This Time by Kenneth M. Kapp

            He became aware of two long fluorescent light panels and followed their march along the ceiling until he was stopped by double-doors. A hard cough made him look at his chest and he saw a sheet running from under his chin down to his toes. There was a pain in his right arm, and he noticed a translucent tube snaking under the sheet.

            “G. Owen Dohne, how did you ever do this? Didn’t I teach you better?”

            Gregory muttered, “Mother, stop nagging. I’m forty-three and you died ten years ago.”

            He never was a very social animal and the isolation required by the coronavirus had caused little disruption in his life. He had what he considered an ideal job working from home. His mother had drilled into him that he should always be prepared for the worst, so his cupboard and freezer were always stocked with a three-month supply of food. Twice a week he would replenish what he had consumed, carefully rotating the old to the front of the shelves. And he wasn’t embarrassed by what was under normal conditions a half-year’s supply of toilet paper. His mother had always said, “G. Owen, it’s embarrassing enough to go next door to borrow a cup of sugar, but toilet paper?” He felt prepared.

            Of course, the big city was nothing like the small town where he grew up, but like he told his mother, “People are people. I’ll be all right and I promise to call you every week.” And he did, even after his mother died, he would faithfully call every Sunday morning at ten until her phone was finally disconnected.

~~~

            Gregory closed his eyes. A nightmarish figure appeared at his side clad in blue; a translucent plastic helmet and under it, a nose and mouth hidden by a white mask.

            “Mr. Dohne, we’re going to move you now to another area. Nothing to worry about. We’re waiting for the results of some tests and then we can decide the best way to get you better. Your clothes and possessions are bagged under your gurney. And we’ve called the number we found in your wallet.”

            When he felt movement, he opened his eyes and tried to count the overhead lights. He got to two or sometimes three, then he’d forget and have to start over. He felt a bump as he was pushed through the double doors.

~~~

            “G. Owen, you wake up right this minute. You have work to do. Don’t you turn out worthless like your father. Wake up, an honest dollar for an honest day’s work. G. Owen, I won’t call you again.”

            He made a face and tried to spit. His throat was raw and he knew his voice was raspy. “Stop calling me, Mother. I don’t have to go to work. I’ve told you that and I’ve told you a hundred times I want to be called Gregory just like my father. Owen was your father, and what did he do for you? Nothing!” Several coughs racked his body, and he heard a fast-beeping sound.

~~~

            Gregory was cautious by nature. Ever since he moved into the city for his job, he had maintained his standards. He was fastidious, took long rigorous walks three times a week, and ate what he considered a balanced diet. He was willing to give his mother credit for some things. What if she had often reminded him not to throw the baby out with the bathwater? He was surprised when he began to feel poorly. He knew how to alert his manager at work and slipped a note under the door of his apartment building’s super.

            The super was his closest friend. They both liked to fix things. Mom always said I was her little man, repairing things around the house. Once or twice a month on a Sunday, Cliff would knock on his door. “Hey, Greg, I got this interesting little problem. Do you have any time to look at it with me?”

~~~

            It was Cliff who took the call from Greg’s manager and went up to check. He found him in bed, looking like hell and immediately called 911. He tried to reassure him, “Hey, Greg, I’ll look after things. You’ll be back here in no time. I won’t even have to water your cactuses.”

            Gregory was thirsty. I was very careful, Mom, washed my hands a dozen times a day even when I didn’t go out. I don’t know why I’m here. His left hand moved around under the sheet. Isn’t there supposed to be a call button for the nurse?

            “G. Owen Dohne, I warned you, didn’t I? I’ve warned you at least a dozen times!”

            Despite the pain and his difficulty breathing, Gregory drifted off, trying to remember what he had done wrong.

            When he opened his eyes a few minutes later, he saw the fluorescent lights in the ceiling and wondered if they had moved him back to where he was initially. He whispered, “Mom, maybe I’m alright and they’re going to take me home.”

            But the pain returned and he could only rasp, “What’d I do wrong this time, Mommy?”

            A passing nurse heard, took a quick look, and ran to get help.

            Gregory sensed the movement and started to ask again, “What’d I do wrong…”