Inbox Insanity

Many of the handful of people who read this blog know who John Van Vleet is, while a few of you may not. I realize that I'm probably overestimating my readership by describing it by using terms such as "handful" and "few" but they were the best I could come up with, so bear with me here.

John was an intern when I worked in minor league baseball. John lived on the outfield berm in a tent for the entirety of the minor league baseball season. When you consider that this means John lived in a tent in Florida during the summer, this is no small feat. This probably gives you some sense of how nuts John actually is. Though, to be truthful, this nugget does no justice to the overwhelming depths of John's insanity. I don't mean this as an insult towards John in any way. John isn't "unabomber crazy", though we all had our doubts when he moved out to Montana. John's more like the "Hunter S. Thompson genius/completely insane" kind of crazy. How else do you describe somebody who brought things into our lives such as "The Corey Dillon Song" (You can't stop Corey Dillon. Corey Dillon knows that you're comin'!...to be sung while running the ball with Dillon during Madden), "The Coke Penguin" and of course the classic Van Halen cover "Right Meow" (with accompanying illustration)? A smarter more learned man may have a better way to describe someone like John (sexual predator?). However, I, am not that man, so I'll just stick with genius level insane.

What's the point of all this? There isn't one really, other than to introduce the author of the short story that apeared in my inbox this morning. A short story that actually made me glad that I came into work today. Though to be truthful, that feeling wore off pretty quickly. Anyway, without further ado I present to you the second entry to John's new blog, Dikembe Mutombo, M.D.:

Episode 2- Operation: Operation


Dikembe sits at his desk, gigantic angular head in his gigantic sprawling hands, listening to a mixed CD of Cyndi Lauper's greatest hits and staring at the small brown picture frame to his left. The room is dark except for the small lamp behind the frame, and through his fingers, Dikembe stares at the image captured beneath the pane of dusty glass, mingling with the shadows and darkness of the room.

In the photo, two young boys, their rib cages covered by only a thin layer of fly-bitten skin, sit with their legs crossed, hovering over a red and yellow board game. One is smiling, the other holding a pair of tweezers.

"Hey, you set the time for the Alderman surgery?" Dr. Harris says, walking briskly into the room, breaking the silence that blanketed the office. "And why the hell is it so dark in here?"

Surprised by the intrusion and the question, Dikembe glances up
quickly and mutters, "You say Yusef?" Harris balks, raises his eyebrows and says, "Lay off the blow, Deke. I asked if you set the date for the Alderman surgery."

"Alderman, early morning," Mutombo says. "Early."

A takeout box of tempura chicken sits uneaten on the floor, the smell of Chinese food mixes with the sterile, bleach smell of the hospital. "It smells like someone boiled a bunch of your dirty underwear," Harris says. "Skidmarks and all."

Walking around the desk, Harris nearly steps on the white styrofaom box and
asks, "You gonna eat this chicken?"

"No hungry."

"Deke, you seriously look like hell," Harris says. "What's going on?"

Mutombo slams down the picture frame, looking up quickly at his colleague.
"Get out," he says. "And take damn tempura chicken with you."

Harris reaches down, spills some rice on the floor as he grabs the
chicken, and walks out silently, shutting the door behind him. Dikembe
puts his head on his arms, turns off the light, and lets out a deep breath.

Just outside the office, Harris runs into Sandy, who is leaving for the night.

"Sandy, do you know anything about someone named Yusef?" he asks. "I think Deke is going crazy."

"He mentioned Yusef?" she asks hurriedly. "What did he say?"

"Nothing in particular. I asked if he had set the time for a surgery, and he asked me about Yusef."

Sandy rubs her hands together nervously, her dark brown eyes darting around the hallway. "Yusef was..."

Mutombo's door opens and his massive body lumbers out, his head ducking under the frame as he steps into the hallway.

"...My brother."

"I didn't know you had a brother, Deke," Harris says apologetically.

"He die as kid," Mutombo says softly. "We play game
of Operation all the time in village. Listen to Cyndi. Beside kill wildabeasts, our only fun."

Harris and Sandy look at Mutombo's weathered face as he speaks, a three-day growth of facial hair interrupting his leathery skin.

"One day, all Yusef have left Charley Horse to win," he says. "We play with guy who live in shanty next to ours. Yusef just take out Water on Knee and guy get mad, he want win. Yusef take out Charley Horse and yells 'Victory!' Guy push him over, take Charley Horse and shove it in his mouth. Yusef start choke. I try to help him, try to save him, but fail. Yusef die in my
arms, make me want to become doctor. Me have to go."

Sandy and Harris watch as Dikembe walks down the hallway and out the door. They trade glances and Sandy begins to walk away.

"Wait! You knew about Yusef? Harris says. "Why didn't you tell me?"

She turns, looks to the floor and says "It wasn't my place. It wasn't my place."

Two blocks away from the hospital, Mutombo's jet blackVolkswagen Passat pulls into the parking lot of his favorite bar. He chugs the last bit of the pint of rum he stashes in his glove compartment and walks to the door. Swinging open the large, wooden door, Dikembewalks in to his home away from home and yells his customary greeting.

"Who wants to sex Mutombo tonight?"