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SITTING IN THE WAITING room, he ran his fingers through his shoulder length hair. Rubbing his fingers together, he felt the greasy residue. He tried to remember the last time he had washed his hair. He left Abilene three days ago and had been on the road ever since. With the heat and all, sleeping in roadside parks, he hadn't had an opportunity to shower so he imagined he must really need a bath. Maybe, once he saw the doctor and got his leg fixed, he could find someplace to stay, a shelter perhaps? Then, he could spend the night, get a meal, shower off good, and wash his hair.
The disinfectant odor reminded him of the last time he had been in a hospital. He reflectively rubbed the scar on his forehead and the one on his upper lip beneath his beard. When he worked in a wheat field in Kansas several years previously, the bailing machine stalled. When they got it started again, several pieces of bailing wire had erupted like shrapnel from the housing and two had cut him. The wounds healed quickly but left two scars slick to the touch.
He rubbed his leg where the car hit him. Although sore, it didn't throb any more. More likely a bruise than anything broken. He considered leaving. Except for getting patched up from the bailing wire incident, he hadn't seen a doctor in almost 18 years. Now here he was, in a hospital emergency room. This place had its advantages. It was cool in here. The temperature outside had exceeded one hundred degrees. And it wasn't even noon yet.
Anyway, the gentleman who hit him had been very nervous and had been very insistent he get checked out by a doctor at the hospital. He appeared Middle Eastern, probably Indian or a Pakistani, based on his dark skin. He spoke English with a heavy accent. His suit looked expensive. The man in the waiting room considered himself an expert on nice clothes. In the day, he had owned a few nice clothes himself. Even had all of his clothes custom-made. The Pakistani, or whatever he was, drove a new sports car.
"Jones, Aaron Jones", the nurse at the desk looked at him. "Mr. Jones, can you come over here please."
He rose, noticed his leg was much better, and ambled over to the reception desk.
"Yes <gulp> Ma'am". His voice sounded like he had a mouth full of gravel. When he spoke more than two or three words in succession, his voice broke. Mucous filled his throat, and he gulped. He smiled a lot when he talked, disarming the listener, so they received the words better. At least, that was what he told himself. In reality, it did nothing to ease the sound on the listener's ear. People did seem to like him. He never had any trouble having people like him.
"Here", the nurse held a plastic cup toward him. "We need a urine sample." She pointed to a room off to the left. "You can use that bathroom. When you're through, please put the sample in the turnstile and ring the buzzer."
"Yes Ma'am", he took the container. "By the way, <gulp> When am I going to <gulp> see the doctor <gulp>?
"As soon as we get the lab work back. The doctor has ordered complete blood and serum tests." She winked. "You must be somebody special. All these tests for a simple bump on the leg."
"Yes Ma'am, <gulp> I'm the Pope in <gulp> disguise."
"Popes pee like everyone else. Go and give me your sample!" She pointed to the lab room with mock severity.
The nurse smiled as Aaron went into the testing room. At least he has a sense of humor, even though he really needed a bath. Still, there was something, a sensuality, radiating from beneath the grey hair and beard and the worn clothing. If only he were twenty-five years younger, shaven, and clean? Maybe, just clean ... especially clean!
When he returned from producing his urine sample, Aaron sat and enjoyed the coolness of the waiting room.
Then he noticed the girl. She wore a torn print dress. The dress had a tear in the left shoulder. The girl appeared to be about nine or ten years old with black, curly hair. She sat quietly in the chair, tears glistening in her eyes. Every now and then a thin lady wearing shorts and a Tee Shirt would come out of the treatment room and sit for about five minutes with the girl. Then she would stand and walk wearily to the treatment room where she would stay for ten minutes or so. Then, she would come out and spend a few minutes with the child.
Finally, the nurse called Aaron and directed him to a treatment room. The room was next to the room where the woman had gone. While he waited for the doctor, he heard her quietly sobbing.
On the floor, he saw a circular somebody had wadded up and thrown at the wastebasket and missed. Out of curiosity, he picked up the paper ball and straightened it out. It read as follows.