What a beautiful day to get out of work early. I left at 2 p.m. Turned the radio on. Parked at the (already) packed parking lot of the school. Went up the old stone steps. There was my lovely daughter waiting for me. I signed her out. I met her track coach on the way out and chatted for a minute.
We took our time and stopped to get my daughter her favorite cheeseburger at BK. I wasn't hungry, just thirsty. I listened as she told me about her day. After, we got back in the car and turned north.
Oh, wasn't it just a beautiful day for a drive? Where would we go? The park, maybe? No, not this time. What a waste of beautiful sunshine. Ironic sunshine. So damaging that sunshine. So damning.
About forty minutes later we arrived in the parking lot. We were just a little bit early. We had chatted about nothing in particular on the way up. Just avoiding THE subject. How was school, how was track, homework, and friends.
"Can we just sit in the car for a few minutes? I want to do my homework." she asked me.
"Sure. No problem." I said.
We checked out all the nice vehicles. We were in a ritzy part of town. Everyone was driving brand new shiny SUV's or huge pick-up trucks. As if there was not a petrol crisis going on in the world.
Looking up at them as I sat in my little Honda Civic, I realized that if my car and they were in a head-on collision, there would be very little chance of our survival. They would probably come out with a bent fender.
My daughter and I would be wearing their grill on our faces for our funeral. It used to be only the strong survive. Well, I guess that is true - they who have the strongest vehicle. Maybe it is only the rich survive, now. Only the most expensive cars have the safest air bags.
We finally went inside the office. There were three others waiting before us. We grabbed a magazine and sat in silence. The door opened.
(To myself) ."No, not yet."
They called another name. We continued to read in silence.
The door opened again. (me to myself again). "No, no. Please no."
They called another name. There was one boy left in the room and me and my daughter.
A little while later the door opened again.
(me cringing) "Please, please."
The boy retreated behind the door. I began to relax. We had emptied out the waiting room. It was just she and I. I showed her an article I was reading and we began to laugh and carry on. The nurses just shook their heads at us.
The door finally opened. I knew this time we were out of options. The waiting room was empty except for us. We had been scheduled to fill two spots instead of one visit. We walked back the long hallway into the little room.
The room with an overhead spot light, needles, surgical antiseptics, cotton balls, scalpels, surgical thread and fear. She shed her hoodie, baby doll tee and sports bra. All black. It's the age. She put on the flimsy, barely there hospital gown. She handed me her clothes. They were so warm from her body heat.
The next thirty minutes was a series of amicable chatter. More like nervous banter from the doctor, I guess. She is a chatty one, I'll give her that. She was admiring my daughter's earrings. Long, dangly, silver ones. She said that my daughter sure was a fashionable one.
The doctor said, "They were all impressed with your Halston dress and the people that you knew at Elaine's"
I said, "Billy Joel."
Whew. I could keep up with her. We could relate. She is a very nice doctor. No male doctor would recite words to a song that I knew. That is a certain fact. It was pretty smooth sailing after that.
My daughter said she wasn't in much pain at all. They stitched her up, she dressed and we were homeward bound. Heading south on the Interstate. As the sun disappeared below the horizon, the cooler air seeped in around us. I turned the heater on. It was getting chilly.
Coming from the speakers: Little Bitty Pretty One by Thurston Harris
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