You Can’t Play Baseball in a Straightjacket

You Can’t Play Baseball in a Straightjacket

I was overseas seeing relatives, when, one day in my leisure, it was proposed to me that I should join my uncle for work. Now, the idea was my uncle's own, but he assured me it would be worth my while, being that he worked in a mental asylum. I took that as a slight, nevertheless, I obliged. I'd been staying at a madhouse already, respectively, my grandma's, where all my aunts and uncles resided, (it's a traditional thing). I figured myself groomed for the occasion.

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But there was no recreating that which was found behind those walls. The smell alone was unique to say the least, and the actions of those producing it, well, they could be equally described as not polite/irrational. You can say I was taken aback, (I wanted to go back). "Keep calm," my uncle said, "they can sense your fear." I bought it, and why wouldn't I, until he burst out laughing, taking the piss.

He was all too used to the environment, and wasn't worried a bit. Then he remembered something he wanted to show me. He took me to where they all congregated, "the banquet hall for the mentally insane and deranged." We went to this one patient, sat all by himself, withdrawn, as if he had better things to do than freely smear his own feces all over the walls.

My uncle told me that supposedly that guy used to work for the CIA, but they made him swallow a pill that wiped his memory and incapacitated him. Despite this, however, he still possessed some of what he'd picked up out on the field, namely, speaking a variety of languages. One of which was English.

Intrigued, but with his speculations, my uncle wanted to test him. And being that I was the only one that spoke English, he figured he'd get to the bottom of it by having me talk to the guy, "you know, feel him out-" his words, not mine. I didn't really have a choice, I sat down across from him, and at that point, it was like we were just feeding into this crazy guy's delusion, one my own uncle was buying.

Ironically, though, it did feel a lot like an interrogation. There was no small talk, I was asking questions, trying to put all the pieces together, every so often, looking over at the captain, played by my uncle, as if to say, "nope, no new information, cheif." All the while, I'm thinking, "why won't this guy talk!" I mean the answer was obvious, the guy was a loony.

So, nothing happened, and we pretty much concluded that the story was all make-believe. Case closed, or so we thought. I, for one, have since reconsidered, because not long after our tampering, that guy disappeared without a trace. And all his files on record: gone. As far as the hospital was concerned, it was as if he'd never been.

Now, one may say: maybe he was just transferred to another asylum. I thought so myself, but being that mental asylums were so few and far between in that part of the world: trading a guy out like it was the minor leagues seemed highly unlikely, (plus you can't play baseball in a straightjacket).

What I think happened, (and this is only an opinion): is that that guy knew something, and whatever it was, someone really wanted him to keep his mouth shut about it.💀 As for my uncle, well, he doesn't work at the asylum anymore, and although he has his reservations about what really happened, he says he doesn't know any more than I do, but that he doubts we'll ever hear of the secret agent man ever again.

The End

Submitted March 11, 2019 at 02:10PM by RameeSumrein

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