Forrest Gump by Winston Groom

go on over to the tensive care ward to see Dan, but when I git there, his cot is empty, an the mattress all folded up an he is gone. I am so scarit somethin has happen to him, an I run to fine the orderly, but he ain’t there either. I seen a nurse down the hall an I axed her, “What happen to Dan,” an she say he “gone.” An I say, “Gone where?” an she say, “I don’t know, it didn’t happen on my shif.” I foun the head nurse an axe her, an she say Dan been flown back to America on account of they can take better care of him there. I axed her if he is okay, an she say, “Yeah, if you can call two punctured lungs, a severed intestin, spinal separation, a missing foot, a truncated leg, an third degree burns over haf the body
okay
, then he is jus fine.” I thanked her, an went on my way.
    I didn’t play no ping-pong that afternoon, cause I was so worried bout Dan. It come to me that maybe he went an died, an nobody want to say so, cause of that bidness bout notifying nex of kin first, or somethin. Who knows? But I am down in the dumps, an go wanderin aroun by mysef, kickin rocks an tin cans an shit.
    When I finally get back to my ward, there is some mail lef on my bed for me that finally catch up with me here. My mama have sent a letter sayin that our house done caught on fire, an is totally burnt up, an there is no insurance or nothin an she is gonna have to go to the po house. She say the firebegun when Miss French had washed her cat an was dryin it with a hair dryer, an either the cat or the hair dryer caught afire, an that was that. From now on, she say, I am to send my letters to her in care of the “Little Sisters of the Po.” I figger there will be many tears in the years to come.
    They is another letter addressed to me which say, “Dear Mister Gump: You has been chosen to win a bran new Pontiac GTO, if only you will send back the enclosed card promising to buy a set of these wonderful encyclopedias an a updated yearbook every year for the rest of your life at a $75 per year.” I thowed that letter in the trash. What the hell would a idiot like me want with encyclopedias anyway, an besides, I can’t drive.
    But the third letter is personally writ to me an on the back of the envelope it say, “J. Curran, General Delivery, Cambridge, Mass.” My hans is shakin so bad, I can hardly open it.
    “Dear Forrest,” it say, “My mama has forwarded your letter to me that your mama gave to her, and I am so sorry to hear that you have to fight in that terrible immoral war.” She say she know how horrible it must be, with all the killin an maimin goin on an all. “It must tax your conscience to be involved, although I know you are being made to do it against your will.” She write that it must of been awful not to have no clean clothes an no fresh food, an all, but that she do not understand what I mean when I wrote about “havin to lie face-down in officer shit for two days.”
    “It is hard to believe,” she say, “that even
they
would make you do such a vulgar thing as that.” I think I could of explained that part a little better.
    Anyhow, Jenny say that “We are organizing large demonstrations against the fascist pigs in order to stop the terrible immoral war and let the people be heard.” She go on bout that for a page or so, an it all soundin sort of the same. But I read it very carefully anyway, for jus to see her hanwritin is enough to make my stomach turn flip-flops.
    “At least,” she say at the end, “you have met up with Bubba, and I know you are glad to have a friend in your misery.” She say to give Bubba her best, an add in a p.s. that she is earnin a little money by playin in a little musical band a couple of nights a week at a coffeehouse near the Harvard University, an if ever I get up that way to look her up. The group, she say, is called The Cracked Eggs. From then on, I be lookin for some excuse to get to Harvard University.
    That night I am packin up my shit to go back