Sunday, July 19, 2015
Depression coddled me as my seeing-eye walker assisted. Slow as I moved, my humiliated spirit dragged behind like a long banner of toilet paper clinging to a shoe sole. I was torn between feeling comforted by the familiar yet mournful mood, one shared by so many of my displaced ancestors, and wanting to lash out at helplessness.
Looking at the bed, I wanted to smash at it with the trusty and mobile saw horse known as a walker, in my case a hobbler. The prostrate mattress only added to the evidence mounting against me which confidently stated I was nothing more than a skin-wrapped burden.
“How will poor Daisy sleep while I grump and grumble, moan, groan, and sigh all night?” I wondered.
The air, warm and stuffy from closed windows, suggested I lay on the covers. I wanted the ceiling fan on but was already sitting on the edge of the bed. As if reading my mind, I heard Daisy walking toward the bedroom. I thought it was Daisy.
From my side of the bed I could see part of the living room and the dresser mirror at the same time. His Favorite Gal’s image quickly passed the doorway. It sure looked like Gal only her hair was styled like Daisy’s. I held a breath in reserve just in case.
In my peripheral vision I saw the reflection of Clay in the mirror. Still holding my breath, I looked directly at it and focused hard until it morphed into me. Relieved, I exhaled a gush of sweaty air. At the same time, the sore beneath my tongue sizzled and hissed as if a cherry-red branding iron had been inserted.
“YeeOwie!” I shouted.
Reviled, my tongue tried escaping and grabbed at the uvula for support. Failing, it settled back into place and the burning was gone. I felt a particle of something pinched against my gum. Cooperative, my tongue took action and rolled the tiny object upward where I managed to retrieve it with my finger and thumb. Jovee’s act of putting it in my mouth stayed hidden from me.
“What’s wrong?” asked Daisy, rushing into the room at the sound of my quirky siren.
Jerking free of dreariness I said, “Looky here babe. What the hell is this? I don’t have my reading glasses and you have good sight. Can you see what this is?” I asked, holding the tip of my finger up for her.
Daisy, looking intently at the glassy spec on my fingertip, changed her expression from puzzled to ecstatic.
“By golly, she came through for us,” said Daisy.
“Who did what now?” I asked. “Anyway, that little bastard of a thing felt like it caught fire under my tongue then went out, or came out rather. Remember me pointing out the sore to Dr. Jumpy? That is what was causing it. So, who came through for who and what connection has that to this?”
“Gimme!” said Daisy.
She took the grain of crystal from the pool of spit on my finger and a slimy thread fought to keep the treasure for itself. With it on her finger tip, Daisy held it high, gave four victory whoops, bowed her head and prayed.
Incredulous, I demanded, “Who are you?!
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