Today, I travel to another town. This is no quest for enlightenment, not even for fun. No, I go to see whether the sugeon who operated on me wants to give it another whirl.
This woman may be a lovely person. She may be moral--indeed--an upstanding citizen! But no matter who or what she is, to me, she will always carry with her the mark of evil. The fogs of hell surround her office, smoke rising from the skin pit, screams from the den of "I'm Not Touching You." I picture her using the piece she removed from me (the day after my eighteenth birthday) for her voodoo magic, waving the eucalyptus plant from her waiting-room to exaggerate my allergies, leaving me whimpering, eyes watering, clutching my Flonase in futile defense as Allegra scatters across the floor. She's heating her pokers, sharpening her scalpels--long, jagged blades certain to leave a vile scar as a twin for the first. She screams to the heavens, "Give us Laura!" Pictures of myself, strapped to an operating table flash in black-and white photography as she cuts me open like a fish once again.
But, you know, she could be nice, P.L.U. and the like.
I grant, my being sick was not her fault. Really. But if I had to go through what I did, shouldn't I be able to blame something? And who is a better target than the woman who discovered the fatal flaw within me? I can't prove her evil any more than she can tell me what caused the problem in the first place.
But for me, the latter is too adult of a position. I know she wants another look inside me. Once you see my insides, you never go back. No one builds kidneys quite like mine, and my liver!Don't get me started on my liver! (But if you like that, you should see my pancreas. That's the money organ.)
So at 4:30p.m. today, I go to my doom. The gates of hell are creeping open...
If you don't hear from me by Monday, well, just go on without me. Face it, a monkey could do this job.