Thursday, June 13, 2013

The wretch



June 13, 2013

Vaguely aware of a familiar sound of retching. Once a victim, the memories flood back uninvited; vomiting, spitting, moaning, stomach heaves and spewing results, body eventually spent. It was the only sound in the world. I could ascertain his helplessness, the dread in his heart, weighed heavy as a cold mind. Based on the deep-throated sound, I decide it must be the man, the only male, save an eight year old, that lives upstairs. I see the back of his dusty head occasionally, as he descends the front stairs, glimpse of a t-shirt and jeans as they pass over the window ledge and drop below the eaves. No confirmation of the ill party followed in the late morning. A fragment of discernment left me in suspense. How to relay concern about a guy whom I’ve never met, the retcher in the early morning hours?
Dry-mouthed with excitement. Today we leave the house together, Taelor and I. We are taking Moose, the new cat, to the vet. Though my head feels wobbly on its post from lack of sleep, I stare without ceremony at the morbid rain. I wrestle the deluxe walker out the door and down the front stairs, which I cannot do without assistance. The taste of freedom from the inner walls motivates me to press the physical limits.
            I paid him no heed, his moist voice and as he draws near, breath of candy. He moves beneath the florescent bulb, which illuminates little more than grime and moisture, doped by the slender sun and drone of flies. He glances at the receptionist behind the counter. She lifts her watch to her ear, dial huge, its tick murderous. At the other end of the leash sits a gigantic German Shepherd mix, which is sedately looming over all of the other canine heads. Many other large breed dogs mingle in the waiting room with their slouching owners. Most people look a bit dazed from the weight of canine surgical procedures and drop their shoulders to sooth the shaky beasts. Large shaved areas cut squares into the fur, casts grace a few paws, and one pup toted along in a carriage.
            Bea is charismatic as she flops, unceremoniously on the floor with the cat, cuddles and kiss her on the furry head while making cooing noises. We are charmed. An initial exam by the vet tech proves to be informative and follows a more thorough physical by the veterinarian who is so youthful, could be graduating from the eighth grade. All goes well and Moose passes grade. She flops on the stainless table in relief. As we march her out through the double doors, the big dogs keep coming. Some of the owners are obviously in need of weight lifting sessions since the dogs slowly pull them across the floor. One Rottweiler in particular has an inclination to dominate and the lobby becomes too perilous to remain. You can guess how that turns out.
            Moose now sleeps as if years of fatigue have overtaken her.

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