Life's ugly moments...12 Kilos
“Damned if you do, damned if you don’t.”
The words are something between a whisper and mutter but the ancient woman cackles and parrots the saying. “Damned either way, that’s right. My daddy used that saying a lot back in the day. True then, true now. Hold still.”
Garrett tries to breath slow and deep, to attain something close to a meditative state. Ever meditate with a needle pushing through the skin of your cheek?
There is no use or point in arguing with the ugly inner voice and no time to worry about all that as the needle begins stabs into swollen fevered skin. The initial stab isn’t the worst, nor the follow up through the other side of his open cheek, the worst part is feeling the pull of whatever the old woman decided to use for thread. The threading takes for ever to finish on the first pass and it feels like a weighted chain is being drug through his skin. The second pass comes just as slowly and the third gets jabbed right through his cheek before the old woman realizes she pushed too deep.
There is no meditative stage, no other place to let his mind wander off to while the old woman hurts him just as much as helps him. Like most of life’s ugly moments this is something to be endured from one sucked in breath to another, and just like most of those ugly moments, it’s a lie. These aren’t individual moments at all, merely lumpy installments of the same continues and awful play.
Garrett is all out of sucked in breaths, grimaces, and moans by the time the old woman slaps him on the shoulder and says “all done.” The entire left side of his face feels like a poorly crafted art project. He would be willing to do purely awful things for a draught or three of poppy milk, even a swallow or six of that disgusting stuff Digger used to drink back in Maytag. Anything to dull the distracting ache. He gets so wrapped up in thoughts of numbing the agony that he doesn’t realize the old woman is doing some grimacing and moaning of her own as she stands up from the ancient light metal chair behind him.
“Uh, thanks for sewing that up but what about my skull. The real injury is my head, we have to try and deduce what sort of fracture or fractures I have and how serious they are.”
The ancient keeps rising and collecting her things before she comes into view and shrugs at Garrett. “Hill folk did for my uncle, way back. Daddy made me check his head. Could’ve pushed a thumb right through. I checked you, just a gash on the left side under all that rolled up hair, sewed it shut while you was still mumbling nonsense to yourself.”
The ancient is already turning toward the entrance to the hovel when Garrett calls after her. “I…don’t suppose you have anything for the pain?”
Without turning the ancient chides, “No, I don’t suppose I do.”
The ancient nearly reaches the door to the hovel before she continues. “There’s blankets and pillows and water a plenty behind you. You’re out here for the first couple of days, nothing personal but if you die inside, I got a hell of a problem on my hands. You die out here…well, you’ll make for a hell of a scarecrow for them hill folk.”