knew a man

I knew a man once. He was a man people could not understand. One day, while fishing, he caught a trout. This was not any trout. The trout that he caught talked to him in his sleep. He was my roommate at the hospital. People did not believe him. They said that he belonged in this hospital. I did not think that he belonged. I liked him. He was my friend.


All the doctors and nurses on the floor of the mental ward watch out for crazy Jamie. His long bout with alcoholism coupled with his schizophrenia made him a man that the orderlies tried to avoid. The medications were of sub-par effect, at least of what the doctors expected. They suspected that he was not taking them, even though the nurses were very watchful of the patients as they imbibed the cup of water to wash down the pills.
He was prone to violent fits of rage, which had broken many of the chairs in the recreation room. No one ever had any real idea what he was ever talking about in his conversations. He constantly carried on a conversation, regardless of whether or not there was anyone around to hear. If anyone was around, the only difference was that he made audible the discourse on whatever he was currently talking about. At the very least, we know that he was never lonely. He seemed to be talking to his old fishing friends most of the time, because somehow he always brought up the subject, even here in the dry Arizona climate. Jamie’s close friends seem to have been partial to trout fishing, as it is the most common subject heard on the floor.