Physician, Hide Yourself
Alrighty, here is some fiction. I've never really shared fiction, so if it sucks, let me down gently. Tell me what you think it's about.
Part 1: Stitches
“You must repeat after me.”
“Alright.”
“There are some things I cannot heal,” Alba said rhythmically.
“There are some things you cannot heal,” the little boy repeated, fidgeting.
“I must accept my fate, whatever the outcome.”
“I must accept my fate, whatever the outcome.” He rubbed his nose with the back of his hand.
“But I will try my hardest to heal you,” Alba continued. “I will not let time, distraction, or danger get between me and you.”
“But I will—I mean, you will try your hardest to heal me. You will not let time, distraction, or danger get between you and me.”
“We are bonded now; physician and patient.”
“We are bonded now; patient and physician.”
“Good.” Alba smiled at him, but he was upset and frowned. He always got the words wrong, no matter how many times she had repeated them to him in her calm, steady voice.
Alba just ruffled his hair and stood up, gently pushing him back against the firm doctor’s bed. The room was dim right now; light was only turned on when Alba worked and needed to see. But it was daylight outside, and the old packaging paper pasted to the window let in some of the watery, yellow light. It meant Tim could look at her. He watched the softness of her hair while she collected her supplies and pulled up the little stool she sat on.
“Now,” she began. “Are you going to be okay if I don’t numb it?”
“Alba, you never numb me for stitches.”
“I know, but it makes me feel a little better to ask.” She rubbed his other cheek, the one without a bloody cut, with gentle, nimble fingers. “It always makes me sad to give stitches without anesthetic. Especially to little ones.”
“I’m not little!”
Alba chuckled, and patted his cheek once before drawing back and putting on gloves. His other cheek felt cold, now; the bloody one was still hot.
“Okay,” she said in her physician voice, back straighter and all softness set aside. “Face forward, eyes closed, and do not move, or I will restrain you.”
Tim obeyed.
The second stitch always hurt the most. But Tim did not move, even if he did flinch and tense and curl his toes in his too-big boots.
Alba’s fingers remained gentle, but they did not falter or pause. Tim’s face ached badly and he hated the tugging he felt on his skin. The light she turned towards his face was bright and hot and no matter how much he squeezed his eyes shut, he still saw the light. But he focused on Alba’s orders, and found he could smell her familiar scent of soap and peppermint.
Outside, the train rattled by and shook the room a little bit. When Tim first came here, back when he was little, the sound had scared him. He felt caught. But now, after all these years, he was used to it and knew it did not mean trouble. In fact, Alba said, the train noise was good for privacy. Tim trusted what Alba said and had relaxed instantly.
“Alright, Tim. Good job. I think you were more still than you ever have been.”
“It’s because I’m older. ‘M not a little kid anymore,” he said seriously, puffing up his chest.
Alba smiled at him and brushed his hair back. Tim liked the feeling of her hands in his hair, even though he was probably too old for it. He would let it slide this one time.
“I hope I don’t see you in here anytime soon,” she said sternly, though her tone did not match her smiley face and eyes that looked nice and not angry or like she would punish him. Tim knew that Alba didn’t want to see him hurt; she didn’t want to see any kids get hurt, even though she always helped them when they did. Alba tried to help everyone, but she especially tried to help the kids. She told him that, one time; that she tried—she wished she could help everyone—but she couldn’t; even so, she would always try her hardest to help the kids. Tim knew Alba didn’t get to help all the kids; sometimes they got hurt and went away and never came back. But Tim also knew that Alba was magic and saved a lot of people, including him. It wasn’t her fault that kids got hurt all the time.
“I’ll be careful,” he promised, tapping his boots together and leaning back comfortably in the doctor’s chair. He didn’t want to leave yet; he liked the way the light from the shaded windows made Alba look glowy and yellow and like those angels in the colorful glass windows at the cathedral across town. When the sun was setting and got inside through the big holes in the ceiling, it made the glass look like an electric painting. Tim liked that.
“You and I have different ideas of careful,” Alba teased gently, spreading her hands in front of him. Tim took her hands (they were dry and warm) and let her pull him into a sitting position and onto his feet.
“Are your boots too big for your feet, Tim?”
“No. Maybe a little. I’ll grow into them soon.”
“I could try to find you a smaller pair.”
“But I’ll need ‘em one day.”
“You could leave them here, if you’re worried you’ll misplace them.”
She had fancy talk; she said things like misplace instead of lose. And they both knew misplace meant stolen, anyways.
“Well,” he said, thinking about how if his boots were stored here, he would get to see Alba again—without getting hurt first! “Alright, I guess. If ya find any.”
Alba smiled and ruffled his hair again. Tim allowed it, since she was being so nice about the shoes.
“You better run along. Stay out of trouble, Tim.”
“Alright. I promise.”
Part 2: Birth
The pain began a little after 11:00 pm.
Bad things always seemed to happen at night; but today, it was a good thing. Night meant secrets were easier kept.
Marianna paced her small bedroom and breathed out of her nose in little short bursts, like her mother had done. She walked faster when she thought about her mother. Marianna wondered where she was right now; if she would even recognize her own daughter. There were a few times Marianna thought she saw her mother, but in the ten years since the procedure, she wondered if she would even recognize her. She wondered if ten years was enough time to erase a face from memory the natural way; it had only taken a couple hours in the hospital for it to happen to her mother.
She groaned in pain and lowered herself to the floor; it was more comforting than the bed, right now.
Carter stalked into the room and knelt down in front of Marianna.
“Is it time?” His voice was breathy and panicked.
“It’s time.”
“What should I do?”
“Just wait with me. I don’t want to get her too soon; the baby could be hours before it’s ready.”
Carter looked like he wanted to argue, but just nodded. He started to put his hands under her arms to lift her up.
The floor was wet; and then Marianna realized her legs were wet and her feet and Carter’s shoes. His only shoes.
“Oh.”
“Is it time?” He asked again, frozen in his position next to her.
“Maybe.”
“Marianna.”
“I think so.” She didn’t know anything about birth. When her mother gave birth to her sister, she had come quickly after her water broke.
“What do you want me to do?”
“Get Alba.”
Carter was silent for a moment; he led her gently over to the bed and pushed her down before she had a chance to protest against getting the sheets wet.
“Marianna,” he began, sitting next to her. “I’ve been saving up some money.”
“No.”
“I’ve been saving and I think it’s enough. I think it will be worth it.”
“No, Carter. I won’t go.”
“But what if something is wrong?”
“That’s exactly what worries me! If something is wrong with the baby, they will take it away. Or worse. I don’t know. I’m afraid.”
“But it may save your life–”
“I don’t want to go. Give the money to Alba.”
Carter sighed. “If Alba agrees with me, you’re going,” he warned; it was an empty threat. Alba would come and deliver the baby and everything would be alright.
Marianna did not speak anymore, only closed her eyes and concentrated on her breathing and the little intervals of painlessness.
“Marianna?”
“Hello, Miriam,” she said without opening her eyes. “I need you to go get Alba.”
“I know. Carter told me to.” Her sister sounded concerned.
“It will be okay. But I need you to hurry and be careful. Don’t tell anyone what’s going on. Only talk to Alba. Can you do that?” Marianna opened her eyes and looked at her eleven-year-old sister.
“Yes. I can do that.” She fidgeted.
“Go on.” Marianna tried for a calming smile, though she knew her face was slick with sweat and flushed.
Miriam fled the room and thundered down the stairs and out into the cold night.
There was no moon, so it was dark in this part of the city, except for the occasional street light and glowy yellow apartment window. Miriam saw a group of men getting off work, dirty and tired-looking, and she crossed to the other side of the street.
It was dark, but Miriam knew the way. This was her job, and it was very important.
She ducked into a boarded-up alleyway and dodged the stacked plastic crates and trash cans. A skinny cat darted past her foot, and Miriam almost screamed. She put her hand over her mouth as her racing heart slowed down, but slapped it down to her side when she remembered that Alba said not to put dirty hands around your mouth; that’s how people got sick, she said. Miriam didn’t understand, but she didn’t ask questions.
Keeping her hands firmly pressed against her soft blue jeans, Miriam continued back into the alley. There was a little red lightbulb hanging in front of a metal door with no handle; it meant Alba was home. Or, at her doctor’s office. Miriam assumed Alba lived there, but she didn’t know for sure. She glanced behind her before knocking seven times.
The door opened and a smooth hand reached out looking pink under the red light and gently tugged her inside.
“Is it time?”
“Yes. Her water broke.” Miriam didn’t know what that meant. How did you break water?
“Alright. Good job getting to me so quickly. Let me get my things.”
In a few moments, Alba pulled Miriam into the red light again and closed the door. Miriam didn’t know how she would get back inside, but understood when she watched Alba put a funny looking key into a small hole and twist it.
“Let’s go.”
The walk back to the apartment was less scary for Miriam, since Alba was with her; they did not see anyone, and Alba walked fast, keeping close to shadows and away from the lights. Miriam was now glad the moon was dark.
Back inside Miriam’s home, Alba asked her to stay in the kitchen until she heard a baby crying. Miriam obeyed and sat at the kitchen table. She got up, and moved to sit by the door, leaning her head against it so she could hear inside. She could hear Marianna and Carter and Alba talking in quiet voices; sometimes Marianna would grunt or groan or even scream. It was frightening, but Miriam knew Alba was there to make it end and take care of her sister.
“You need to push, now,” Alba said.
“I’m trying!”
“Can’t she take a break?”
“The baby won’t take a break,” Alba said in a firm voice.
Marianna screamed again; Miriam curled up with her knees tucked in her arms and her head down, feeling nervous.
Her head popped up after a moment, realizing that some of the screaming was a new voice. The baby was screaming!
Miriam leapt up and turned the knob, creaking the door open slowly but eagerly. At first, all she could see was Alba and Carter crowded around the bed. But then Alba was placing a blanket bundled up in Carter’s arms. He was crying, and Miriam was afraid something was wrong at first.
“Hello, baby boy,” he said; his voice sounded sticky and low.
Alba was wiping off Marianna’s face when she turned and smiled at Miriam.
“Congratulations, Miriam. You’re an aunt.” She looked happy when she said that, but when Miriam looked at Carter’s happy-sad face and Marianna’s flushed and sleepy smile, Alba looked really tired and pale. Delivering a baby must be hard work for a physician, and it was really late.
“Thank you, Alba. I knew you would make it alright.” She scrambled over to her sister’s bed and patted her head gently, mimicking the way Alba had been rubbing her face. “I’m going to take care of them, too.”
Alba smiled at her again, and then peaked outside the windows, making sure the stuffed towels were tightly in place.
Part 3: Amputate
The pain got worse when he knew it wouldn’t go away anytime soon. Maybe ever. David might be in pain for the rest of his life, which might now be a lot shorter than he anticipated.
David had always wondered what the inside of the hospital looked like; he had thought he would know tonight. The brightly lit, white building looked like a big glowing wedding cake in the middle of dark buildings and warehouses. There were tall fences on the outside covered in spiky barbed wire, and David remembered a time when he thought that being stuck on barbed wire was painful. Now, it seemed like touching velvet compared to the pain in his leg right now.
Marco and Lee adjusted their grip on his legs and back as they stood there. Nobody spoke or moved or had any idea of what to do next.
“We need to find her,” Marco said finally.
When David didn’t respond—when David forgot how to move his mouth for a moment and get his thoughts out of his throat— Marco tapped his forehead against David’s head to get his attention.
“You still with me?”
“Yeah.” Did David say that? His mouth had moved but he didn’t feel anything.
“She moved her office last month,” Lee said, struggling more than Marco with his smaller frame. “I don’t know how to find her.”
“We have to find her.”
David felt his head dip down, his chin against his sternum and he watched with fascination as a little puddle of blood formed under his body. Every time a drop landed in the puddle, it created little circles. The moon was out tonight and it reflected in the little puddle of blood.
The next time he opened his eyes, the puddle of blood was gone and the ground was moving under him. He was moving. The air was moving. David wasn’t sure. The train rumbled above them and it was really loud. David realized it was also raining, and that’s why they were walking under the train. He realized he was already wet, and Lee’s hair was plastered to his forehead and getting stuck in his eyelashes. David reached around his friend’s face and pushed his hair back to help. Lee looked at him and smiled, and even though they were shielded from the rain, a few drops fell down his pale cheeks.
“How long ago did this happen?”
David opened his eyes again and found himself still, out of the arms of his friends, and laying on a firm, wooden table. Hands were tugging on the fabric of his pants, and the sound of rusty scissors cutting filled his ears. The scissors, metal on metal, reminded him of work and he felt like he might throw up.
“An hour ago. We took him to the hospital—I know, but we thought he was about to die and we collected as much cash from everyone on shift that we thought, I don’t know, we thought it would maybe be enough.”
“It wasn’t,” said an angrier, deeper voice. “We didn’t even make it over the threshold.”
The scissor sound stopped and David felt drafty, and he shivered. A soft, warm hand pressed against his forehead and rubbed his hair back. It reminded him of his mother. He began to cry.
“He lost a lot of blood, and I don’t have his type on file. A blood transfusion might be necessary, but it could kill him.”
“Does he have many options?”
The silence was her answer.
The hand left his forehead and David wanted to protest it. He lifted an arm, but someone pinned it down and began rubbing a cold liquid on it. The smell of alcohol filled his senses and he blacked out again.
The next time he woke up, David knew he was dying.
He was back at work, and someone was using the saw. Except it was slow and not electric and the saw was inside his head. Every movement reverberated in his brain and he was screaming and he wished he was dead.
The next time he woke up, David felt light and floaty and the hand was back on his forehead. It was shaking and sweaty; but he concentrated on that feeling and not the pain in his leg. His eyes were crusty and stuck; a warm wash cloth met his face and wiped and then he could see.
Above him stood a woman covered in red and sweat and David didn’t want to think about why she looked like that. He just wanted to smile at the woman, like he was a man in a bar and not a cadaver on a table.
“Hi,” he mumbled, barely feeling his lips move.
“There are some things I cannot heal,” she whispered.
David saw black again, and could only focus on the sound of her voice.
“I must accept my fate, whatever the outcome.
But I will try my hardest to heal you. I will not let time, distraction, or danger get between me and you.
We are bonded now; physician and patient.”
The next time David woke up, his head felt clearer even though the pain was still there.
“...once the swelling goes down, he can try it on. It will take time to learn to use it well. But he’s smart and will do fine.”
“Good,” said one lighter voice. “It’s a miracle.”
“He will need a hundred more miracles,” came another, deeper voice. It sounded angry.
“Marco.”
“He can’t wear that at work, even if he did get his job back. Which he won’t. He will heal only to starve to death.”
The last time David woke up on the wooden table, he looked around and saw a woman with her back to him. She was putting away some supplies, and a little boy was lingering at her side, watching her hands move.
“You need to head on home, now,” the woman said softly; she probably thought David was still sleeping.
“I should probably break them in, to make sure they fit first.”
“You can break them in on your walk back home.”
“You promise you won’t lose my boots?”
There was a silence followed by the little boy sighing and shrugging. “Yeah, yeah. Alright. I’ll go.”
He knelt down and patted a pair of boots on the floor like they were a pet, and turned around. He made eye contact with David and his eyes drifted to the other end of the table, where David’s feet rested. The boy scampered away.
The woman turned around and realized David was awake.
“Hello, David. How are you feeling?”
He frowned and shrugged, which sent a spike of pain through his waist and legs.
She was staring at him like she expected him to make a commotion, like he might erupt; he didn’t know why.
“Do you know who I am?”
“You’re the physician,” he said, his voice croaky and dry. “You’re Alba.”
“It’s nice to meet you.”
“I don’t know if it’s nice to meet you,” he blurted, and then scrunched his face up; that wasn’t what he meant to say. But she laughed and sat down next to him.
“It’s never nice to need me,” she interpreted.
David really looked at her this time, surprised by how young she was. The urban legend of Alba the physician would make someone believe in angels and superheroes and magicians; not just a girl with brown hair and green eyes and a crummy apartment kitchen. But David was alive and that was a miracle, he supposed. Why was it a miracle? He couldn’t remember.
But when his eyes focused behind her, to the prosthetic leg on the counter, he understood. David wept and Alba held his hand and brushed his hair back. He felt stupid for being in her presence; he was only part of a man now and she was a beautiful woman who made miracles happen. Somehow that made it all worse.
“Can you repeat something for me?” she said after a long moment; he thought he might have seen tears on her face.
“Okay.”
“There are some things I cannot heal.”
Part 4: The Mind
“You can’t help me.”
“I can. I will.”
“There is no time, Alba.”
“We will be secret, and safe.”
“There are some things you cannot heal.”
“I know that.” She sounded angry. “Don’t you know that’s all I know.”
“Alba. Not this time. I let them take me somewhere once, and I won’t let it happen again. There is no time. It’s okay.”
“Please let me help you.” The tears on her face were like little tracks in a dirt road.
“I’m going to die still a man. I need you to let me.”
“No, not when I can make you live. I can make you get better.”
He paused; the sound of cars had paused, and he knew they were parked outside the alley.
“If they get their hands on me, I’ll lose my mind; my soul. I don’t want that.”
“I can hide you.”
“You can barely hide yourself.”
She was crying now, silently and full of tremors.
“Alba. I won’t get better. Every thunderstorm, every train, every engine backfire. The gunshots. I can’t run from it anymore. It didn’t work. I left a part of my soul over there, and I’ll die with what I have left.”
“I’ll miss you.”
“I know. Let me go, now. Let me lead them away from you.”
“I won’t be okay.”
“Yes, you will. You did good, kid.”
“I love you, dad.”
“I love you.”
He stood up and walked out of the alley, first with his hands up and then he broke into a run in the opposite direction; they followed, and he made it far. But not far enough that Alba did not hear it.
Part 5: After
Alba experienced intense disassociation every time a car backfired; and in this neighborhood, it was often and loud. She robotically cycled through the centering exercises she gave her patients, but it was like reading words on a page in a foreign language. Her hands still moved, though, and she never stopped working. The needle and thread appeared in her hands and she sat on the stool and put on her gloves and bent down.
“Alba?”
The voice broke through the fog.
“Huh?”
“Aren’t you forgetting something?”
Alba sat up straighter and looked down at her hands. She had on gloves. The needle was threaded. She had not disinfected the needle yet.
Alba sat up quickly and tossed aside the needle and thread with shaky hands. What was she doing? How could she forget something like that? With a shaky breath, Alba tugged off the gloves and began pacing the room, breathing heavily.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
“I didn’t mean to make you upset! You just—you forgot to make me repeat the oath! You’ve never forgotten before, but that’s okay. I forget things all the time. It doesn’t mean nothin’. Please don’t be upset.” Tim looked close to tears.
Alba realized she was losing it in front of her most consistent patient. She calmed herself by force, focusing on his little face and the little tremble in his chin and how he seemed to be trying to be brave.
“It’s okay, you didn’t make me upset. I just got distracted and it’s not okay for me to be distracted. But I’m alright now, and we can repeat the oath together.” She sat back down and took his hands in her own.
Tim’s cut was not that bad, barely needing stitches; but he was an active kid, and she knew a bandage wouldn’t last on his leg as he ran around the neighborhood. He had scuffed up knees and had a bruise on his cheek, though he wouldn’t tell her how he got it. Sometimes Alba didn’t want to know certain things.
“I’m sorry I scared you,” she said quietly, rubbing his hands between hers. Right now they were small between her palms, but Alba knew that one day soon they would outgrow hers; and something about that made her sad. He got a little bigger every time she saw him, she thought; though that was only half true. Kids didn’t grow that fast. But he had grown a lot since Alba had first treated him for a dislocated arm when he was a toddler.
“You didn’t scare me,” he said, having calmed down almost immediately. “I’m pretty brave. I just didn’t want you to be scared is all.” He tugged a hand out from hers and patted her on the cheek.
Alba laughed even though she felt like crying.
“Thanks, kiddo. You’re doing a good job taking care of me. Maybe you can be a physician one day.”
“Really?” His eyes were saucers.
“Yeah. I can teach you one day.”
“Okay.” He smiled really big and Alba wondered if his front tooth would ever come in.
“Can I try on my boots again?”
“You can after I stitch you up.”
“Okay. I’ll wait,” he said decisively, settling back down. “I’m glad my stitches are on my leg this time. It hurts the least.”
“Good,” she said, getting up to wash her hands and properly disinfect everything.
“I bet they’re gonna fit this time,” he said confidently.
“You think?” Alba turned to smile at the little boy. “I don’t know if feet grow much in one week.”
“Mine do.”
“Okay, kiddo.”
Alba sat back down and took a deep breath; she barely noticed the train rumbling by.
“You must repeat after me.”
“Alright.”
Author’s Note: I wanted this to feel very minimalistic and not heavily expository. It’s a futuristic / alternative setting; I was kinda inspired by the show Severance and other recent commentaries on how technology and corporations influence society. Anyways, I’m not typically good at writing short stories and keeping them short, but I’m also not good at finishing novels. Catch-22. So maybe this will be a start to doing short stories better. Who knows.
Long story short … Being a servant to the poor and needy ! Couldn’t put down but chores to do! 😇🎶
great piece