Dave

After my talking to the other day, I take the crutches to my appointment. I still haven’t been using them at work but I’m using them everywhere else. As I’m sitting in the waiting area, I hear the dull thunk of a bell being run again and again. The door glides open on its own and a large man in shorts hobbles out on his cane. I tell him congratulations and he tells me it’ll be my turn soon, huffing as he labors toward the elevator. 

My little subterfuge works, and Shelley praises me for finally following instructions. Both her and New Karen agree that the wound doesn’t look bad, though as I point out to them it’s only my been two days since I was here last. 

Shelley is an especially cheery mood, and tells me about all the money she made at Comic-Con a few weeks ago, where she and her husband sell cosplay props he makes using a 3-D printer. I assume she means swords and shit, but I don’t ask, just incase cosplay props are something more intimate. 

Karen is also in good spirits, and though it’s only been a few days she seems confident as she draws the cutting line on my cast. But as she readies the saw, Dr. Thompson swoops in. 

“I’ll do it,” she says. 

Both her and Shelley are taken aback, and scurry out of her way, even as Vicki and Bridget poke their heads in to watch what is apparently an unusual occurrence. 

“I’ll time you,” Shelley says eagerly, grabbing the digital timer clipped to the globe dispenser. Thompson takes the saw, nudges everyone out of her way, adjusts my leg, readjusts my leg, and turns it on.  “You want it on high?” Shelley asks, gingerly reaches in and presses the correct button. The loud buzzing turns into a roar. 

Richmond cuts while everyone watches like spectators at a sporting event. I ask if they’ve got some kind of contest going but no one answers me over the noise. Fiberglas crumbs fly everywhere. Her cutting is smoother and more even than Karen’s was, but even so, when she’s done she has to go back and redo a few spots, which I can tell irritates her. She wields the cast cracker like Excalibur.

“Oh I love the cracker,” Shelley says.

“Me too,” says Vicki. 

“The cracker’s my favorite part!” yells Jenny from somewhere behind the curtain. 

“Shoot I forgot to time you,” says Shelley.

“I need to remember my earplugs next time,” the doctor says.

The cast comes right off this time. Karen washes my leg, which feels heavenly, then wraps my foot again, with a minimum of input from Shelley, who keeps proudly saying, “Look how good I taught you.”

She does such a good job that Dr. Thompson compliments her profusely. Both she and Shelley are floored. Karen has also prepared the chair and water just the way the doctor likes them. Her surgeon’s cap this week is covered in Egyptian hieroglyphics.

Just as Karen is about to drop the first roll into the water, Vicki calls to the doctor that the ER is on the phone asking for her. “Well that was lucky timing,” Thompson mutters, and leaves to talk to them. She’s gone a while, but try as I might I can’t hear what she’s saying. Someone over the loudspeaker keeps saying, “Testing one, two. Testing one, two, three.”

The doctor returns and pulls on a fresh pair of gloves and Karen drops the roll with a splash. As my foot is being wrapped, Jenny comes in to chat. It’s good to see her; I was too anxious to really catch up with her last one I saw her. I tell her they were pretty rough on me last week. 

“We’re only rough on you because we love you,” she says. 

“All this love is killing me,” I mutter.

As always I ask how the kitties are doing. 

“Oh, good,” she says. “Well, not Poppy. Poppy’s going through a very naughty stage. But Dave is as chill as ever.”

I laugh. “I love that you named your cat Dave. I love cats with non-cat names.”

“Me too,” she says. “Dave is like that guy at the bar you don’t really know but would have a beer with.”

 Karen laughs as well, a pleasant flyover state laugh. 

“I just have a dog,” says Dr. Thompson a bit forlornly. The others gush about how much they love her dog and she perks up a bit. 

Then it’s over, and I’m set free. Though it’s a nuisance, and I don’t think work is happy about it, I’ve resigned to coming back Monday morning, and then Thursday, and then Monday, and then…

It takes me a long time to get up the hill on my crutches. At the bus stop an odd young woman comes and sits next to me.

“Hello,” she says pleasantly.

“Hi,” I say. Her body is oddly put together, like all the parts have been assembled slightly askew.

“How are you?” she asks.

“I’m fine,” I say. “How are you?” She has a pleasant, if sort of lopsided, smile. 

“I’m good,” she says. A few moments pass. “Do you have a cigarette?”

 On the bus sits a huge woman with a soft cat carrier. The cat pokes its head up through a flap, a majestic mane of brown and silver fur.  I profess my admiration an she proceeds to babble on about cats and haunted houses until at last we mercifully reach my stop. As I stand up to get off, I ask her what the cat’s name is and she says Hope.

“I did’t name it though,” she says. “I wanted the Hebrew word for faith but I couldn’t pronounce it. There’s a story of Jesus blessing a blind woman at the…”

I gingerly lower myself off the bus and make my transfer and go home to my own furry companion, my chatty little Olivia, the poor neglected creature wasting away with only half a dish of kibble left to sustain her.