172. SADLY SADISTIC

SADLY SADISTIC
Sadly sadistic, the doctor arrives bearing ill-will
and a valise - both of which he manages to throw down
on the bed. 'So much depends on the little red wheelbarrow',
I thought he said. There was too much noise to be sure, as,
outside the window, a kid was running around yelling 'Sam!'
at the top of his lungs. As I looked out, I saw a lone girl running
off, as if fleeing from something obscure, in another direction.
-
It was all such a confusing moment to me.
This family man - himself a father - the doctor,
had settled at the desk and was looking for
a particular pen. 'I like the fatter ones, with black ink;
any good sort of click-style is right.' Very peculiar
to be so specific about pens; well, maybe, I
thought to myself. He clicked on the TV, which
immediately aired a commercial about 'fibrous pain'.
-
'They get it all wrong' - he said - 'medicine and TV
certainly don't mix; you can't explain the workings of the
mind, or the body, in sixty-second soundbites.' I nodded
serenely, glad just to be hearing his voice. 'Is that the
Passaic outside your window?' I asked. 'I think it's always
been, but I've never been sure - funny isn't it how rivers
are never marked unless we see them on a map.' I
laughed a moment, trying hard to think of something to say.
-
(It went like that for the rest of the day).