Friday, February 15, 2008

Fiction work #9

Monstrous Black machines
in a vase on the counter
three red roses sigh

When the doctor showed me the scans, I laughed. What else could I do?

I am not a sensitive woman. When I was 7, I knew I wanted to be a professional welder. My barbie house became disassembled and baked with a woodcarver for a practice run. I never wanted a horse, but I did want a chariot to ride, like the gladiators. Now, here I am. One of the top welders in the country, and I have no idea what is going on inside my heart.

The first time something was odd, I was looking at my foreman. He's a great, hulking giant of a man, with a very dry sense of humor, but he's quick with his hands, and can weld an end-to-end like you wouldn't believe. He's helped me out of a few tougher spots, mostly cause he can tell when I'm pushing myself too hard, and lends a shoulder when I'm trying to hold two pieces together, and the welder at the same time. He brings heinekens to poker night. When he's bluffing, he sniffs a lot. Anyway, it was half past 9, and we'd all paused for a doughnut break (We do at the same time, so we can divvy them up proper, and no-one's fighting for the chocolate one) As we headed back, I turned around to see him standing at the counter, washing his hands (We're all careful about that. You don't wanna be eating what you're touching). My heart jiggled. I mean it lurched. Heaved, maybe. I was gonna sit down cause I thought maybe I'd taken a wiff of gas or something, when he looked at me, and I thought I was gonna die. My chest felt just the same as it did the first time I finished my first solo underwater weld. Hot and tight-like. He caught me staring, and asked what the matter was. I stammered. I never stammer. He said I was all red and sweaty; gave me the day off, thinking I had caught something.
My blue covers hid my head for the rest of the day as I teared up thinking of him being all caring and sweet. This was so inconvenient! How could I be in love? At my time of life? Good Grief.

I avoided him for weeks, though it was hard.

The next time was even more strange. I was standing in line at the grocery store, buying bread and ham, staring at the tabeloids, when I caught the eye of the cashier. He was a young thing, maybe 20's, but to me, he seemed like the whole world. His eyes were huge, and laughing, I wanted to run with him every morning, take him to the gym and help his scrawny arms. I'd never even seen him before, but I wanted to be with him for the rest of our lives. After paying, I fled back home, wondering if the 40-odd years of romantic repression had finally caught up to me.

By the third time it happened (Some poor schmuk on the bus who read a Bronte novel and asked the time), I knew something was going on. I began to change my diet. Nothing. My sleeping patterns? A fail. I began to consider menopause, when I began getting headaches. When I fainted in the park on my morning jog, I finally gave in and went to see the sawbones. (I hadn't been to a doctor in years). After a series of tests, he gave me a big, grave sheet of paper and asked me to get an MRI scan.

The results were obvious, I had a neurological disorder that overloaded my Amygdala, causing me to feel intense emotion at random times. It was unusual that it was just the feeling of being in love, since these disorders "usually cause a Global effect, on all emotions", but otherwise, a textbook case. He wrote me up a little prescription and merrily sent me on my way, pleased to have wrapped up such an interesting case.

So now, here I sit, on my bed, staring at the paper with my "cure" on it. I still have my shoes on, I could leave, walk down the street, pick up the medicine, and be started on it by tonight... but maybe, maybe I'll leave it until tomorrow...

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