All aboard that train. Thinkstock
Ever since Ronald moved into the Marrakesh Country Club, he couldn’t get that one Graham Nash song out of his head. His mind rode the lines, circling on an endless loop to nowhere as he attempted to go about his activities.
Don’t you know we’re riding on the Marrakesh Express? We are going to Marrakesh!
It was enough to make anyone insane. He asked the nurse for different meds.
“Is something hurting?” she asked.
“That’s normal,” she said, “Give it a couple days.”
We’re ooooooooon a train! We’re ooooooooon a train!
Why couldn’t he have any other CSN song coursing through his brain? He fought to remember the words to Guinevere, but nothing materialized over the doo doo doo doo doo ringing in his ears.
He sought help from Natasha, the resident hypnotist. She visited Ronald from her apartment in the cabana suites.
“Count down from ten to one, sinking deeper and deeper into relaxation with each breath.”
When he fell asleep on seven, she shook him awake.
“Maybe you should try actually listening to the song,” she said, “That always seems to work for me.”
Ronald requested the song at dinner that night, but the DJ said it was Marrakesh Country Club policy to only play easy-listening soul music and smooth jazz. He stared into his plate of spaghetti at a loss.
We’re ooooooooon a train! We’re ooooooooon a train!
Unable to fall asleep and no closer to blasting the insistent chime from his brain, Ronald rolled out of bed and into the night. Wandering across the golf course with his slippers on and robe billowing in the wind, he screamed. He screamed and screamed until his voice gave out and he heard nothing but his own animal cries echoing back. The last “fuuuuuck” came back a whisper.
Then quiet.
Ronald lay down in the damp grass, afraid of waking the beast.
