dizziness, the shouting and the sense of floating, then calmness.
I awoke, to the distant hum of florescent lights emitting from the hallway. My right leg was propped upward under a pillow, traction pulleys and a cast from my upper thigh to my toes.
Judging from the sound of the monitors next to me I had been brought to an infirmary
As I looked around, I noticed that I shared the room with not just one, but six other people, old people. Old like George Burns, old like time. I heard someone cough to my right. As I turned my head, my eyes were locked immediately with a black man sitting in a chair next to my bed staring at me.
His eyes were hazel as fall leaves and yet told the story of a thousand years. He seemed to be in some discomfort. Hemorrhoids, I giggled to myself... He smiled at me and I hesitantly smiled back.
“Hello. My name is….”
“Colin Townsend and you’re one of those potpourri people...the kind that killed our Diana.” He said
“Not exactly”, I said. “ I’m a world photographer, a freelancer you might say. You’ve probably have seen my works...I was immediately cut off in mid sentence.
“Nope, why should I, you’re all the same. Shoot to kill and will kill to shoot. I went through your stuff last night while you were sedated. You damn near kept I up all night with that entire loud hyena snoring you do…”
I’m quite sorry about that Mr.…?” He was a thin man of average height, coco complextion with salt and pepper hair and noticeable scar on his left nostril.
“I didn’t…." he began to stammer but trailed off and looked out the nearest window, darkened from the night outside. His doppelganger stared back from the other side looking less intimidating than the aggitated man before me.
“ Elliot...…"
“I beg your pardon? Who?
“Elliot Barrow…” He turned and walked to the empty bed to my left, pulled back the curtain and laid on his side, exposing is ass through the recycled hospital gown. I honestly didn not care to be mooned at midnight. There was an awkward gap of silence that appears when there is nothing humanly possible to left to say.
The faint sound of an ambulance siren on the streets below and thr low muzzle of a tv left on across the room was the only thing to be heard in a now dimly lit room. About ten minutes passed and I thought he had fallen asleep.
“How old are you? “ He said not turning toward to face me.
“Thirty seven in March” I reponded startled.
“Humph, You're not even a good liar!” With that he rolled over on his side exposing his hairy ass again through the slit of his hospital gown.
“Goodnight Townsend.” He said.
Goodnight Elliot, I hope we..."
"We can't, we won't and we don't have to..." He interupted and that gave me enough to leave him be for the night
. “And by the way Minolta, It’s MR BARROW TO YOU!” he reared up and said so loudly that the Peppermint nurse came running into the room to see if there was an emergency.
This was a place I did not want to be, especially next to an angry old man with a complex series of issues going on. He eyed me for a while and then punched his pillow with his fist and heavily laid his head down and fell fast into an uncomfortable slumber.
Morning 7:16 AM
The next morning I awoke to bright rays of light emitting through the blind of the window. Mr. Barrow was shaving with a straight razor , a instrument that has always terrified me to no end. He seemed to noticed that I was awake, but ignored me just the same.
“Look” I said, “I wasn't here when Princess Diana was killed…”
“You have a camera?”
“Yes..but..”
“Well then that makes you one of them…
“Them? Them!? What the hell is that supposed to mean? And by the way, good morning! I raised my voice in a defending way.
“Just what it’s supposed to mean, you’re an asshole like the rest, always wanting and not knowing the circumstances…”
I could see a tear swelling up in his left eye, as if he was remembering something from the past. I threw my head back against my pillow and stared at the earthworms that occupied the ceiling tiles. I looked back at Barrow and felt bad for raising my voice.
"Look," I said, I didn't..."
"I know" he said in a soft voice. "You don't have to explain to me, I'm just.."
His voice trailed away without looking at me. It was an hour before the orderly came in to bring us breakfast. The older men on the floor all seem to be having porridge, I guess to eliminate the rigors of chewing. I looked over to see what my equivalent of George Burns eating a bowl of fruit and drinking a glass of milk in between.
My plate arrived and I removed the cover...porridge!
"Oh you have GOT to be kidding!" I said to the orderly, a heavy woman about sixty five.
"I don't have time to kid Mr. Townsend, I have a hospital full of old men who are very grateful to receive such delicious food every morning, so if you will excuse me.." She turned and began to walk out, but stopped and looked over her shoulder. "I'll make sure to bring a cherry for you tomorrow, that should liven that bowl up for baby!" She sneered at me with a smile that came straight from the the pit of Hell.
The other old men in the ward all began to cackle like crows. Some were laughing so hard that their porridge became lodged in their windpipes and they began to gag. The orderly just looked at them in disgust and left the room. I ate my porridge, wishing that there really was a cherry to sweeten the taste. After a couple of spoonfuls, I pushed it aside. I glanced over at Barrow, staring at me while shaking his head, and wondered how and why I got porridge and he
was able to receive a king's delight of assorted fruits and a bagel.
was able to receive a king's delight of assorted fruits and a bagel.
It was apparent that he had been here for a stretch.
How long have you been here?” I asked.
"Why?" he asked in a defensive tone.
"Just wondering", I said "I saw you had a different menu than the rest of us."
He smiled a suspicious smirk and looked me aover slowly like a cobra does to his prey before all negotiations on whatever life is left in seconds, are ceased.
“I've been here since December eighth, nineteen hundred eighty. They found me passed out on the street next to Malone's newstand. They said I had hit my head on the sidewalk which set of a year long touch of amnesia. I couldn't remember a thing until..."
He faded as if an unpleasant memory had been released in the library of his mind
. “Until what?” I said.
Overhead on the dusty intercom,at a decibel tone only teenagers could hear, "All My Loving" statically tried to exit the speakers.
At the sound of this, he frowned and turned away. Glancing at sky through out of the window, he wiped streaks of moisture from his face took a deep breath and turned and began his story…
Saturday July 6th, 1957
I had heard there was going to be a carnival of sorts down at the church in Wooten. Back in those days, if we wanted to see live music at a congregational church other than our own, we had to out of sight, as not to upset those who we attending”.”
‘”You mean…”
“Yes,” he said, “Surely you didn’t think the whole separation thing shit, only happened in your country did you?”
“Well no…” I said embarrassingly. It had never crossed my mind about England of that time having racial conflicts, and I know that he saw it in my eyes.
He smiled wryly and continued.
“ I could see signs about advertising a new band called The Quarrymen, and thought I’d give it a go to see if they were any good…”
‘Wait a minute, THE QUARRYMEN?, you're yanking my chain now old man" I said.
“Yes, as in THE Quarrymen..” he said with a sarcastic wince, glancing at me from the corner of his eyes.
He walked across the room to a elderly gentleman and helped him into his wheelchair. When he finished, he continued back towards me, but not before he stopped at a his footlocker at the foot of the bed and pulled out a photo and handed it to me.
While it was obvious, who the four young men in the photo were, I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw the face in front of me in the photo with them.
"That's, that's,that's you!" I said like a young boy who has just met his baseball card hero. "How..What...What are you doing in this photo?"
Again he smiled, but this time he simply said, "Who do you really think wrote all those songs?"
I had heard there was going to be a carnival of sorts down at the church in Wooten. Back in those days, if we wanted to see live music at a congregational church other than our own, we had to out of sight, as not to upset those who we attending”.”
‘”You mean…”
“Yes,” he said, “Surely you didn’t think the whole separation thing shit, only happened in your country did you?”
“Well no…” I said embarrassingly. It had never crossed my mind about England of that time having racial conflicts, and I know that he saw it in my eyes.
He smiled wryly and continued.
“ I could see signs about advertising a new band called The Quarrymen, and thought I’d give it a go to see if they were any good…”
‘Wait a minute, THE QUARRYMEN?, you're yanking my chain now old man" I said.
“Yes, as in THE Quarrymen..” he said with a sarcastic wince, glancing at me from the corner of his eyes.
He walked across the room to a elderly gentleman and helped him into his wheelchair. When he finished, he continued back towards me, but not before he stopped at a his footlocker at the foot of the bed and pulled out a photo and handed it to me.
While it was obvious, who the four young men in the photo were, I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw the face in front of me in the photo with them.
"That's, that's,that's you!" I said like a young boy who has just met his baseball card hero. "How..What...What are you doing in this photo?"
Again he smiled, but this time he simply said, "Who do you really think wrote all those songs?"
Saturday
July 6th, 1957
I had heard
there was going to be a carnival of sorts down at the church in Wooten. Back in
those days, if we wanted to see live music at a congregational church other
than our own, we had to out of sight, as not to upset those who we attending”.”
‘”You mean…”
“Yes,” he
said, “Surely you didn’t think the whole separation thing shit, only happened
in your country did you?”
“Well no…” I
said embarrassingly. It had never
crossed my mind about England of that time having racial conflicts, and I know
that he saw it in my eyes.
He smiled
wryly and continued.
“ I could
see signs about advertising a new band called The Quarrymen, and thought I’d
give it a go to see if they were any good…”
‘Wait a
minute, THE QUARRYMEN?” I said.
“Yes, as in
THE QUARRYMEN” he said with a sarcastic wince. He walked across the room to a
elderly gentleman and helped him into his wheelchair. When he finished, he
continued back towards me, but not before he stopped at a his footlocker
located at the foot of the bed and pulled out a photo and handed it to me.
