Waiting In A Room Pt. II
Dear Cuz,
First, allow me to apologize for holding you in suspense concerning the end of this tale. My identical third cousin Arthur, 'Don't Call Me Art' Dekko's poor old breathing mechanisms went to Dixie last Monday and didn't return until this last Saturday. I stayed over with him at the New Monia Infirmary and Vet Clinic, you know, right there by the Last Step meat processing plant on what they call the loop. It's actually a cul de sac. Anyway, that's my excuse. I don't know why you haven't written me but I forgive you.
When I left you last, Arthur had acquired the necessary paperwork for his Marie (MRI) and we were sent to a staging area called a waiting room. I suppose that is the most describable term as everyone there appeared to be waiting for one thing or another. Now I have spent some time in waiting rooms since poor old Arthur has had so much trouble getting air in and out of his lungs these past few years. You learn things:Who not to sit near and such.
People to avoid are, first and foremost, children. They are little more than high-density packages of all diseases known to man or beast. Furthermore, it is now very popular among parents of these ogres to allow them to 'express ' themselves so they won't accidentally grow up to be a gentleman or a lady. The one I laid eyes on was an urchin with his fist balled up beating his mother on her generous left thigh and shouting at the top of his voice, which, by the way I hope he loses forever, "No! I don't want to!" Repeatedly.
Dear Mom just sat there collecting bruises and placatingly saying "It's OK. Trevor" (Where do soccer moms come up with these names?)
Were it not for judges, courts and lawyers I believe I could start a school for young gentlemen and the world would be a better place for us all, but those days are gone forever.
Very old people . . . Just stay away . . . They'll either tell you about all their aches, pains, operations past and future or they'll just be trying to hack up something from 1967. If that fails to drive you away, they will just talk loudly about things they know nothing of and that are of no interest to you. No pleasantry there. There were quite a few of those specimens thinly scattered about the arena as they don't like to sit near each other, one-upmanship and all. I didn't say they were stupid.
Group three: As far away as possible. Maybe outside if need be. These are the one's that you look at and you can feel that are not long for this world and want you to go hand in hand with them. Don't even make eye contact as the devil may be waiting to score a double.
Evasively, I selected a couple of chairs for myself and Arthur. A tip from Heloise, always take a seat on the end of the row of chairs so no one can sit on at least one side of you. I took the end seat, Arthur next to me. Prepared for a possible long wait I had brought a book titled Do Elephants Jump, Arthur had a map of Crimea that he was dutifully studying. I didn't ask why. I figured it might be like getting into a conversation with one of those old people. Engrossed, I was reading about elephants, of which I know almost as much as the old people think they know. What I learned was that the general consensus is that they do not. It was written that very young 'phants have been observed in this activity and could if provoked—jumpt, I mean. ( Rule # whatever for me is to never provoke elephants, even the baby ones.)
Happily, as one could be sitting in a waiting room reading a book about elephants, I happened to glance up as a lady walked in and took a seat catty cornered to me and Arthur. Let me tell you cousin, God never made a more perfect looking woman. She shared a quick glance with me and picked up a periodical from the stack of thumb worn magazines Redbook, Cosmo or something similar. (Heloise tip # 2.) NEVER read magazines in a hospital waiting room. Disease abounds. I am convinced that most diseases are transmitted through the thumbs. That's why doctors put those magazines out there. Porsche payments guaranteed.
Her skin was ebony. Hair-raven, straight and long. Venus would slink away with back bowed in concession were there a beauty competition with this creature. Being 684 months and 9 days old I swear I've never seen anything like her. Of course like anyone, I always look for the imperfections. Zits, scars, scabs, a stray hair that doesn't belong where it cropped, a mole that looks like a tick hanging off the corner of the lip and such. Not to be found. At any rate I could barely tear my eyes away from her, I just didn't want to get caught staring so I tried concentrating on elephants. She never took her eyes off Redbook, Cosmo, Whatever.
I read the same paragraph over and over about how elephants must keep one foot on the ground at all times until I pretty much knew that by heart, furtively glancing at her beauty now and again. She never noticed my transgressions as she was engrossed in an article concerning relationships or whatever it is they write about in those magazines.
Just about the time I'd decided this was God's perfection, she did it. With a perfect ebony finger, nail painted with a compelling hue indescribable, she started mining. I'm not talking about checking for a possible booger. It was as if she was going in for the mother lode. The treasure of the Sierra Madre, King Solomon's mines, which, by the way, if you've ever read the book there's a chapter on elephant hunting, maybe even Montezuma's hidden treasures of which no elephants were mentioned in any article I've read concerning this cache.
She never took her eyes away from that Better Homes and Gardens (whatever), but her goal had most obviously moved from the left nose trail to the right and was pulsing like that thing in the movie Alien. I'll give her credit for being ambidexterous as she employed the perfect forefinger of her hand that before, had been assigned to page turning, to go in with possibily more vigor than , by now, the near exhausted other one was. She plowed like a 2–year-old mule.
By this time I didn't even try to look away. I was fascinated by the entire scene. I looked around. Nobody saw this but me. Everyone had their head down but the little monster that was still trying to kill his mother and the mother who is by now saying, " Trevor, you're hurting me." To which Trevor could give a rat's behind.
A nurse/receptor came out of a door and says...Pickett?.....Miss Pickett?......Juwanna Pickett?."
God's perfection disengaged her probing device. In a most ladylike manner she returned her magazine to it's designated disease spreading slot and with all the grace and beauty denied most humans disappeared behind the door that nurse/ receptor had called from.
I can only pray that whatever was up in her sinus cavity is now resting peacefully or was cremated on the spot.
I looked over at Arthur who was still turning the map of Crimea this way and that and asked, "What in the heck are you looking for?"
I should have known it all along. He was trying to find that river. Crimea River. He thought we might go give it a paddle someday.
" Arthur? Mr. Dekko? Arthur folded his map and followed the nurse/receptor to his fate.
Your loving cousin,
Reverend Doctor Buck Stonebroke
