writing from
Scars Publications

Audio/Video chapbooks cc&d magazine Down in the Dirt magazine books

 

Order this writing
in the collection book
Dark Matter

available for only 1495 		Dark Matter, collection book front cover, 2008

This appears in a pre-2010 issue
of Down in the Dirt magazine.
Saddle-stitched issues are no longer
printed, but you can requesting it
“re-released” through amazon sale
as a 6" x 9" ISBN# book!
Email us for re-release to order.

Down in the Dirt v059

this writing is in the collection book
Decrepit Remains
(PDF file) download: only $9.95
(b&w pgs): paperback book $18.92
(b&w pgs):hardcover book $32.95
(color pgs): paperback book $75.45
(color pgs): hardcover book $88.45
 Decrepit Remains, the 2008 Down in the Dirt collection book
All Intrusive

Lin Johns

    Jane lies carefully, anxiously on the hard narrow table. The nurse has already been in, tossing Jane a flimsy paper gown telling her to strip. Now, her legs are properly positioned in the frigid steel stirrups. Her face burns while her hands and feet feel like rough-hewn blocks of ice. She clamps her eyes shut. Her Pap smear has come back abnormal and the doctor requires a more all-inclusive examination. The earlier pronouncement of cervical cancer has made Jane want to apologize to everyone especially Peter. For his sake she takes great care of herself. She eats sensibly, painstakingly exercises three times a week and drinks ten glasses of water a day faithfully. People must view Peter as someone captivatingly handsome and affluent providing Jane with the kind of lifestyle any woman would die for. Now, she finds herself in the examination room of her gynaecologist, Dr. Franklin.
    After a bit, she opens her eyes taking stock of the items on an adjacent counter: brittle wooden tongue depressors, pristine cotton swabs and several pairs of sterile forceps- all intrusive. She can hear the nurse talking outside the room in a brisk staccato manner. Doctor Franklin enters. He avoids coming round so she can see his face.
    ”Good to see you, Jane,” he says. A cloud of the doctor’s expensive cologne wafts over her. She can’t remember the name of it.
    ”Feeling fine I hope? Good. Today’s visit is just to confirm the laboratory findings.” He switches on the stainless steel, goose-necked lamp.
    ”We’ll be done in a few minutes.” He opens a drawer and snaps on a pair of latex gloves. Still unable to see him fully, she feels him move toward her half-exposed legs and his disembodied voice coaxes, “Now just slide your bottom a little further down toward me.”
    As she lifts herself the sweat-soaked paper sheet beneath clings to her and tears.
    ”Relax, dear,” Dr. Franklin cautions. Iciness rakes her flesh. Finally, moving into sight the doctor picks up a tube, unscrews the top with one hand and squeezes out the viscous contents with the other. She had forgotten how huge his hands are- his fingers long, fat sausages. Jane presses her eyes closed as he slathers thick lubricant onto his soon-to-be probing fingers.
    ”I had to laugh the other day,” he chuckles. “Our dentist told my wife that the best remedy for chapped lips is KY jelly,” he snorts.
    Jane says, “Isn’t that interesting?”
A ticking sound behind her indicates a ventilation fan is engaging.
    “I’ll keep it in mind,” she continues. She opens her eyes and looks at the ceiling. There is an immense National Geographic-type poster- a pod of whales- secured with heavy staples. The whales have large heads and long, narrow lower jaws. Sperm whales, she decides. One whale is off to the side, covered with massive scars and enormous barnacles. She recalls reading how giant squids attach themselves to whales and suck their life out. Hasn’t she also read how seemingly healthy whales intentionally beach themselves, are rescued and turned back toward the open ocean, only to return again to the beach where they ultimately perish? It’s a mystery to some why they kill themselves. She wonders if whales mate for life. She feels her heart pounding in the silence.
    ”How’s that highly spirited dog of yours?” inquires Dr. Franklin, his voice as smooth as cough syrup.
    ”Fine. She’s fine,” she says. She wills her heart to stop beating so fast. “Peter loves playing fetch with her. He throws the ball way out and she always retrieves it, something for the life of me I just don’t understand. I mean you’d think she’d grow tired of the same old game. She brings him a great deal of pleasure.”
    ”And that broken arm of yours,” the doctor says. “Healing all right? Fell down the stairs, didn’t you?”
    ”Yes, I’m afraid I did,” she answers with a practiced voice. She laughs nervously. “I guess I’m accident-prone. Peter says he just doesn’t know what he’s going to do with me.”
    ”Speaking about Peter, how is he dealing with all of this?” The doctor moves so she can see his face. Jane stares at the large round face, the blue eyes that look forced open. More waves of his costly cologne envelop her. Peter will know what it’s called. Nauseated, Jane feels the bitterness rise in the back of her throat.
    ”Stress and worry can be hard on the husband,” Dr. Franklin says. “It’s crucial to make sure Peter’s needs are being met.”
    ”Yes, I know. He is fine. His needs are certainly being met. And Dr. Franklin...I really wonder...I’m sure the cancer will spread and...” For one mere short moment, panicky thoughts dance in her brain.
    Turning from her, the doctor says, “Good. That’s it.” He switches off the lamp. “You’re finished.” Striping off the soiled gloves he tosses them carelessly into the garbage. The doctor checks his watch. “Sorry Jane, no time to stay and chat. There will be plenty of time for questions at a later date.” He beams and then breezes over to the door. “I’m glad we had this talk. Tell Peter if he has any questions to give me a call. Otherwise I’ll see him Saturday at the Fishing Derby.” Dr. Franklin opens the door and says: “Take care and good-bye Jane.” And he was gone.
    Upon retrieving her clothes from the hook, Jane notices an old half-peeled sticker, which reads: ‘Save the Whales.’ She peels the remainder of the sticker off, rolls it into a little ball and flicks it into the nearby garbage.

***************************


    Peter is already at home when Jane comes in from her doctor’s appointment. As well as a masterly fisherman, Peter is an ardent builder of miniature ships in bottles. He specializes in the wooden ships from an all but forgotten era. He sits at his worktable; his pudgy fingers grasp a pair of tweezers. The little pincers hold a small wooden object he’s accurately guiding into an old whiskey bottle placed carefully on a tapered bench. He has positioned a florescent light over his work area. In the corner an old record player emits scratchy strains of a woman singing. Jane feels flushed as she stands in the doorway, her coat half-open, exposing her bare legs.
    ”Oh you’re here,” Peter says. The clock behind his head ticks off the minutes. “I’m just finishing.” The room is hot and a trickle of perspiration fingers its way down Jane’s back. The smell of Peter’s cologne causes her nose to twitch.
    Gesturing toward a wall already crowded with his awards, he says: “What do you think of my latest fishing plaque? To make room I took down that stitch thing you made.”
    ”Cross stitch,” she says.
    ”Whatever. Like I said, I needed the space. Anyhow, you sure look crummy. Oh ya, right you had that doctor appointment. How is the good Dr. Franklin? Still using that God-awful cologne? Boy, he’s getting on in years. Good Fisherman though. He can be a bit meddlesome. He didn’t ask any uncalled-for questions? Good.” Peter puts down his tools and sits back in his swivel chair. Jane lets the silence expand between them.
    ”You look tired. No more bad news I hope? You haven’t forgotten the fishing banquet on Sunday? I’m sure you want to look your best. Work for me has been tough, so many pushy people. I’m sure you know what I mean. You’d love to go on a trip somewhere hot, one of those all-inclusive deals where the room, water sports, food and drinks are all included. Just think of the bikinis and booze. Yes, you definitely need a break.” She stands and stares at him as if helpless while anger swells in her like a balloon. He turns his chair, and puts his recently shined shoes up on Jane’s sewing table. The chair groans.
    ”Don’t look so glum,” he continues. “I’m included of course,” he guffaws. “I’ll book it tomorrow. And hey, when we go away, maybe we could go whale watching. Imagine powering a pontoon boat alongside one of those dim-witted creatures. The threat of being swamped or ensnarled by one thrills me. That’s something I’ve always wanted to do.”
    Peter casts his eye over Jane and says: “You’d like that.” And as Peter was always right and got what he wanted, on their vacation their pontoon boat was indeed swamped by a so called dim-witted whale. Peter’s body was found beached on the shore. Later, within the pages of the autopsy report, it was recorded that the autopsy performed on Peter revealed a strange inexplicable anomaly. A very surprised coroner noted he’d never seen a whiskey bottle intruding so far into the human anatomy.



Scars Publications


Copyright of written pieces remain with the author, who has allowed it to be shown through Scars Publications and Design.Web site © Scars Publications and Design. All rights reserved. No material may be reprinted without express permission from the author.




Problems with this page? Then deal with it...