MEDICINE WALK

I was down in the dumps, not really covered in garbage, but lower than I like to be and needed a boost up. The sky was a dismal slate grey that was about to cry. My umbrella had been whipped out of my hand by a mighty gust of wind only a week ago. It soared north into oblivion.

And now today, damn it, I stepped on my own shoe lace. It broke and I tripped, fell down hard, scraped my elbow. Trying to stand, my ankle hurt enough that I had to limp. Stumpy’s was the closest place to rest, get a cup of Joe. As the red neon delly sign blinked on and off, I smiled at the perfect name, Stumpy’, exactly how I felt. In truth the name should be Dumpy’s. Only my aches and malaise gave me the courage to enter. It was as I had heard it was, not fit for man nor beast.

The sound of the squeaky door didn’t cause Adolph to raise his eyes from the racing sheets of today’s paper. A yellow #2 Gray Arc pencil was behind his ear. The sharpened point of another he put on his tongue, moistened it a bit, and jotted down his bets on a small spiral pad. ‘Hey, Stumpy,’ I called. ‘Look over here. You have a live customer. How about a cup of Joe, black, hot and an Equal?’ His reluctance to even look my way made me continue my disgust. ‘Stumpy, lock up your place and go to hell.’ I limped out wishing I could change the delly name to ‘Dumpy’s.’

After just a few steps on the concrete, I felt the discomfort in my ankle, considered for a minute it might be chipped, cracked, broken. I put those thoughts behind bars and hobbled to a bench that seemed about 10 miles away. It was concrete painted white at one time, now covered with graffiti, dirt, chewed gum. There were little drawings in black of hearts, flowers. No question the same artiste did them. Covering parts of three slats was a colorful polka dotted rainbow. That was where I chose to sit. Was I imagining it or did my rear end feel warmth emanating from the colors? I slid back and forth testing the difference. There was one but I could not account for it.

It was all too much for my unhappy mood so I left it for the next sitter to ponder. As I went slowly down the street to the 16th Ave. bus line, I turned and noticed I had been replaced on the bench by two pure white pigeons, cooing, pecking at each other, most likely getting ready to mate. ‘Hey,’ is that my trouble? Is that what I need? A wild, exciting afternoon of sex?’

I walked a little faster, reached a Mobil gas station that had a public phone near the entrance. Damn, I had no change but was inspired enough to go inside the small store, get a cup of Joe, change for two ones and dialed 402-741-5682.

A voice oozing with sweetness and practice said, ‘Hello. This is Daphne.’