New patient headed to triage. She asked for a nurse or doctor, then turned around and walked out. Came back a minute later, said she doesn’t feel safe and is kind of sad. Sweet Jesus, who isn’t kind of sad? I wanted to hand her a box of tissues and tell her to get used to it. I chuckled a bit, but I couldn’t help myself. Okay, I laughed so hard I choked on my chips. She didn’t notice, though. Too busy looking behind her, like somebody was going to sneak up on her. I could have been on fire and I doubt she would have looked at me. My guess is meth, and judging by her vampire skin, this ain't her first rodeo.
I melt into the plastic chair positioned across from the young tech as she drops her cell into her purse, something she’s practiced several times. Her eyes move across the off-white linoleum floor and climb up my legs, pausing at every crevice and fold of my body. They finally come to a halt as they run into the bones jutting out of my top. Those are my favorite bones.
Sometimes, I run my fingers over them, to make sure they’re in the right place. Alert and jutting out, little revolvers, the front line of a well planned defensive army. The grotesque is comforting. Each bone strategically positioned like loaded cannons affixed to a rotten landscape. This flesh has been tried too many times to fire a warning shot. No need to carry a weapon…
