Thursday, September 10, 2015

September 10


6 comments:

  1. “Hi, Julia. Nice evening, isn’t it?”

    “Oh, hi, Nick. What are you doing here?”

    I slump my shoulders forward and give her my best sad-puppy-dog eyes. “My friend said to meet her for a drink and to talk, but she’s not home.” Oh, so sad am I. Not.

    “That’s too bad,” Julia says, taking in my needy demeanor. “Is she your girlfriend?”

    “Oh, no. We’re just friends from high school,” I explain, waiting for Julia to unlock her front door.

    “I don’t suppose you might want to share some of your yogic wisdom with me over a glass of wine?”

    “You just reminded me, Nick. I left the book in the car,” Julia says in her off-topic sort of way.

    “What book,” I ask after her receding figure. She skips to her car, keys in hand. Her townhouse is still locked. As I stand at her doorstep, surrounded by the random things she dumped on the mat, I grow impatient to get inside.

    Julia, back on the doorstep with book in hand, says, “I’ve got a date with Marilyn’s annotated copy of the Yoga Sutras to read.”

    “Maybe,” I ask as a last-ditch effort, “I can go over some of the text with you?”

    “No, sorry, not tonight. But it was nice to see you, Nick. Goodnight.”

    Argh.

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    1. I love how you're getting into his point of view here. He's come to life and completely read to me.

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  2. I climbed in my car and started it up, grabbed a t-shirt out of the back seat to wrap up my bleeding arm, then dug out my cell phone. I scrolled through my contacts till I found my Dr. I pressed call, and waited.
    "Good afternoon, Dr. Steele's office, a tired voice answered, "can you hold please?"
    Before I could say a word, I was on hold, and instantly annoyed.
    Then, my whole car began to shake.
    "What the hell?" I blurted out, looking around.
    It was that guy again. He had flung himself against the driver door and was clawing at the window. I recoiled in disgust. Blood and slobber were oozing from his gaping mouth.
    "Go away!" I yelled through the glass. Then I threw the Benz in drive, pulled out onto the street.
    With my cell tucked in the crook of my neck, I glanced into the rear view mirror and watched as the guy began to follow my car on foot. As he started into the intersection, a red convertible came out of nowhere, and plowed the guy.
    I probably should've gone back. But, a sudden wave of queasiness came over me. I stifled the urge to puke. Not in the Benz. Puke at the doctors office. Just then, the receptionist came back on the line.
    "Thank you for holding, can I have the last four digits of your social security number, please?"
    "Nine, nine, five,five," I responded.
    "Myron Andras?" she asked.
    "Yes," I answered, "does Dr. Steele have any openings right now?"
    "I'm sorry Mr. Andras, but the doctor is booked solid today," she paused a moment, then continued, "but there's only a fifteen minute wait at our urgent care."
    "Fine," I grumbled, hung up the phone and drove to the doctor's office.
    I parked in the shade, then walked into the urgent care. Fifteen minutes my ass. The waiting room must have had eighty people in it. But, I was there, and the nausea was getting worse, so I walked up to the window, scratched my name on the sign in sheet, then found a nice safe corner to stand in.
    Looking around, it became clear that something was terribly wrong. Nearly everyone had puke bags. A room full of pale, sweaty, pukers. A sour bubble of bile came up in my throat. I swallowed hard, forcing it back down.
    Somewhere, someone dropped something glass.
    "Sir, please calm down!" said a female voice. "Sir! No!"
    The invisible woman let out a shriek. The two ladies behind the reception desk sprung into action, I assume to aide the screaming one. Within seconds, there was all out pandemonium in the urgent care.
    More screams from other voices drifted out into a terrified waiting room.

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    1. Oh the poor zombies. I'm really feeling for that. Great point of view!!

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  3. I guess I didn’t move fast enough. Halfway down the pathway, I heard the door creak open behind me. Pretend you’re deaf, I thought. That trick always worked, and back when Glinda was around, it always put a smile on her face.

    “Hey you!” a voice from the doorway called. It was deeper than I remember Mickey’s voice being.

    I kept shuffling. You’re deaf, Gaither. No talking.

    “Get back here!”

    I heard one or two steps before I felt a hand grab my shoulder and force me to turn around. At this point, I knew it certainly wasn’t Mickey. A gentleman of about six four faced me with a smoldering look in his eyes.

    “How could you do that to her?”

    “Do what?” I asked. I gazed at the gentleman’s face. He only had a few crows feet. His cheeks were rosy as though he’d just been kissed. Not only that, he had all his hair! Mickey had obviously scored big if this gentleman was chasing after her.

    “I saw what you did. Those weren’t your flowers to destroy!”

    “I didn’t destroy anything,” I said, “At least, nothing I wouldn’t expect to see others do.”

    “Those were for her,” the gentleman grabbed my wrist and squeezed.

    “I know they were, boy,” I said, swinging my arm down until his grip broke. “I’m not stupid!” It was then that I saw the slightly green tennis balls of Mickey’s walker. Taz’s tail began to wag, but he didn’t make way to get up.

    The gentleman’s lips compressed together. He let out a grunt as his finger made way towards my nose. “You better leave now before I do something you’ll regret.”

    “You don’t give roses to a lady,” I said, pointing my own finger over his. It shook a little bit, but that was my best trigger finger back in the day. The gentleman’s eyes moved with my finger, following it even as it shook. Had I not wanted to clobber the boy, I would have laughed. “unless you’re expecting to get something in return.”

    The gentleman mumbled, “You have no right to be on this property, so get out of here.”

    I huffed and straightened up my coat, “You couldn’t pay me to stay here with a punk like you around.” Taz barked a bit as I shuffled back toward the cart. The gentleman threw his shoulders forward, although his polo shirt didn’t move an inch.

    “Who does something like that?” I asked Taz as I got back in the cart. I had intended to stop by Dewey’s garage to chat about cars, but I was too mad by the time I reached the cart that I just decided to go home instead.

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    1. I love Gaither. I love the language choice-- the voice. You're really capturing him!

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