Yellow Cars, Whatever…

photo by Judith Raices
Nobody cared that the car was yellow.  Hell, she thought, nobody in this place cares about anything besides their own death.  That’s what hospice is all about, isn’t it?  Everybody’s alive and getting ready to die.  Still there it was sitting at the curb outside the building’s main entrance: a bright  yellow sports car of some expensive kind or another.  Betsy couldn’t see its name or make out the logo through her tired and watery eyes.  Perhaps it was a Jaguar, she opined.  Jaguars are sports cars, aren’t they?  Or maybe one of those German cars.  She didn’t like that idea at all.  Germans had killed her mother’s grandparents–or maybe they were her grandparents–during one of those wars in the last century–which one she could no longer remember–not that it mattered.  Whatever, she drifted only to find herself suddenly smiling.
“What’s so funny, Mrs. W?” Doctor Martins stood at her door.  From her position on the bed his elongated frame appeared to fill the entire space, his legs spread wide like some macho cowboy.
“Nothing,” she began, but quickly reconsidered.  “Yes, something.”  Her face scrunched up catlike and decidedly mischievous.  “I can’t tell you though.  You’ll just label it a symptom and set about analyzing it.”
“No, I won’t.  Try me.”
She smiled broadly this time, her mouth pushing the wrinkles in the lower half of her face to either side; cheeks rising up toward glistening eyes.
“You will too,” she grinned.  “That’s your job, isn’t it?
“I’m not always on the job though.”
“You’ve still got your white coat on and that stethoscope around your neck.  What’s that for: in case I start dying in the middle of our conversation?”
“Mrs. W, take it easy on me.  I was on my way home.  I just wanted to say good night.”
“Is that your little yellow car outside,”  she asked.
“Maybe.  Why do you ask?”
“Just keeping up my end of the conversation.”
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OK, your task–if you choose to accept it-is to complete this story in a hundred words or less.  Click on “Comments” below and write!
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Published in: on September 11, 2011 at 10:31 pm  Comments (4)  

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4 CommentsLeave a comment

  1. “Anything else, besides keeping up the conversation?”

    “yes, your left front tire is flat!”

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  2. With that Dr. Martins quickly and efficiently removed all of his clothing, including his bright yellow Crocs, and began to spin, slowly at first but with increasing speed. The room filled with an odor best described as cleanliness, and the top of his skull slowly lifted a few inches above the rest of his body, releasing an intense luminescence that expanded beyond the building, into the surrounding atmosphere, throughout space, throughout and beyond the multiverse, infusing a brilliant light of clarity into all that is and is not.

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  3. “I bought it for Jerri, It’s our third anniversery and she won’t set foot in it. Hates yellow. Says there’s not enough room to transort her refugee clients to their clinics and food pantries. She’s with them right now, inspecting some donated furniture for parasites. I wish I were dead.” Dr. Martins slowly reached the gleaming tiles of the floor as his body gently compressed itself into a fetal position. There he lay, softly rocking his gangly frame, as his tears rolled down his left cheek. Suddenly he sat up, like a man who has had an epithany. “Let’s go! Let’s get out of here. Let’s get into my cool machine and ride the wind… .” Mrs. W thought about this for a while before she answered. “I’ll go with you, what the heck.” She was never a user of salty talk, and she wasn’t going to start now, death bed or no death bed.

    THE END

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  4. I’m glad you found a parking space in Washington Heights.

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