Read Online The Man Who Ivented Florida by Randy Wayne White - Free Book Online
Authors: Randy Wayne White
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just how fancy-minded he could be.
Naw, he'd escape by himself. Be a lot quieter that way. Hell, if he was real quiet, the nurses might not even notice and, after a week or two, they'd forget he was ever there.
That's what he'd do. Be real-1-1-1 sneaky quiet like them TV Indians. Maybe lift a few scalps on the way out. That made Joseph smile, lying in his bed, looking at the ceiling. Lift the television set, more like it. Be nice to have down there in the Glades. Be nicer if he had electricity, too, but who could say he wouldn't stumble upon a nice little generator some day? And it was best to be prepared. Besides, Tuck had electricity at his place, and that's where he'd be living. Tuck hadn't invited him, but they both knew that's what was going to happen if Joseph made it out.
Joseph snuck into the room across the hall to watch another eerie sunset—he'd never seen the sky so strange, and he was convinced it was one of those earth signs his grandfather had told him about. Maybe the sky was telling him not to linger. The fiery clouds could mean it was getting late. Or maybe it was telling him to take that television set. Hard to say. Joseph returned to his bed to wait for darkness, but he drifted off to sleep. He would probably have slept right through if it wasn't for a dream he had, a strange dream in a world of burning sky and white celestial light in which his grandfather smiled at him, sitting behind the wheel of a shiny convertible, maybe a Cadillac. Which made no sense—his grandfather had preferred Chevys. What made less sense was that the passenger door was open, as if he expected Joseph to get in with him.
You telling me to go ahead and die, Grandpa?
Nope. Tellin' you to get in the damn car. You already dead.
Joseph sat up with a start, breathing heavily in the darkness. He'd had a dream . . . then he couldn't quite remember what had happened in the dream. Something about dying, and there had been a lot of white light. There was a nice car in the dream, too. But then Joseph remembered he planned to escape that night, and he didn't think about the dream anymore. He swung out of bed.
He got down on his hands and knees and found the bottle of water Tuck had given him, and he emptied it with a long drink.
Tastes good, he thought. Sulphury, like a bay smells.
He also found his deerskin boats and black roper's hat. He put them on, feeling the soft leather, grinning at the weight of his old hat. But that was all he had to wear. They'd taken his clothes, and now he wished he'd asked that nice aide, Marjorie, for clothes rather than snuff and chocolate. Should have asked her to bring a pair of her gentleman friend's golfing trousers and one of those sweaters with baggy arms like Arnold Palmer wore. That woulda been nice, but it was too late now. And he couldn't hitchhike to Mango wearing a damn gown that flopped open and showed his butt.
Joseph stood in the darkness, thinking. Then suddenly it came to him. He knew where to find clothes. Well, sort of. The orderlies had locked him in the rest home's big storage locker once, and he knew just where to go. He slid out into the hall, looking this way and that, moving quietly through the shadows. He could hear lone voices coming from some of the rooms, crazy babbling. Could hear the television turned up loud downstairs, which meant the fat nurse was probably sitting there eating candy. Could also hear the bong-bong that meant someone had pressed their call button, wanting help from the orderlies. Which was bad. Joseph swung around and saw the light flashing over the door of his own room— that damn little bright-eyed bastard trying to get him in trouble again. He considered going back; maybe wrap the IV tube around the little jerk's throat. But no, he didn't have time. He had to hurry.
Joseph shuffled along, almost running. The storage room was behind the double doors at the end of the hall, and he pulled them open. Inside were boxes of all sorts of stuff, Christmas
Naw, he'd escape by himself. Be a lot quieter that way. Hell, if he was real quiet, the nurses might not even notice and, after a week or two, they'd forget he was ever there.
That's what he'd do. Be real-1-1-1 sneaky quiet like them TV Indians. Maybe lift a few scalps on the way out. That made Joseph smile, lying in his bed, looking at the ceiling. Lift the television set, more like it. Be nice to have down there in the Glades. Be nicer if he had electricity, too, but who could say he wouldn't stumble upon a nice little generator some day? And it was best to be prepared. Besides, Tuck had electricity at his place, and that's where he'd be living. Tuck hadn't invited him, but they both knew that's what was going to happen if Joseph made it out.
Joseph snuck into the room across the hall to watch another eerie sunset—he'd never seen the sky so strange, and he was convinced it was one of those earth signs his grandfather had told him about. Maybe the sky was telling him not to linger. The fiery clouds could mean it was getting late. Or maybe it was telling him to take that television set. Hard to say. Joseph returned to his bed to wait for darkness, but he drifted off to sleep. He would probably have slept right through if it wasn't for a dream he had, a strange dream in a world of burning sky and white celestial light in which his grandfather smiled at him, sitting behind the wheel of a shiny convertible, maybe a Cadillac. Which made no sense—his grandfather had preferred Chevys. What made less sense was that the passenger door was open, as if he expected Joseph to get in with him.
You telling me to go ahead and die, Grandpa?
Nope. Tellin' you to get in the damn car. You already dead.
Joseph sat up with a start, breathing heavily in the darkness. He'd had a dream . . . then he couldn't quite remember what had happened in the dream. Something about dying, and there had been a lot of white light. There was a nice car in the dream, too. But then Joseph remembered he planned to escape that night, and he didn't think about the dream anymore. He swung out of bed.
He got down on his hands and knees and found the bottle of water Tuck had given him, and he emptied it with a long drink.
Tastes good, he thought. Sulphury, like a bay smells.
He also found his deerskin boats and black roper's hat. He put them on, feeling the soft leather, grinning at the weight of his old hat. But that was all he had to wear. They'd taken his clothes, and now he wished he'd asked that nice aide, Marjorie, for clothes rather than snuff and chocolate. Should have asked her to bring a pair of her gentleman friend's golfing trousers and one of those sweaters with baggy arms like Arnold Palmer wore. That woulda been nice, but it was too late now. And he couldn't hitchhike to Mango wearing a damn gown that flopped open and showed his butt.
Joseph stood in the darkness, thinking. Then suddenly it came to him. He knew where to find clothes. Well, sort of. The orderlies had locked him in the rest home's big storage locker once, and he knew just where to go. He slid out into the hall, looking this way and that, moving quietly through the shadows. He could hear lone voices coming from some of the rooms, crazy babbling. Could hear the television turned up loud downstairs, which meant the fat nurse was probably sitting there eating candy. Could also hear the bong-bong that meant someone had pressed their call button, wanting help from the orderlies. Which was bad. Joseph swung around and saw the light flashing over the door of his own room— that damn little bright-eyed bastard trying to get him in trouble again. He considered going back; maybe wrap the IV tube around the little jerk's throat. But no, he didn't have time. He had to hurry.
Joseph shuffled along, almost running. The storage room was behind the double doors at the end of the hall, and he pulled them open. Inside were boxes of all sorts of stuff, Christmas
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