September 7th 2012, 10:35 am, Hickory Grove, Wisconsin
Jed spent the bulk of his office hours the next four days at Sage's bedside. As medication took effect, Sage's vital signs stabilized and his waking hours and energy level began to show signs of increase, much to Jed's pleasure. Still getting him to speak in coherent and full sentences seemed a nearly impossible task.
It was on the morning of Sage's second day in the I.C.U. that Jed began to gather scraps of information, piecemeal, about the aged wanderer's life. Although his answers were still cryptic, Jed was able to make out that Sage had lived on the streets for much of the past several years. Major cities like Cincinnati, Detroit, and Chicago, were mentioned, as was his proclivity for drifting from place to place.
"Sage, tell me why you're here," Jed finally got around to asking pointedly, that morning.
"The Voice ...," rasped the old man. His breathing seemed to come with great effort, as if a great billows had to be expanded and contracted in order to move air forcefully through his lungs.
"The voice, what voice?" asked Jed.
"The one whom he loves has the gift."
"Sage," said Jed, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose, "you've lost me again. Who is it that you're talking about?"
At this time and the multiple times following, in response to this question
Sage would lapse into a coughing fit or a spell of incoherent mumbling until Jed finally would become so frustrated that he'd walk briskly from the room in pursuit of yet another cup of coffee. Then, perhaps an hour later, Sage's eyes would flutter open and he would spontaneously begin again, as if no time had seemingly passed.
"The one whom he loves has the gift."
It was mid-afternoon of Sage's second day in the I.C.U. Jed dropped the magazine he had been staring at and looked up.
"Alright, Sage, I got that," said Jed, trying to pick up the last strain of conversation and attempting to keep a lid on his growing impatience.
"Sixteen years ... no one helps ... no one looks ... but me."
"Please Sage, just tell me who you're talking about."
"The gifted one ... the one whom he loves ... he must find them ... he must stop them."
Then there would be nothing more for the rest of the day. Jed could have almost shaken the man awake if prudence would have allowed him to. It had occurred to Jed, more than once, to ask himself why he should even care. Sage was obviously either a nut or sick beyond any ability to think rationally. Jed was wasting valuable time – time. Certainly, there must be a retired couple at the church he could ask to play nursemaid to the old man.
Yet ... he couldn't quite shake the unnerving feeling that Sage had, indeed, come looking specifically, for him. Why him? "," he had said. "."
As unlikely as it was that Jed had anything to do with this man's rambling, the Critic still held him captive.
But, even deeper than the voice of the Critic was an inner conviction that he to stay with this man, to tend to him, to seek out the meaning of his cryptic replies. In a strange, unexplainable sense, Jed was surprised to discover that he actually wanted to be this mysterious that Sage had spoken of, even if he had no idea who or what this was. A moment later, he would think himself a perfect fool getting himself trapped into this whole mess.
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The third day passed without Sage uttering a word. Jed lingered at his bedside, hour after hour, hoping for some sign, any sign, of movement. An overhead clock that could have been absconded from Jed's elementary school loudly jerked out the minutes, alerting him of the sluggish passing of time as the room in the I.C.U. increasingly depressed him. For hours, Jed stared at the sterile white walls, the incomprehensible chromed instruments, the white and black checkered floor tiles and reflected on what a horrible place this would be to spend the last hours of one's life. All of this (coupled with the temperature being set ten degrees too low, the fluorescent lights buzzing like a swarm of angry gnats and giving off a pasty, bluish–white glare that seemed like a cross between a back–lighted optometrists reading chart and a violet, electric bug zapper) only increased one's sense of alien discomfort. It angered Jed. Rather than providing a patient and their kin with the comforts and assurances of home, rooms such as this one slowly eroded away any sense of peace, dignity and well-being. He was well aware that most hospitals had overcome this sickly vibe, but in some ways Hickory Grove was still a very small-town.
By the fourth day, Naomi had begun to join Jed during his long vigils, temporarily freed from her responsibilities as a substitute teacher at the local school for special needs children. The seemingly fruitless watch lasted until four p.m. that afternoon when, without any forewarning, Sage's eyes fluttered open and in a hoarse whisper he rasped,
"The one that he loves ..."
Startled out of his meandering reverie, Jed nearly fell out of his chair in his haste to spring to Sage's bed side, "Sage, I'm here, it's Jed!"
"Je – di – di – ah," wheezed Sage.
"Yes, Sage, Jedidiah, I'm here!"
"The one that he loves ..."
"The one that he loves," Jed whispered, shaking his head and turning to his wife with an exasperated look, "Sage, I still don't ..."
"Jedidiah, the one that he loves."
Suddenly, Naomi raised her hand to her lips then grabbed her husband's arm, "Jed, I think I understand!"
Trying to politely hide his annoyance, Jed took a deep breath and answered, "Understand what, Naomi?"
"Your name 'Jedidiah!' It literally means, 'Beloved of the Lord,' don't you remember?"
"Sure I remember! My mother never lets me forget, but ..."
"Don't you see it?" interrupted Naomi, "Jedidiah – the one that he loves!"
Still confused with the riddle, Jed turned back to Sage and asked, "Is that what you're saying, Sage? That you've been looking for someone named Jedidiah?"
"Not someone," said Naomi softly, ", Jed."
Jed's irritation ratcheted up another notch, "Babe, there could be ten thousand 'Jedidiah's' in the Midwest, alone! He could have just picked me out of the phone book! This doesn't mean anything!"
But, that quiet inner conviction that he had felt two days ago, told him otherwise.
?
Sage spoke again, "The one whom he loves has the gift ..."
Naomi jumped in before Jed could start in again, "Please, Sage tell us, what gift does Jedidiah have?"
Jed rolled his eyes and began to pace around the room.
"Sixteen years," breathed Sage, as if speaking to himself.
Something clicked in Jed's brain and he walked back to the bedside, "Sage, are you saying that you have been traveling from city to city, looking up people with the name of "Jedidiah," for sixteen years, all because some voice told you to find 'the one that he loves?'"
"I will show you ..." came back the gravelly reply.
"Sage, this is crazy," said Jed, turning away and beginning another circuit around the room.
"Honey, please," said Naomi, but Jed charged ahead. He could feel the anxiety level ramping up inside him.
"I hate to break it to you, Sage, but the only gift I have is a really jacked–up brain!
"Jed!" exclaimed Naomi.
"No, Naomi!" Jed's mind was in overdrive now, the curious muscle in his neck that tensed whenever his anxiety grew now pulled at him like a pit– bull on a chain. "This has gone on long enough! Sage, you're a very interesting, but very sick man. I'm sorry, but I've spent all the time I can at this hospital. It's time for me to go."
"I will show you," said Sage quietly.
"No, Sage, this is goodbye! I wish you well!"
"I will show you."
"No, Sage!"
"Please, honey," interjected Naomi.
"No!"
"JEDIDIAH JOEL MATTHEWS!"
The words were spoken with the authority of an Admiral on the deck of his flagship. Now both Jed and Naomi stood and gaped at the man lying before them, for his voice in that moment had taken on such a tone of authority that it was all that they could do to keep themselves from answering meekly, "Yes, sir."
Quietly, with a slight upturn of the left corner of his mouth and a wry twinkle in his eye, Sage repeated again, "I will show you."
With that, he slowly and laboriously began to sit up and swing his legs over the side of the bed.
"Whoa!" cried Jed, "hold on Sage, you can't ..."
"I will show you," said Sage again, this time removing the sensors from his chest, the oxygen tube from his nose, then rising to his feet using the IV bag stand for leverage.
Even Naomi began to protest by now, "Sage, you can't do this! You're too weak! The nurses will be in any minute ..."
"I will show you," was all he said, before rolling the stand ahead of him, his feet shuffling afterward in his hospital-issue slippers, inch by inch making his way toward the door of his room.
Jed just looked at Naomi then wryly said, "Well, you're the one who got him all riled up," motioning her toward the doorway.
Naomi gave him a look of exasperation then headed out the door to follow the shuffling Sage who, by now, had turned the corner and was out of sight.
Jed followed a few seconds later, slowly shaking his head from side to side.
