"In gin lies the answer"
"You're losing your mind, Hawk", if he hadn't been told this a million times, he hadn't been told it once. Not that been told this made any difference. It was nothing new, after all.
Hawk wasn't losing his mind; he'd lost it long before today. Long before the first time he was told he was losing it. Maybe he'd never even had it. Was it even his to lose? Did anybody own their own mind? Like one might own a cup or a house or a book? But not everyone has a cup or a house or a book, so why would everyone own a mind?
Nobody could really be sure. Maybe his thoughts and ideas belonged to all his patients, all the wounded soldiers, that arrived and left again before you got a chance to blink. Maybe he did have one and he just misplaced it.
He didn't need a mind. Not here, not really. It was much easier without. He'd put himself on automatic a long time ago. Sometimes he tried to turn the automatic off but then he would just splutter and stop. He'd give a long speech about nothing and everything at the same time and no one would be any the wiser after. That scared him. He would never admit to this because that scared him even more.
He wasn't sure what he'd done or said this time for someone to remind him again and it didn't really matter. The person who had informed him of this had probably forgotten by now. He was pouring in another gin and drinking it really slowly. As though it might be his last.
The other person gave him a glass and Hawkeye stared at it.
"What? Are you hoping to find the answer to all of life's mysteries?"
"Maybe", he thought. "Maybe it does hold all the answers."
Maybe it was holding his mind.
"You're losing your mind, Hawk", if he hadn't been told this a million times, he hadn't been told it once. Not that been told this made any difference. It was nothing new, after all.
Hawk wasn't losing his mind; he'd lost it long before today. Long before the first time he was told he was losing it. Maybe he'd never even had it. Was it even his to lose? Did anybody own their own mind? Like one might own a cup or a house or a book? But not everyone has a cup or a house or a book, so why would everyone own a mind?
Nobody could really be sure. Maybe his thoughts and ideas belonged to all his patients, all the wounded soldiers, that arrived and left again before you got a chance to blink. Maybe he did have one and he just misplaced it.
He didn't need a mind. Not here, not really. It was much easier without. He'd put himself on automatic a long time ago. Sometimes he tried to turn the automatic off but then he would just splutter and stop. He'd give a long speech about nothing and everything at the same time and no one would be any the wiser after. That scared him. He would never admit to this because that scared him even more.
He wasn't sure what he'd done or said this time for someone to remind him again and it didn't really matter. The person who had informed him of this had probably forgotten by now. He was pouring in another gin and drinking it really slowly. As though it might be his last.
The other person gave him a glass and Hawkeye stared at it.
"What? Are you hoping to find the answer to all of life's mysteries?"
"Maybe", he thought. "Maybe it does hold all the answers."
Maybe it was holding his mind.