GENE

He suspected he was having a nervous breakdown. Why else would one of the hospital counselors show up in his room? Gene wasn’t quite sure. His mind was elsewhere. He knew that Doctor Klein had made the appointment soon after he’d left his bedside. He wondered what the good doctor had told the counselor; that his young patient was on the verge of—losing it? Perhaps he was. The counselor introduced himself as Bruce somebody-or-other and looked to be in his mid-fifties. It was hard to tell. The shaved head and small diamond earring appeared to make him look younger. He had an easy manner, nothing what Gene would have expected in a shrink. He was also short. He smiled as he casually pulled a chair up beside Gene’s bed. Gene smiled back. “Sorry I can’t shake your hand, Bruce.” “Yeah, I know. You’ve suffered a terrible accident. I can only imagine how you feel, my man.” Gene tried to nod as Bruce continued, still standing beside the chair he had pulled up. “You know, Gene, I’ve talked to a lot of patients who are in the same situation as you. It’s never easy. I do want you to know that I have a lot of experience with this sort of thing.” “How many?” “Pardon?” “How many people have you talked to that are like me?” He slowly sat down, giving the question some thought. “Well, no one is like you, Gene, but … there are many similarities.” He leaned back, looking up at the ceiling. “You know, I’m guessing maybe one hundred people. I’ve never really counted until you asked.” Gene liked him. He was honest, short and answered questions with facts. He smiled, noticing how Bruce waved his hands while speaking. “There have been some unique cases, some worse than others. The bottom line is I truly feel I’ve helped them help themselves.” Gene was becoming angry. He could feel his cheeks flush. He couldn’t help but think, “Yeah, you’re just another one of those doctors with a healthy body who’s preaching to me.” He decided not to go in that direction. He knew that he was angry and frustrated. He’d had enough for now. He was going to try and keep an open mind instead. Bruce sensed what was going on and was ready for it. He wanted Gene to talk as well. He wanted some feedback. He quickly stood up. Gene noticed the guy couldn’t keep still. He decided to nickname him ‘Warp’ as in ‘Warp Speed.’ “So, you must be wondering how I do it, right? How do I, Bruce Whitman, help people—people like you?” He waved his hands, palms out. Gene was wondering the same thing. He tried to stay positive. It was hard to do. “The answer is we do it together. You and me.” He pointed toward Gene and then to himself. “Let me take some of the pain away, Gene. I mean, why not? I’m your friend. I know we’ve just met but I’m not here to hurt you. I like you. I was eighteen once. Yeah, I know it’s hard to believe, looking at me now.” He smiled. Gene couldn’t help himself. He smiled back, now listening intently. “I used to think I could do anything.” He paused, trying to think of the right word. “I was, hmmm, invincible. Yes, that’s what I thought I was, invincible! I’ve got some crazy stories to tell you.” Bruce looked up at the ceiling, thinking back to a time years ago. He was also waiting for Gene to respond. He had given him a hook, waiting to see if he’d take it. He sat back down, crossing his short legs. “Uh, like what?” Bruce smiled to himself, pretending he was still far away. “What? Oh yeah. Well, the time I was playing in this blues band. Yeah, I used to play bass guitar in this blues band. Know what it was called?” He stood up again, leaning over toward Gene as he asked the question, not expecting an answer. “The ‘Strange Movies.’ That was the name that we called ourselves.” His face broke into a broad grin. Now he was really thinking of the past. “The what?” Bruce shook his head and chuckled, straightening. “Yeah, I know. Stupid name, huh?” He was having fun. He hadn’t thought of those days in years. “Hey, no, that’s kinda cool! So like, what happened?” Gene had momentarily forgotten his problems. He wanted to hear everything Bruce had to say about the band. He loved that sort of stuff. “We wanted to enhance the show a little, you know? We wanted to perform with a strobe light so our stage presence would be better. We’d seen a few acts that had done that sort of thing so we thought, well, it would be cool to do. Know what I’m talking about?” He raised his eyebrows. “Uh, I guess so.” Gene trailed off, not quite sure, waiting for more of an explanation. “Well, back then there was this movement, this”—he held up his hands once more—”thing called a ‘Psychedelic’ movement.” He had two fingers extended, indicting he was quoting as he spoke. “That’s what it was. Yeah ….” He was lost in his own thoughts for a second or two but then came back, seeing the confused looked on Gene’s face. He smiled, knowing Gene had no idea what he was talking about. He needed to have been there to fully understand the movement back in the sixties. “Yeah.” He was getting excited as he spoke. “People wanted to be free and expressive. It was an era that was very visual, right?” He nodded, agreeing with himself, walking around the chair as he continued. “Yeah. So, in the music business somehow someone had thought of combining color with music, creating a light show.” He again quoted with his fingers. He couldn’t keep still, walking back and forth from Gene’s bed to the window, sometimes circling the chair as he spoke. Gene was mesmerized. Yes, the guy’s name should have been ‘Warp.’ “What a lot of bands were using for the visual experience was a backdrop with colored lights. There weren’t any giant video screens back then, only projectors and two or three bed sheets sewn together. Different colored plasma gels or whatever would be displayed behind the band on the sheets resulting in an explosion of … color!” Bruce smiled at the thought. He visualized an old bed sheet stretched out behind the band with lights projected onto it, knowing how archaic it was compared to today’s technology. He looked at Gene, thinking that if the kid could jump out of bed so he could hear him better, he would. Gene was all ears. “So … one of the things introduced in the light show was the strobe light. It was made up of a very bright light that flashed on and off several times a second producing a visual effect that was very cool. Very cool indeed! When it was on, you could see people in the crowd moving, appearing to be in slow motion. The movements seemed … choppy, because you’d only see the crowd when the light was on. The problem was it cost too much to buy. One of our buddies told us he’d built a strobe light and wanted to know if we would use it.” “Yeah, so … what happened?” Bruce looked at the young man lying on the bed paralyzed from the neck down. He thought Doctor Klein was wrong; he wasn’t having a nervous breakdown. He needed to get his mind off his problems, even for a few minutes. The kid would be all right. “Well, it was nothing more than an electric motor with a fan belt that turned this plywood wheel, see? The wheel was about three feet in diameter. It had a hole cut out near the edge. The hole was around six inches across. As the motor turned the plywood wheel, a light would shine through the hole with every revolution of the wheel. It was like turning the light switch off and on about ten times a second. It did have the strobe effect so … we set it up on stage and started playing songs to about two hundred people. That’s when all hell broke loose.” He paused, relishing the moment, seeing the look of anticipation on Gene’s face. He liked the kid. He thought, “Good. It’s working.” He figured the last thing Gene was thinking about at that moment was his hopeless situation. “What happened?” Gene wanted to shake the answer out of him.