Budgie

         The heat wave came as predicted and since it was too uncomfortable to leave the house at night I decided to wade back into the tepid water of the online dating pool. My experiences over the years had grown increasingly depressing as I’d gotten older –it had been two and a half years since my last miserable coffee date- but I was feeling desperate and besides, I had a smart phone now and so had access to a whole exciting world of dating apps I’d never tried. By the time the heat wave lifted I had not had a single person show interest or respond to me. I expected it to be sad but was still taken aback by the deafening silence but I just unhooked my little droid-like air conditioner and, with uncharacteristic optimism, rolled it back into the closet.

        A month ago, I doctor had told me my foot was healed up and I could take the boot off at last, after six long months of hobbling along. Two days later my wound had opened right back up again and I was in worse pain than I’d been before I started seeing him. He had told me to come back in a month, but when the time I came I couldn’t do it. I knew if I went into that office I wouldn’t be able to hold in the rage I had at what an inept, uncaring piece of shit he was. I knew I needed a new doctor –I was in intense pain, and afraid of getting another infection- but I found myself paralyzed. The idea of rolling the dice and picking another doctor at random from the internet –like online dating, come to think of it- was too daunting.

        When I woke up this morning, the sun was blanketed by smoke from the inevitable fires from the North. An eerie golden light fell across the sidewalks and the sun turned the color of stagnant urine. I got out of bed and pain shot up my leg. I looked at my foot and while it didn’t look swollen or red, it seemed somehow more misshapen than usual. My heart started to race; what if I had the infection I’d been dreading? I had been feeling a little off physically the past few days, though at the time I’d chalked it up to the changing weather. Tense with dread, I got online and made an appointment at the urgent care center I’d last visited two summers ago for this same exact problem. It’s a miserable little office but it’s very close to both my apartment and the Safeway where I get my prescriptions filled; I can get there on the streetcar.

        The waiting room there is tiny and so was the doctor. He was very young, I felt like I was talking to a small child. He was nice enough and said he didn’t think it looked too bad but he took a sample and gave me a prescription for antibiotics and the number of the wound care specialists. My foot doctor had never had me go to any wound care, had said he didn’t think it was necessary. As he spoke, I found myself fixated on his shoes. They were very smart brown shoes, and I told him I liked them and asked if they were comfortable. He didn't respond so I just thanked him and went and had breakfast while I waited for my script to be filled. As I was taking the streetcar back to Safeway the doctor called; I was terrified. I was certain he’d got the lab results and was going to tell me to check into the hospital immediately, even though it was Sunday and there was no way he could have gotten them so quickly. 

        Instead he said he’d shared my pictures with the wound care specialists and they had recommended some different dressings I could try; he apologized and asked if I could swing by the office so he could give them to me. I told him I was nearby and twenty minutes later I went back in and undid my dressing (which I had done myself) then watched as he struggled to wrap my misshapen foot with the new dressing, which he kept dropping on the floor. I sighed and told him that if he got a new one, I’d do it myself. He seemed relieved and told me I probably didn’t need to take the antibiotics after all, that they were really just a precaution.

        I left the clinic and resisted the urge to run back into Safeway for a bottle of wine and instead got onto the streetcar to go back home. I felt so drained I could barely stand up, and the afternoon had grown humid and oppressive. After a few stops a guy in a wheelchair hauled himself on to the streetcar. He had no legs below his knees. When I got to my stop, he looked like he wanted to get off seemed confused and disoriented. I asked if he needed the ramp and he said yes so I hit the button and waited as he rolled himself off. “Thanks bro,” he said, his mouth twisted in a snarl of anguish.

        When I got back to my building, I saw a new-looking birdcage filled with supplies sitting in the trash room. A piece of paper on top of it read

GOOD STUFF

BUDGIE DIED FROM HEAT

Please Take Food is Fresh

One of my neighbors walked by and said, “Well that’s fucking depressing.” I agreed and went upstairs and wished I knew what to do about anything.