Johnson Macmillan was having a very odd day. Not so odd that he found himself doubting reality, but just enough so he couldn't take his mind off of it. His day started out with the radio playing a song at exactly five thirty in the morning, just like every day. Afterwards, like every day, he came downstairs to make a warm cup of breakfast tea and read the newspaper. However on this particular morning his tea tasted off and he found he couldn’t quite focus on the news because of it. Setting it down for later, he took a brief shower and left his small one bedroom flat one half hour early. As he walked out his door he grabbed his driving cap and placed it comfortably on his head, and as he left the building he bid a good morning to a bellman that he’d never met before.
Johnson climbed into his 1948 Series 75 Fleetwood Cadillac and started the engine. The drive took much longer than he remembered, but Johnson made sure he did not take any wrong turn or get lost in thought like he may have wanted to. The length must have just been my imagination, he told himself. Over and over he kept thinking of the tea, he had made it just as he normally does, two sugars and a dash of cream after steeping for three minutes, but it tasted just wrong. More like ashes than tea, he thought.
Johnson parked in his usual parking space, but as he got out of the car and locked it, he found himself staring at a sign that read, DR. JOHNSON MACMILLAN, and in smaller letters under it, PHYSICIAN, which he had never seen or even heard of before. Johnson made a brief excuse that may have sounded like, I just must not have gotten the notice, or rather if you were next to him, all you would have heard was mumbling, as the statement was more for Johnson than anyone else.
Dr. Macmillan, as he always thought of himself in the hospital, walked into the lobby, where a voice from behind him said, Dr. Johnson, I am afraid you are an hour early. Which made no sense to Johnson, as he thought he would be arriving on time due to how long the drive took him added to the full half hour early that he left his flat.
Yes, Johnson said as he turned to see the person speaking to him, I awoke before my alarm. The person, or rather woman, who announced his arrival seemed quite familiar, but she was sitting behind a desk that was very unfamiliar. Typically, when he would walk into the hospital, Johnson would look left to a sitting area for patients and right to a polished wooden desk with a receptionist waiting behind it to clock Johnson in. The receptionist was a man named Gerald. However, this woman was sitting behind a stone and tile desk and her name was most definitely not Gerald. Johnson was beginning to become very upset, not even over the woman or the desk, but over the fact that the desk was behind him and to his left and there was no sitting area at all, also he had been in the building until eleven o'clock last night and there had been no time for such drastic renovations.
What time was I supposed to start? Johnson asked, just for fun.
Well, that’s an odd question.
I’m having an odd day.
Why, 7:30 as usual.
Aha! Johnson exclaimed, I knew something was amiss!
Taken aback, the woman, Samantha, looked frightened. By what do you mean, Johnson? But Johnson was no longer listening, he was thinking about the bellman, and more specifically, about his name-tag. It had read, Gerald. His previous bellman had been named Samuel. He was beginning to doubt coincidence. He was beginning to doubt his sanity. He was not, however, beginning to doubt reality, for Johnson knew he could tell a dream from the real thing.
I apologize for startling you, Johnson said, trying to sound as sane as possible, which made him only seem a little more insane, as I said, I am having an odd day.
I completely understand Dr. Macmillan, Samantha said, her voice slightly wavering. Would you like me to put you in as sick so you can relax at home?
That was an interesting question, Johnson had never used a sick day for anything other than being sick. Yes please, he said, that sounds wonderful.
Okay, you have a great rest of the day.
Johnson had a strange feeling in his stomach, like he was somewhere he wasn’t meant to be. He retained that feeling all the way to his building, where he opened the door and was greeted by Gerald, the bellman. He mumbled something that may have sounded like, Hello again... sick day... Have a nice day... thank you, I hope I feel better too. It may also have sounded like nonsense, but Johnson did not care.
Johnson Macmillan sat on his firm yet comfortable couch and did nothing all day. Only once or twice did he stand up, and only to make a bit of food or use the lavatory. At almost nine thirty in the evening, Johnson went to bed, thinking about his day of the ashy tea, wondering, had he not drank the tea, could he have focused on his news, and gone to work to find a normal hospital, just the way he left it? That night Johnson slept a deep dreamless sleep, and awoke to a song playing over the radio at exactly five thirty in the morning. He recognized the previous day as just a strange dream and made himself a cup of breakfast tea. A cup of tea that tasted all too much like ash.
Johnson Macmillan finished his tea, read his paper and left at the time he always used to leave. As he walked out his door he grabbed his driving cap and placed it comfortably on his head, and as he left the building he bid a good morning to Gerald, the bellman he had met many times before.
