Raquel's Abel by Leigh Barbour

not to go through with it?
    What an imagination I’d developed! Could my mind invent such an incredibly attractive apparition? The only way I’d know if Abel were real or not is to have the surgery and see if he reappeared.
    The sun was just beginning to peak its head over the Virginia pines, giving the Richmond platform and everything around it an orangey-pink glow. As I made my way off the train, I had to turn sideways since the aisle was so narrow. I handed the porter my luggage and carefully maneuvered myself down the steps. Even the doorway was too small for me. I angled myself and stepped down. My shoe hit the sidewalk, my foot went one way, and my leg the other.
    Within an instant, I was laying on the concrete platform in mind-boggling pain. My skirt had ended up around my waist and my arms were bloody from scraping the concrete. When I tried to move, my foot wouldn’t budge. I must have destroyed the ligaments, because it lay there like a limp piece of meat at the butcher.
    It took three porters and another man, a passenger I think, to help me hop to a seat to wait for the ambulance.
    A lady who had ridden behind me sat down next to me. “Don’t worry, they’ll get you all patched up in the hospital,” she said in a reassuring voice.
    I tried to smile, but I was still in a lot of pain.
    “You know...” Her mouth turned into a motherly smile.
    “I know what you’re going to say. It’s my—”
    “I had the gastric bypass two years ago.” She rolled her sleeve up.
    I let my guard down and tried to smile at her in spite of the pain.
    “My life has changed so much,” she went on, “And then I had my excess skin removed.” She showed me the scar on the back part of her upper arm. “Hurt like the dickens, but worth every bit of pain and expense.”
    I enjoyed the smile that crept across her face. Momentarily, I forgot about the pain in my ankle.
    I was trying to think of questions to ask her when I heard the squeak of the paramedics pushing a stretcher toward me. I waved goodbye to her as they wheeled me away. Luckily, without making a single comment about my weight, they helped me into the ambulance and drove me to the hospital.

    I sat in the emergency room waiting for the doctor. All I could think about was whether I’d be in good enough shape to have the gastric bypass next week. No matter what kind of cast I ended up in, I was having my stomach stapled. And if I had problems with my nerves, then I’d get enough Valium to put an elephant in la-la land.
    Finally, a doctor that looked young enough to be carded for a beer walked in. “Stress fracture, huh?”
    “No, I fell,” I said in as deadpan of a voice as possible. As every heavy person knows, a stress fracture happens when your weight literally causes your bones to crack.
    “You know why you fell, don’t you?” He gave me a one-sided smile that made him look like a leprechaun.
    “Aren’t you even going to send me for a scan? Or can you do it yourself, Superman, with your x-ray vision?”
    Without responding, he looked up at the clock. It was five o’clock in the morning and I’m sure he’d rather be napping than taking care of a fat person.
    “The nurse will take you up.” He disappeared into the maze of counters and computer screens that made up the emergency room.

    A few hours later, they’d put me in a cast with strict orders to stay off my foot for a few weeks. Owen, who had picked up on the first ring, was already on his way. One thing about being fat, you always knew who your real friends were. What would life be like after the gastric bypass?
    Owen scurried around the emergency personnel and approached me with his hands up around his face. “Girl, you look like they ran you through a gauntlet.” He wrapped his arms around me. “What did they do to you?”
    “I’m all right.”
    “Nonsense, you’re just putting up a brave front.” He grabbed my purse and my suitcase. “Let’s get you out of here.”
    “The nurse is