Mike

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March 24, 2008

Spring Ski Trip, Part 3: A Visit to the East Possum Bladder Urgent Care

“How many fingers am I holding up?” asks the young woman in the maroon Mount Feverblister Ski Patrol jacket.

“Just one,” says Dad, “And I kind of wish you wouldn’t use that particular finger, turned around like that.”

“OK, Chad, he’s alert,” says the young woman. “Let’s get him strapped to the back board.”

“I’m not sure ‘alert’ would be the word I would choose,” says a young man, presumably Chad, also wearing a maroon Mount Feverblister Ski Patrol jacket and peering over the young woman’s shoulder. “An ‘alert,’ person wouldn’t have taken out that whole beginner’s class of hearing-impaired kids when he shot across the Bunny Hill.”

“I yelled, ‘Look Out!’” says Dad.

“Just after you crashed through that great big sign that said ‘Caution – Hearing-Impaired Kids.’”

“You know, you’d think that a sign like that would have slowed me down more than it did.”

“Yes, you would,” says the young woman. “Or hitting all those tables in the outdoor café. Or crashing through the gift shop.”

“Who’d guess they made those walls that thin? So apparently it was the front of that Prius that launched me airborne in the parking lot.”

“Apparently,” says the young woman. “I particularly liked the way you sort of banked off the dumpster lid and into the dumpster.”

“Probably saved my life.”

*****

“He has a few scrapes and bruises and a slight sprain in his left ankle. All in all, I’d say he’s pretty lucky,” says the bearded man with the stethoscope draped across the collar of his green flannel shirt and the name badge reading, “Dr. Chad” in hot pink glitter paint. “He’ll be out in a couple of minutes.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” says Mom. “Todd Junior, please put those down.”

“Awwww,” says Todd Junior as he (temporarily) drops the defibrillator paddles he was holding to his cousin Pammie’s ears while the Twins looked for the “on” switch.

“Thank goodness Dad is all right,” says Little Suzie, surreptitiously pocketing rolls of surgical tape and gauze for something she has planned for later that night, a little game she likes to call “When Todd Junior Wakes Up He’ll Find Out That He’s a Mummy.”

“You’re certainly right,” says Aunt Meg, surreptitiously pocketing sample bottles of Demerol and Oxycontin for something she has planned for later that night, a little game she likes to call “Taking Aunt Meg To Her Happy Place.”

“Oh, and another thing,” says Dr. Chad over his shoulder as he heads for the Doctor’s Lounge, “Make sure he doesn’t try to go skiing again.”

“Until his ankle has had a chance to heal?” asks Mom.

“Ever.”

At that moment, Uncle Bob pushes Dad out of the examining room in a wheelchair. “Good as new,” he says. “And we’re just in time to get back for the All You Can Eat Buffet! This is the night they sprinkle Bacon Bits on the macaroni with cheese!”

“My favorite,” says Aunt Meg.

“Sounds great,” says Mom.

“Yippee,” says Dad.

“Why isn’t there a Taco Bell in this county?” says Little Suzie.

“Clear!” shouts Todd Junior.

And the lights go out all over East Possum Bladder.

Author’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of the characters depicted here to actual persons, living or deceased, is purely coincidental.

But it does kind of make you squirm now and then, doesn’t it?

Editor’s Note: If you would actually like to read all three parts of this story, you might need therapy, but far be it from us to judge, so here they are: Part One. Part Two.

Copyright © 2008, Michael Ball. Distributed exclusively by North Star Writers Group. May not be republished without permission.