get over it. Occasionally, poking the bear was the only thing that made life worth living. Paula draped a leg over her knee and tugged up her skirt to reveal a bit of veined ankle, then dropped it back when she saw something akin to revulsion ripple across Lacey’s face.
“Relax child,” she told her smiling. “You’ll seldom have to witness anything so horrific. We all wear our make-up, and cover ourselves out of respect for our community.” Then she added in a lowered voice, “But, if you think that was bad, you should see a Hatchet.”
Lacey sat back, her eyes glazing, her hands laying lifeless in her lap. Paula was afraid she might have broken the girl. It was easy to do with a newborn. Maybe the leg-shot had been a bit much.
Doctor Paula could never resist a silver lining. She leaned in with a twinkle in her eye, and remarked, “I imagine you are glad that I made you a Bellwether now.”
The girl sat back in her chair and looked out over the crowd with new eyes. Her world had been twisted into a pretzel on her second day, and if the memories were to be believed, she had many, many more days to come.
Jessilyn, October 7th
“And you did this how again?”
Jess put a hand to her face to hide her embarrassment from Doctor Crispin, who was busily suturing the tip of her finger. Two stitches. Not bad. But, she didn’t care for the smirk on the good doctor’s face. She also didn’t care for the country music spilling out of the radio on the counter. It was her belief that anybody who could get weepy over a pick-up truck just didn’t get relationships.
“Like I said,” she explained through red cheeks, “I had my finger in the wrong place … at the wrong time … and there was a guy.”
“Oh, there was a guy .”
“You know, the doctors at the Immediate Care clinic in my neighborhood don’t chit-chat.”
“What do the doctors in your neighborhood do?” asked the doctor.
Jess’ smart-ass radar was pinging. “They do their job with a minimum of fuss and a maximum of professionalism.”
“The doctor seemed to consider this.
“Yeah, I can’t do that,” she said. “I have this bedside manner just oozing out of my pores.”
“You’re oozing something alright,” muttered Jess.
The doctor tied the last suture with a flourish. “There we go. How’s that?”
“It’s like I’ve got stitches in my finger.” She crooked her finger a few times to make sure it still worked. “So, are we all done?”
“Not quite.” said the doctor, pulling a roll of gauze from the cabinet. “First, I’m going to wrap up your finger like a kid on a snow day. Then, I’m going to give you a shot.”
The woman seemed to love her job way too much. As the doctor rifled through her cabinet drawers looking for more torture implements, Jess glanced around the room.
The sparkling tile floors and spotless counter tops screamed of OCD, but at least Jess didn’t feel in danger of catching some creeping flesh disease. Judging by the make up of the festival crowd, any number of pathogens might have passed through this place, but the doctor obviously ran a tight ship.
A tan bonnet lay on the end of one counter. The frilly headdress was a staple of the women in Willow Tree; Jess had only seen one woman not wearing one. She wondered if the doctor would get in trouble with the bonnet police if they found out.
Seemed a shame to have to put up all that pretty auburn hair and stuff it under a hideous bonnet, thought Jess. She tried to imagine the doctor with the bonnet covering her head and she got a sudden jolt of deja vu. Had she seen Doctor Crispin before? Maybe on her way into town? She couldn’t recall, but the sensation that this wasn’t their first rodeo together would not go away.
There were a half dozen folding cots arranged side by side along one wall, and Jess tried to imagine the scenarios. Perhaps the excitement of browsing shop after shop of Civil War memorabilia was causing festival goers to
“Relax child,” she told her smiling. “You’ll seldom have to witness anything so horrific. We all wear our make-up, and cover ourselves out of respect for our community.” Then she added in a lowered voice, “But, if you think that was bad, you should see a Hatchet.”
Lacey sat back, her eyes glazing, her hands laying lifeless in her lap. Paula was afraid she might have broken the girl. It was easy to do with a newborn. Maybe the leg-shot had been a bit much.
Doctor Paula could never resist a silver lining. She leaned in with a twinkle in her eye, and remarked, “I imagine you are glad that I made you a Bellwether now.”
The girl sat back in her chair and looked out over the crowd with new eyes. Her world had been twisted into a pretzel on her second day, and if the memories were to be believed, she had many, many more days to come.
Jessilyn, October 7th
“And you did this how again?”
Jess put a hand to her face to hide her embarrassment from Doctor Crispin, who was busily suturing the tip of her finger. Two stitches. Not bad. But, she didn’t care for the smirk on the good doctor’s face. She also didn’t care for the country music spilling out of the radio on the counter. It was her belief that anybody who could get weepy over a pick-up truck just didn’t get relationships.
“Like I said,” she explained through red cheeks, “I had my finger in the wrong place … at the wrong time … and there was a guy.”
“Oh, there was a guy .”
“You know, the doctors at the Immediate Care clinic in my neighborhood don’t chit-chat.”
“What do the doctors in your neighborhood do?” asked the doctor.
Jess’ smart-ass radar was pinging. “They do their job with a minimum of fuss and a maximum of professionalism.”
“The doctor seemed to consider this.
“Yeah, I can’t do that,” she said. “I have this bedside manner just oozing out of my pores.”
“You’re oozing something alright,” muttered Jess.
The doctor tied the last suture with a flourish. “There we go. How’s that?”
“It’s like I’ve got stitches in my finger.” She crooked her finger a few times to make sure it still worked. “So, are we all done?”
“Not quite.” said the doctor, pulling a roll of gauze from the cabinet. “First, I’m going to wrap up your finger like a kid on a snow day. Then, I’m going to give you a shot.”
The woman seemed to love her job way too much. As the doctor rifled through her cabinet drawers looking for more torture implements, Jess glanced around the room.
The sparkling tile floors and spotless counter tops screamed of OCD, but at least Jess didn’t feel in danger of catching some creeping flesh disease. Judging by the make up of the festival crowd, any number of pathogens might have passed through this place, but the doctor obviously ran a tight ship.
A tan bonnet lay on the end of one counter. The frilly headdress was a staple of the women in Willow Tree; Jess had only seen one woman not wearing one. She wondered if the doctor would get in trouble with the bonnet police if they found out.
Seemed a shame to have to put up all that pretty auburn hair and stuff it under a hideous bonnet, thought Jess. She tried to imagine the doctor with the bonnet covering her head and she got a sudden jolt of deja vu. Had she seen Doctor Crispin before? Maybe on her way into town? She couldn’t recall, but the sensation that this wasn’t their first rodeo together would not go away.
There were a half dozen folding cots arranged side by side along one wall, and Jess tried to imagine the scenarios. Perhaps the excitement of browsing shop after shop of Civil War memorabilia was causing festival goers to
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