Greenwood Medical Centre

Phoebe stood naked in the shower. She looked down at her pale, speckled body and grimaced. She watched the drops splatter onto the glass. She pretended she was still a child, curled up in the backseat watching the raindrops race each other on the window. The water panged cold against her shoulders. Phoebe gasped and spun around to turn the tap.

~

Mark sat on the couch. He stared bleakly at the television and ripped open the Up & Go straw and slurped. The cool Choc Ice façade dripped over his swollen tonsils and slid into the deep. He swallowed. A groan burst from his lips. He forced himself through the last of his drink and left the carton scrunched on the coffee-table.

His mother’s slippers padded down the stairs.

“How are you feeling this morning, honey?”

He turned from the couch and looked at her. He shook his head and mumbled, “Pretty crap really. Shit, I can hardly breathe, Mum”. Rather than comment on his language she left Mark with The Simpsons re-runs and searched for the phone.

She pushed in the numbers off the fridge-magnet and waited for the dial-tone.

~

She sat in the green waiting room. She crossed her legs and flipped the pages of an empty magazine. A mother sat in the corner with her coffee in hand and baby at her feet, playing with a big, red, toy car. The room smelt of disinfectant and cheap air-freshener. Phoebe tried to ignore what it was masking. She reached the last page of the magazine. Total rubbish. She hadn’t read a word.

The baby stopped playing with the car. He looked up and stared at Phoebe with round, blue eyes, like the buttons on his cardigan. Phoebe smiled and poked out her tongue. He giggled at her and went back to the tattered toy box.

A door opened and closed down the hallway and Phoebe heard mumbled voices. Footsteps led to the waiting room. He loomed over the small chairs, “We’re ready for you, Miss Brown.”

~

They arrived at the doctor’s and made a beeline for reception. The greying woman tapped his name into the system and signalled to the worn chairs in the corner. His mother had just chosen a magazine to skim through when the white coat swung down the hallway.

“Mark is it? Follow me to my office”.

His mother was up in seconds. She skipped behind the doctor to keep up. She interjected her concerns every few moments as the woman tried to read the notes. They passed the waiting room. Mark caught a glimpse. There was a girl, staring at a baby playing on the floor. She looked ready to cry.

~

At the receptionist’s desk she rested on her elbows and waited while the small, pink, woman chattered into her headset about flu injections and insurance prices.

“Sorry, darling. So, no cost, but would you like to schedule your next appointment?”

She shook her head and turned to walk through the automatic doors. It was raining outside. She paused to rummage through her shoulder bag for an umbrella. Her hands came out empty. She flicked her hood up over her ponytail and left the building.

Her khaki canvas bag bounced off her hip as she walked. She wasn’t plugged in as usual, and instead, listened to the rough hems of her jeans and sneakers splash into the dirty puddles. Cars whooshed past and Phoebe wondered if any of the drivers noticed her. She was the only pedestrian, bundled in the wind. She kept her head up and walked into the rain.

~

Mark sat rigid on the cold leather. It was like a dentist’s chair. The specialist pushed a lever and Mark flung back. A bright lamp shone above his face. Without a word the woman pried open his mouth and stashed cotton balls around the edges to keep it ajar. Mark watched her pull the gloves over her fingers and let go so they slapped back tight to her hands. Then she reached for the syringe. The needle was longer than Mark’s index finger. He scrunched his eyes closed and tried not to think about the horror movies he loved where sick and twisted doctors sowed people together, creating a Human Centipede.

Mark felt the cool metal pierce his gum and then the anaesthetic spreading through his mouth. He kept his eyes closed and listened to the woman clinking her weapons on the tray next to him.

~

She stopped next to a jagged rock wall. She rested against it and pulled herself up to sit on the uncomfortable edges. Phoebe sat across from the high-school. She could see through the windows of one of the classrooms. The teacher stood at the front of the class, animated. Phoebe watched him opening and closing his mouth. She laughed to herself. He looked like a goldfish.

Her eyes wandered away from the windows. She watched the small hand of her watch creep forward.

The school bell rang loud. The boys behind the glass jumped from their desks and left the room before the animated teacher had finished teaching. Phoebe sat still on the wall and scanned the crowd. He emerged from the sea of Grammar boys. His smile crossed the road without looking. He kissed her on the mouth and held his hand against her stomach.

~

He woke to a thick, refluxed cough coming from the bed behind the drawn curtain. Mark opened his eyes to the pale room. The walls were a supposedly calming green, but the reek of disinfectant ruined any chance it had of succeeding. He slowly grew used to being awake. He pushed himself upright and stretched out to yawn. As Mark opened his mouth, he felt the tight rip of searing pain. He pulled his fingers up to fumble over his face. He felt the large lumps of new stitches.