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A MIRACULOUS JOURNEY WITH THOR AND HISSTORY — CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Thor waded in and out of consciousness as his body healed. Dreaming and waking blurred in his mind groggy from medications. Coming out of a coma confounded the kid who had never been seriously ill. He acquiesced to the perpetual poking and prodding of endless tests without question, the ideal passive patient. Dr. Moshamp delayed until the ventilator’s removal to explain the circumstances of his stroke, but Thor drank the details in silence nonetheless. The only reaction the doctor detected was the widening of his virid eyes. He obligingly spoke his first terse words when the doctor commanded, heard by both the clinical team and constant comrades.

“What’s your name?”

“Thor,” came the soft croak as he cleared his raspy throat.

“What’s mine?”

“Dr. Moshamp.”

“You understand why you’re hospitalized?”

Eyes moistened, Thor murmured, “A stroke.”

“What is your last memory?”

The emerald globes furnished a steady gaze. “An elevator.”

“After that?”

Thor scanned the focused faces intent on his. “This.” Drifting back to sleep, he mumbled, “I will see them all.”

As the drugs departed, the ache entered from the atrophy of disuse and loss of range of motion, an understood ache addressed by physical therapy. The other ache ballooning was beyond the pale of treatment or even mention by Thor. Brutal blows in bursts of alien thought bombarded his defenses in a bombastic barrage. Unable to barricade the cortex blasts, he recollected a painting by Edvard Munch. The Scream depicted a portrait of anguish resembling his own. Into his tailspin of bubbling bewilderment breached one peregrine impulse over the others, as his sentry six marched into the room on the second day following his awakening.

Don’t be off-kilter. I’ll teach you to filter.

Thor popped to attention. Who had read his mind? He scoured the faces greeting him, but turned up empty. None offered a clue.

Why profess when you can guess?

Amid the jocular chatting, Thor reached out. Who are you? Give me a clue.

The rainbow head peered from Stafford’s overcoat. Who do you think? I can’t blink.

Thor whipped his head to the signal source in disbelief, simultaneously engaging in oral conversation alongside this novel mental foray. It’s you, Hisstory?

Finally.

I can speak with a sagacious snake?

Serpent. I prefer precision.

I’m hallucinating, must be the drugs.

Proof for the young; count three flicks of my tongue.

The forked tongue darted in and out, counted thrice by Thor.

Why talk now and not before?

A technicality, not a formality. You couldn’t hear before.

Why not?

Your senses weren’t sufficient; at best they were intermittent.

And now?

You’re ready for my role.

Maybe not.

Don’t be nervous; I’m at your service. Your cathedral of worship is sacrosanct; my intent is ne’er to taint. Neither as a gatekeeper nor a censor, my specialty’s in the role of a mentor.

Impressive. So I picked a talking serpent who doubles as a mentor?

Who picked who at Planet Petstar?

I picked you.

I waited to be picked by you.

You didn’t.

Waited eons.

I’m not eons old.

Waited for your coming a long time, a longer story, to travel with you wherever that leads through the bittersweet of the gory and glory.

If I accept.

Naturally, you have to agree. It’s not a given to bond with me. It’s your choice to hear my voice.

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I hear all voice. I’m a living sponge dripping thought and emotion; I span the gamut; I suffer, I rejoice.

Don’t have a fit; you absorb, not drip. Remember it’s not by chance that you behold the cosmic dance.

The voice of the pendant? You know about that?

You tend the forest of the universal chorus. All the trees you choose to see, true or not?

Thor nodded in assent; Hisstory dipped her head.

Here am I to help you cope with your vast scale and newfound scope. Mind reading has its downside. Tame the torrent belting your blind side. Time will wind this second nature, not an anathema.

The auras have deepened.

In tandem with your amplified senses.

You see them?

I see what you see, your sentinel in synchrony.

You saved my life, didn’t you?

We all saved your life, my friend.

I will see them all.

That you shall.

A flurry of flashes flipped through Thor’s mind. Unlike his visions internal, he cognized the source derived from the external. Bolstered by the bastion boa, the emboldened boy brightened with a puckish grin at the panoramic peep.

May I tell them?

Spill at your will

Hisstory vanished into the undergrowth of Stafford’s coat, as Thor pondered his imminent unveiling. He reckoned his remarkable resurrection might doom him to distinction. Yet, if that were to be, he would helm his agency. Would his life ever be the same, or were his breaths bound and gagged by the brand of his name? Discarding that dread to delve into scenes adrift in his head, he gazed at Svetana seated quietly in the background. Slowly raising his intravenous arm, he gestured to her.

“Come closer, Svetana, sit by my side.”

She protested in a timbre tasty as honey. “Thor – ”

“– Mmm, your voice gained traction.”

She flushed. “My voice?”

“C’mon, please. I’ve something to share; you’re too far over there.”

Her blush darkened at his beckoning. Still, she moved her chair forward until his radiant eyes sparkled into hers. “You were splendid at the rally.”

Svetana glanced at the group, chiding in a stutter. “You g-guys promised.”

The gentle tenor of Thor’s voice eclipsed the chorale of denials. “No one told me; I watched.”

A curious look crept over her flustered face as Thor’s hand grazed against hers affectionately. “Oh.”

Ruslan was quick to broach the question crossing their multiple minds. “How?”

The small head peeked with a fervent hiss to set the record straight. Eyes darted to the serpent who faced their forum flicking her tongue.

“Hisstory beat me to it,” smiled Thor.

“Copasetic!” Kyle burst out laughing, then quickly clapped his mouth.

Stafford joined in, “Ever a dynamite duet!”

Theogen added, “Why am I not surprised?”

Ruslan poked his ponderings. “Did she fill in the blanks missing in your memory?”

Dov rebuked Ruslan with his jabbing elbow, “Why sarcastic?”

Ruslan refuted. “Why judgmental? I’m serious.”

Thor interjected, “Ruslan is serious, Dov. His question is valid. No blanks were filled. Maybe one of you…” His voice trailed off, his focus waning, but Ruslan, Dov, and Kyle felt a palpable pierce from his penetrating orbs. Combing the six faces, he muttered drowsily, “What are you hiding?” Exchanging glances, the three boys blanched until Thor beamed at Theogen, smacking his lips, “Ah, Mrs. Kinchell’s chocolate chips? I saw her at the rally. How is she doing?”

Theogen produced a package with a fancy bow, chuckling, “Well enough to bake a batch and visit you soon. She’ll be walking in a few days.”

Offering the cookies, Thor munched on one, speaking between bites, “This is surreal. I left her side to get a snack and wound up here.”

“You don’t recall anything?” quizzed Ruslan gingerly.

“Nothing.”

Dov was philosophical. “Maybe it’s better not to remember.”

What lapse was lost in the amnesia of his stroke, would he reclaim it anon? Thor bemoaned with a plaintive sigh. “I feel like a chunk of my life disappeared.”

“What matters is you didn’t,” emphasized Kyle.

“Hiss,” agreed Hisstory, voicing her view along with the rest.

Throughout the day, Thor marveled at the transforming auras in a dance on display. The soothing greens emitted by the hospital staff complemented the vibrant violets of his bedrock brace, whose formidable fortress of fortitude had flanked him from his crossroads coma nadir to his breath awakened zenith. He strove to understand their significance, not merely log their prismatic attributes. Novelty struck wherever he tread, each step awash with watershed. Though dusted forlorn, he felt reborn and was dogged not to mourn his former self.

The fidelity fellowship remained until Thor faded into an evening slumber, his hand outstretched in resigned farewell. Dov, the last to depart, turned back to grip it.

“Where’s Dov?” asked Kyle, looking round when the company landed at the elevators. “He was right behind me when we left Thor.”

“There he is,” pointed Svetana, spotting Dov turn a corner, coming toward them.

“What’s the matter?” questioned Kyle upon Dov’s approach.

Observed Ruslan, “You look dazed.”

Dov stiffened. “Drowsy,” he corrected. “Spelled tired and hungry. Aren’t you?”

Theogen agreed, “Long day, gents. Let’s eat, sleep, and return refreshed tomorrow.”

Stafford concurred, “We won’t rest easy until Thor’s home. Vigilant must we be.”

They parted ways, Theogen and the boys heading to the Institute, Stafford and Svetana to the Museum.

Ruslan, Dov, and Kyle ate isolated from the others in the dining hall. In the midst of their conversation, Dov pushed back his plate.

“What’s going on? Out with it.”

Befuddled Kyle burbled, “Nothing’s going on.”

“Then why the stares?”

“Stares?”

“At the hospital, here as we eat, you keep staring at me. What gives?”

“To be clear, Kyle’s not staring at you. I am,” declared Ruslan frankly. “You lost your limp.”

“My limp? Since when is my limp on your radar?”

“Since it vanished.”

“Why are you monitoring my limp?”

“Why are you so defensive?”

“Because you’re offensive, attacking my disability.”

“Your past tense disability.”

“You’re no scholar on the subject.”

Arbiter Kyle threw in a mitigating diversion. “I’m primed for dessert. Join me?”

The youths grabbed extra helpings, their appetites reset to normal, and resumed eating.

“He’s right, Dov. It’s obvious. Your limp’s gone, plus your posture has straightened. You look taller.”

Dov lambasted a querulous allegation at Kyle. “Manipulator, siding with him!”

“I’m not siding with anyone, but neutral seeking the truth. You did look dazed at the hospital when you met us at the elevator. Retrace your steps. What delayed you? Think back. You left Thor and then what?”

“You guys are obsessed about nada. I shook his hand and trailed you out, period.”

The trio ceased eating at once, registering the data – and the causal connection implication.

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