Paramythia

Paramythia (pa-ra-mee’-thi-a): An expression of consolation and encouragement.

“At least you’re still alive. If I had been hit by a FedEx truck, I’d be dead. Soon, you’ll have those tubes out of your arms and the bandage off your head. You’ll be back at work, knockin’ ‘em back at ‘XX Bar’ and hustlin’ the women. You’re a man of steel!” Mike just lay there, his respirator pounding away. He was in a coma with no hope of regaining consciousness. He was the human equivalent of a carrot, albeit, a large one.

What made this so sad was that he had run in front of the FedEx truck to save a kitten directly in the path of the truck. After the accident, I picked up the kitten and took it home. I named it “Barbara Ann” after the early 60s hit song. I bought her a bunch of toys and we would play with them on the kitchen floor. Her favorite was the red plastic spring. She batted it around. I noticed she had a tic in her right eye just like Mike’s. I was drinking scotch one night. It was Mike’s favorite “Iron Kilt.” Barbara Ann jumped up on the table and started lapping up the scotch from my glass. When I played “Journey” she would yowl like she was singing, just like Mike did when he heard “Journey,” but he called it singing.

I started to think that Mike was channeling Barbara Ann from his hospital bed. I went to visit him. He was still in a coma. They didn’t expect him to live another day. I wished him goodbye and went home.

Barbara Ann was sitting on the couch. She spoke to me! “We can be friends for a long, long time—until you die.” It was Mike! I said “What the Fu*k?” Barbara Ann said “Get used to it.” I was certain I was having some kind of nervous break down. I went to see a shaman.

He told me that some attachments are permanent, unless of course, one of the parties “passes away.” He gave me some blue powder to feed to the cat to break our bond forever. It cost $100!

I couldn’t do it. Barbara Ann, AKA Mike, and I are living out the future together. We don’t do much—we mainly play with cat toys and reminisce. We never talk about the FedEx truck. One of our favorite topics is our final spring break—we both got laid under the boardwalk at Seaside Heights, it still ranks as one of the high points of my life, even though I can’t remember the girl’s name.

If Mike dies before me, I’m going to have him stuffed and mounted on wheels like a pull toy.

After I told this story to my sister, I’ve been put under observation. Mike has gone mute to cover my ass. His silence confirms that this is all I joke, as I told the psychiatrist.

Definitions courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu).

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