Sequel: Postcards From... ›
Status: Re-written
The Club Is Open Until 8:00Pm
Trente Huit
"It'll need surgery." The good doctor had said to Joanne who was telling me. "Something's wrong with your vocal cords and they need to operate. My eyes widened when the doctor explained the procedure. "You'll be on anesthesia the entire time; you won't feel a thing." Sure, that's what they tell you. "While you're under, we'll make the incision right about here and fix whatever is wrong." Yeah sure. Since when did I become the frog on the dissection tray. He was going to enjoy this. Why not, cutting dead frogs is cool.
I was lying in one of those strangely comfy hospital beds when the nurse came in. "How are you feeling?" She asked. I just looked at her. "Smart girl. Here, you're father wanted you to have this." Dad. He's here. How did he know. Jamia must have told him. The nurse hands me the small whiteboard and dry erase marker. I write: Thank you.
I see Steve through the large glass window. He's smiling at me. Oh, that dad. The nurse leaves and Steve takes her place. "You like?" I nod. He smiled. "I thought you would. I have good news though?" What? "I got my old job back." He's a lawyer again. That's great. He smiled and smoothed out a wrinkle in my jeans. I won't wear one of those stupid sea-foam green gowns that you have to hold shut unless you want people seeing your butt.
The nurse enters again. She's still not forcing me to wear the gown, so that's good. She tells me that there are a few people outside who want to see me. They have brought flowers. I expected my band, Thomas, Imogene and Adrian. It wasn't them. It's MCR, or more specifically, Ray and Gerard. Ray places the flowers on the table. Lillie's. How Ironic. Gerard looks bothered.
For the first time in months, I am itching to talk to someone. I feel if I don't, I will explode. That if I don't talk now, I might never want to again. I try a simple 'hello' but nothing comes out. 2 syllables to much. A 'Hi' being 1 syllable to much. Nothing is what I say and it's perfect in a way. I can't screw up.
I cannot feel the breeze from outside because the window is closed. I want so badly to request someone to open it. But I don't. I'll deal.
I was lying in one of those strangely comfy hospital beds when the nurse came in. "How are you feeling?" She asked. I just looked at her. "Smart girl. Here, you're father wanted you to have this." Dad. He's here. How did he know. Jamia must have told him. The nurse hands me the small whiteboard and dry erase marker. I write: Thank you.
I see Steve through the large glass window. He's smiling at me. Oh, that dad. The nurse leaves and Steve takes her place. "You like?" I nod. He smiled. "I thought you would. I have good news though?" What? "I got my old job back." He's a lawyer again. That's great. He smiled and smoothed out a wrinkle in my jeans. I won't wear one of those stupid sea-foam green gowns that you have to hold shut unless you want people seeing your butt.
The nurse enters again. She's still not forcing me to wear the gown, so that's good. She tells me that there are a few people outside who want to see me. They have brought flowers. I expected my band, Thomas, Imogene and Adrian. It wasn't them. It's MCR, or more specifically, Ray and Gerard. Ray places the flowers on the table. Lillie's. How Ironic. Gerard looks bothered.
For the first time in months, I am itching to talk to someone. I feel if I don't, I will explode. That if I don't talk now, I might never want to again. I try a simple 'hello' but nothing comes out. 2 syllables to much. A 'Hi' being 1 syllable to much. Nothing is what I say and it's perfect in a way. I can't screw up.
I cannot feel the breeze from outside because the window is closed. I want so badly to request someone to open it. But I don't. I'll deal.