walls. My greatest achievements. “No, I'm not sick. Why?”
“I don't
know,” she muddled around for a second longer. “You look sick. I was going to
offer to reschedule your patients if you wanted to go home and rest.”
“I'm
fine,” I snapped, maybe a little too quickly, because her face immediately
softened. “I'm fine, Rebecca. I'm sorry that I snapped. It's been a long day.”
“That's
alright, Dr. Greene,” she said in a voice that told me it wasn't really
alright. But off she went, and I felt, all said, like crap. I'd have to make it
up to her somehow. One of those fruit arrangements, maybe. Or macaroons.
Rebecca liked macaroons.
I leaned
back in my chair, swiveled, then stared at the ceiling. While the lights in
every other part of the office were the same, intrusive fluorescent ones that
you would expect, I had commanded softer, evanescent lights in my office. It
put a greater ease on the patient's shoulders, I found. People respond better
to softer settings. They seem safer.
Eventually
I went dipping in and out of the patients rooms, shaking hands, smiling
politely, scribbling orders and prescriptions. One patient was dealing with a
severe case of heart arrhythmia, but still insisted on running marathons.
Another was dealing with a mysterious case of heart failure. Her husband had
passed away almost seven months prior. She still wore her wedding band.
You can't
help everyone.
When they
were wrapped up, I went back into my office and waited. I watched a YouTube
video of a duckling falling asleep. I tapped my fingers against the keyboard,
typing jumbled text across a blank Word document. I held down the M key,
watching it shoot across the screen.
When
Rebecca finally stepped into the doorway, the anticipation nearly killed me.
“Mia
Holloway is here,” Rebecca said. She then held up the King of Hearts, and I
could have strangled something. I had wanted to remove it myself, and now, all
bets were off. “Here. For when you read the results.”
She set
it down on my desk, and I nodded.
“Thank
you,” I said, standing. Sighing. Always sighing, it seemed. “I'll see to her
now.”
I moved
slow as a serpent down the halls, hands in pockets, trying to cool myself down.
When I reached the door, removing the manilla folder and taking a deep breath,
I realized there was no point. I'd tangle back up the moment I saw her.
So I
knocked: one, two, three , and opened the door.
“Miss
Holloway,” I said. I did this on purpose, feeling playful. “How are you?”
“Do
doctors always start off with such formalities?” she asked.
My grin
split widely, maybe more than I had even wanted it to.
“The best
doctors, Miss Holloway, have mastered the art of small-talk.”
I sat down
on the wheeled chair, tilted my head to the side, and simply studied her for a
moment. Her hair fell in loose waves down to her breasts, dark as her
sepia-colored eyes. I couldn't tell if she was wearing anything on her lips or
cheeks, but there was a natural bite to them both. She sat with her knees
buckled, her toes pointed straight as a dart.
And when
I sat down, that dart shot straight through me.
A
friendly tip from your neighborhood observer of the human carnivore: where the
body is pointed, the heart is pointed, too.
“You
didn't bring any reading material,” I noted. “Waiting rooms are so dull.”
“I forgot The Little Prince at home.”
“Where is
home?” I inquired, leaning in. “You said you were in school. Are you on
campus?”
“I have
my own apartment, slightly off campus,” she answered. “And I am. UCF. I'm
studying English.”
When she
started to turn a shade darker, I asked: “What's wrong?”
“Nothing,”
she said. “I guess it just feels silly, saying out loud that I'm studying
English, when you've obviously spent years and years submerged in the
sciences.”
She was
so sweet about it. Her eyes darted to the ground. Her knuckles went white as
she laced her fingers together. I wanted
“I don't
know,” she muddled around for a second longer. “You look sick. I was going to
offer to reschedule your patients if you wanted to go home and rest.”
“I'm
fine,” I snapped, maybe a little too quickly, because her face immediately
softened. “I'm fine, Rebecca. I'm sorry that I snapped. It's been a long day.”
“That's
alright, Dr. Greene,” she said in a voice that told me it wasn't really
alright. But off she went, and I felt, all said, like crap. I'd have to make it
up to her somehow. One of those fruit arrangements, maybe. Or macaroons.
Rebecca liked macaroons.
I leaned
back in my chair, swiveled, then stared at the ceiling. While the lights in
every other part of the office were the same, intrusive fluorescent ones that
you would expect, I had commanded softer, evanescent lights in my office. It
put a greater ease on the patient's shoulders, I found. People respond better
to softer settings. They seem safer.
Eventually
I went dipping in and out of the patients rooms, shaking hands, smiling
politely, scribbling orders and prescriptions. One patient was dealing with a
severe case of heart arrhythmia, but still insisted on running marathons.
Another was dealing with a mysterious case of heart failure. Her husband had
passed away almost seven months prior. She still wore her wedding band.
You can't
help everyone.
When they
were wrapped up, I went back into my office and waited. I watched a YouTube
video of a duckling falling asleep. I tapped my fingers against the keyboard,
typing jumbled text across a blank Word document. I held down the M key,
watching it shoot across the screen.
When
Rebecca finally stepped into the doorway, the anticipation nearly killed me.
“Mia
Holloway is here,” Rebecca said. She then held up the King of Hearts, and I
could have strangled something. I had wanted to remove it myself, and now, all
bets were off. “Here. For when you read the results.”
She set
it down on my desk, and I nodded.
“Thank
you,” I said, standing. Sighing. Always sighing, it seemed. “I'll see to her
now.”
I moved
slow as a serpent down the halls, hands in pockets, trying to cool myself down.
When I reached the door, removing the manilla folder and taking a deep breath,
I realized there was no point. I'd tangle back up the moment I saw her.
So I
knocked: one, two, three , and opened the door.
“Miss
Holloway,” I said. I did this on purpose, feeling playful. “How are you?”
“Do
doctors always start off with such formalities?” she asked.
My grin
split widely, maybe more than I had even wanted it to.
“The best
doctors, Miss Holloway, have mastered the art of small-talk.”
I sat down
on the wheeled chair, tilted my head to the side, and simply studied her for a
moment. Her hair fell in loose waves down to her breasts, dark as her
sepia-colored eyes. I couldn't tell if she was wearing anything on her lips or
cheeks, but there was a natural bite to them both. She sat with her knees
buckled, her toes pointed straight as a dart.
And when
I sat down, that dart shot straight through me.
A
friendly tip from your neighborhood observer of the human carnivore: where the
body is pointed, the heart is pointed, too.
“You
didn't bring any reading material,” I noted. “Waiting rooms are so dull.”
“I forgot The Little Prince at home.”
“Where is
home?” I inquired, leaning in. “You said you were in school. Are you on
campus?”
“I have
my own apartment, slightly off campus,” she answered. “And I am. UCF. I'm
studying English.”
When she
started to turn a shade darker, I asked: “What's wrong?”
“Nothing,”
she said. “I guess it just feels silly, saying out loud that I'm studying
English, when you've obviously spent years and years submerged in the
sciences.”
She was
so sweet about it. Her eyes darted to the ground. Her knuckles went white as
she laced her fingers together. I wanted
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