After breakfast, I drank a cup of tea and enjoyed a cigarette while soaking in the bath. The radio was on but as my ears were submerged beneath soapy water nothing was audible. It was all just a dirge. Getting dressed, I left the house and headed to the doctors. Haven’t been in nearly six years, not since my days of antidepressants and depression and shit like that. Got there ten minutes early. Contemplated walking around the block but went in instead. The receptionist knows my dad from his appointments regarding his treatment for cancer. She was friendly and reassuring. Told me she was looking for another job because the surgery would be closing within a few months. I expressed my sympathies while reading the posters on the wall that were old and yellowed from the sun. Fifteen minutes later, I was called in. The Asian doctor greeted me with a smile. He would be the first man in thirteen years to handle my goods. See I got these tiny cysts, and now and again they play up. The doctor knew the score. He put on his latex gloves and told me to lift it up. When I complied, he went in for the kill- squeezed my balls real good, so much so I whispered motherfucker under my breath. He heard and apologised. After exploring my delicate testicles, he told me to get on my back and cough. Poking my stomach, he asked if there had been blood or discharge. I replied no while wincing from his interrogation. He seemed positive at my predicament and suggested an ultrasound just to make sure things were okay. The mention of an ultrasound took me to the day when Sarah and I discovered we were going to lose baby Bethany. I remember the fluid they spread upon her belly and the way the nurse’s voice dropped when she realised something was wrong. Leaving the surgery, I chose to take a walk, and for the best part of two hours, my feet took me wherever they pleased. Another cigarette. A sandwich purchased from a greasy spoon. The woman serving threw my receipt at me, and it fell to the floor like a feather. The butchers next door smelled good, though. Made me lick my lips. Even a dog tied to a lamppost outside was wagging his tale at all the scents that must’ve been dancing on his nose.

A Journal for Damned Lovers on

A Journal for Damned Lovers on

14 replies »

  1. It feels disrespectful to respond; it feel disrespectful not to respond. Lots of painful truths colliding here. Know what its like to slam unexpectedly into fragments of the past that still have the power to rob us of our breath our coo. Holding you in the light.

    • Not disrespectful at all. You’re very kind for doing so, and I appreciate it immensely. Like you say, it’s strange when those fragments come into play after so long. But it’s part of life, and the more we embrace them, the more at one we will be. Thank you 🙂

  2. I think I am in love with where you are going. It’s a cool feeling to feel affection for another person’s journey. Safely and soundly, Harlon

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