Transplant Lists

Exodus The Neighborhood — Carl Defending Boardwalk Bishop — John Exodus (2) Exodus — Sandra Exodus — Bruce Exodus — Patrick Venice Epilogue : Hemodienamics

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THE PRANK

The sun will rise — in a few hours… but Jerry is an early morning jogger. I am waiting by the picnic tables at Mitchell Park where I can see anyone who turns onto the dirt path… for him, Jerry will be headed to Peets for coffee… a daily ritual.

I need a nap…

I wake up in a room I never entered — There is a surfboard on the door. Why do I have a surfboard?

Whirring machines are behind my bed. An analog clock is up on the far wall. And a pretty nice and large window is to my right. It looks out onto a view I have never seen. Where am I?

Jerry rounds the corner — and I start jogging on an intersecting path. In a few moments we are very close, especially given these are Covid times. But Palo Alto has always been exceptionally good about masking, and we are both conforming to that rule.

“How are you doing Jerry? This fine balmy morning…”

“It is 34 degrees… are you from Minnesota or something?”

“Everything is relative.”

“Well, I pondered what you suggested, and I don’t think I can get you into that meetup. It may be a good cause you are pitching, but people don’t want to be pitched on good causes, they want to be pitched on big wins”

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“It will be a big win. We can eradicate homelessness. More people will be alive, and warm, and safe. They won’t be as rich as your people, but they will be a lot happier and probably more productive. “

“I know, I know, but that isn’t what ‘my people’ want to hear. Or even think about. Now being the next person in space or the first on mars, that makes them drool.”

We arrive at Peets — and both order “the usual”, which we didn’t need to say out loud. We are there every day when the doors open, and always order the same thing.

“I wish you would reconsider”

“I know, but I won’t. Maybe next time”

“Unfortunately, I can’t wait”. The irony is lost on him.

With a subtle motion, I knock over my scalding drink and Jerry jumps. I jump too, apologizing profusely. With my dialysis hand, I grab his hand as if to steady him. But my thumb nail also cuts into his wrist.

It is a tiny scratch, but enough to open a small vein and let the blood on my palm smear into the opening. It connects with the blood he has received from our dialysis treatments, and the binding is reestablished.

I apologize again, but this is just for show.

Less than two hours later — I exit the 80 to Sacramento, the capital of California, which lies on the foothills of the Sierras.

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