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They come and go in rapid succession -- one pain after another -- crusted skin, lonely hearts. He pulls the fountain pen from his left breast pocket and writes magic words on small square paper then hands them over like a hall pass to the exit door. I watch and know. It is not the paper they come for -- those colored pills in dark plastic bottles filled at Revco down the road. They come for his brown eyes listening to their blue hearts, his warm hand upon their knee. Worry pains are exorcised in the 10 x 8 cubicle room where most patients leave on their clothes and expose their naked souls. He moves smoothly from patient to patient speaking of fishing holes and cigarettes, arthritic joints and failed marriages. After all, it is more than cholesterol that clogs a heart. |
