It’s difficult being in this work, when everyone is so fearful. Why do they give me those dreadful eyes? I am no different than your average, well-meaning person…It is blasphemous, prejudiced the way you all treat me.

It only makes it worse that I am armed with the best weapons: the drill, the anesthetics, forceps…my personal favorite being the wondrous rongeurs. Or perhaps it is the scalpel….? Anesthetics are quite satisfying themselves, but the newly hired anesthesiologist does most of that these days…

I come to the side door of the front desk, where a spectacled, olive-skinned woman of 40ish sat behind a desktop, folders, and clipboards.

"Who is next on the schedule, Armina?"

She scanned a sheet, clicks her long nails across the keyboard. "Jennie, Gol-erm, Jennie Golinksin...aya..vil..."

When no one stepped forward, she raised her voice. “Jennie Golinksinayavil."

A small grey-haired woman in a crisp navy blouse and blinding white capris rose timidly, took faltering steps toward the desk. "T-t-that's me."

Armina looked down her nose and directed, "To your left, please."

Hesitant shuffling approached the doorway, so I took my leave. I take the doctor-patient relationship quite seriously. They must wait until the professional deigns to see the patient—what would they think, if we awaited them like school children for our mothers…? It simply would not do.

I find a dark corner when Armina comes rushing around the bend. "Dr. Misha. Dr. Misha..."

"Yes, yes, Armina?"

"We have a problem..."

"Yes?"

"It is, it's a problem, Dr. Misha, I don't know what to do..."

"Armina, what is this problem?"

"It is with Dr. Jussiack..."

"Yes, the anesthesiologist? What is with Dr. Jussiack?"

"He cannot come, he is sick with the flu. I called Dr. Kim, the backup anesthesiologist, but he is at the other branch all day, he can't come, and we have two surgeries today..."

"Ah, yes, I see, Armina, I see. But this is not a problem, Armina. A problem is when you have no anesthesiologist on staff with surgeries on the agenda, this, no this is not a problem at all, Armina..."

"But...But, who is going to do the anesthetizing?"

"I will, do them Armina. It is no problem."

"But Dr. Misha...The Incident...We hired Dr. Jussiak because of The Incident, and Dr. Kim also, just in case, we don't...Well, no offense and all, but I just thought..."

"No worries, Armina, I am capable of using anesthetics. Go back to your desk, please, I need to prepare now for surgery."

"Erm...Of course...You know where they are? The anesthetics, I mean?"

"You're not my mother, Armina...I am quite capable."

"Oh--we could always call Dr. Issnar, I think it may be her day off, but she has done anesthetics...I know it's not her job, but..."

"Armina, everything is under control. I will let you know when Mrs. ....Golinokasolalavil is finished."

"Erm..." Armina shifted feet. "Okay, then."

***

I visited Jennie shortly thereafter.

“Hello, Ms…Ms Jennie, I am going to be performing your surgery today.“

Jennie, for her part, attempted to smile. “I’m a little nervous, Dr. Misha.”

“And why are you nervous, Ms. Jennie?”

”Well, um…to be perfectly honest…your reviews, Dr. Misha. They’re not very good.”

I frowned. “Really?”

”No, and I know you must be asking yourself, ‘Well, then, Jennie, why did you come to me if I have such bad reviews?’“

”I was not, actually, thinking that…”

Jennie barreled onward, ”And, well, Dr. Misha, you see, yours is the only that will take my insurance, you see. The only dentist, or oral surgeon, I mean.”

”Mmhmm…mmhmm, well…”

“I would have liked to go across the street, you know, to Dr. Hiram’s. He has wonderful reviews! Some of yours in particular, were concerning, and I just wondered if we could discuss them, just real quick, to ease my mind…“

”Jennie, would you like your orthognathic surgery done today, or would you prefer to reschedule?”

”My…I’m sorry, what was that? Orthonath…? Oh, I would be like to seen today, yes. But I’m just not quite sure I caught that, that part about the ortho-something-surgery…”

”Very well, then. You didn’t eat or drink anything today?”

“No, no, that’s all good, Dr. Misha…”

”Wonderful, just wonderful, Jennie.” A thrill as I gathered my tools, prepared the anesthetics…An electric thrill tingled through my body, my digestive system rumbling in agreement…Indeed, indeed…It was turning out to be a lovely day.

***

The next morning, Armina the desk clerk comes hurdling towards me, as she tends to do.

“Dr. Misha? Dr. Misha! I need to speak to you, we have a problem…”

”You and your problems, Armina,” I note with a sigh.

“Jennie is suing you for the surgery you did, the orthognathic that was supposed to be a dental extraction…”

“Oh my, dental extraction. I had no idea. Perhaps we should reschedule for this.“

”Well, technically, I don’t think that would be advisable for the moment…”

“Of course, of course. She must recover first. Did she mention how she was feeling after the orthognathic procedure?”

”Quite numb, apparently.“

”Good, good, that is quite a normal reaction. No problem here, no problem at all, Armina. Schedule her for a few weeks, and we can see how she is progressing...”

I can’t feel my hands.

It’s the only thought she can get out, the only thing she can process, the simplest set of words she can string together in the moment. The world is suddenly dark, so dark, and she could swear that just a moment ago there had been more than this, the crushing weight of invisibility pressing her down.

I can’t feel my feet either.

She kicks and struggles and her toes meet hard wood—couldn’t this sort of thing break a bone or twelve with ease? She wouldn’t know. All she knows is that she has to go up, past the wood and the weight and the awful dreadful suspicion that there is nothing else for her broken spirit to feel.

What can I feel?

Any other day, it would be a simple question with a simple answer. But she can’t feel, she can’t see, she can’t know what this is or how deep she is. She scratches, fights, claws her way forward, pulls a deep breath into depleted lungs and forces a response to her own question.

Nothing.

She looks down at her own body, her hands just as unfeeling and lungs just as empty as before. There is no longer the weight of burial dirt and splintering coffin wood to battle, no fear of invisibility or numbness to push her forward.

What am I?

Is she…free? Untethered? Set loose? She doesn’t know. She stands, stares down at the grave before her. The heart she had in life would be beating out of her chest now had it followed her into death. But now she only sighs, a single shallow breath to welcome herself to the afterlife.

A ghost has no use for feelings here.

As darkness crept in from atop the night sky, all I could do was stand in my room and watch as my fear grew inside me. A flash. That was all I saw, and then darkness. Fear overwhelmed me as I pounced into bed, until...

I saw it in the corner, a mere memory from last year, the night I was all alone, nothing but murkiness surrounding me. I had lost my way home, not a single person around, just me and Darkness, fighting for survival. I looked so scared, so alone, as I watched on.

Then, all went blank

In the heart of night's dark shroud it came,

A flash of lightning, a furious flame.

Splitting the heavens with jagged scars,

Unveiling secrets from realms afar.

A moment's brilliance, a blinding sight,

Revealing shadows in eerie light.

Thunder's roar echoed through the air,

Whispers of stories, tales of despair.

Faces emerged from the electric haze,

Haunted souls lost in endless maze.

A glimpse into the unknown's domain,

Where fear and wonder forever reign.

A fleeting glimpse of truth untold,

In that flash of lightning's stronghold.

A world unseen in the silent night,

A brief connection to the other side.

Telling a lie to spare someone else's feelings? Don't know

that I can agree to that 'cause

I'm thinking the lie I might be telling to someone now could

prove chaotic in the long run.

I know truth can hurt. Sometimes like a blade it can wound the receiver in an instant penetrate implanting deep. That's perhaps when it's taken the wrong way, though, I feel.

The heart can feel weak and

hurt as though it's been dealt

a physical blow. Yet truth,

I'll choose truth, there's nothing

like it to reach out of love for a soul to come to grips with reality. Truth compares with medicine in the way that it can

be bitter and kind of hard to

swallow but once you do, it

makes for a better healthier you

in contrast to the you there was

formally.

On certain days,

a heavy

shower of rain

or a bolt of thunder,

or a cloud of doubts...

cause dismay.

Pressure rises,

contents under threat

of a great big flood.

Overwhelmed.

Scattered imaginations,

negative stabbing

thoughts, abound.

Emotionally scathed.

Only what's keeping me

sane, the Scripture that I

long hidden in my heart,

daily, is reminding me

that I have to keep going!

His face is a storm cloud. No warning, no chance to prepare myself. Just anger.

I grasp for answers, gathering my scattered thoughts as I consider whether or not to bolt, to run, to finally hear my footsteps rain down upon the stairs as I escape.

I stand still.

His screams thunder through my skull. Threats of violence, threats to leave. No threat can be worse than the one I aim at myself: to survive this or die trying.

My field of vision is limited to his face an inch from mine, full of angry gnashing teeth and a flood of spittle as he yells.

I swallow, willing myself to hold back the tears. They drop without permission, run down my cheeks and splash on the battered hardwood floor.

I shake, clamping my hands over my ears as if that will protect me. All it does is funnel his screams into concentrated echoes, penetrating deeper into my soul.

And then he's done. Spent. He stomps away to slam out of the house with a final curse tossed at me, the parting blow.

I breathe, remove my hands from my ears and stretch my aching arms.

I walk to the bathroom and undress. Hot water needles my skin, the spray too sharp against my bruises. But pain means I am alive. The shower is a habit, an ingrained reflex, a ritual after every fight.

As if I can wash this off.

I bolt straight to the line snaking behind a small glass window with a sturdy white frame.

What about the roaring roller coasters, the thrilling white water splashes, and the spinning wheel of baskets you ask?

I am interested in none of it.

That's right. I go to amusement parks for nothing but their funnel cakes.

Now, before you say anything, you must understand. There’s just something about eating a funnel cake amidst cheering screams, bustling crowds and festive music that simply hits differently. It’s an experience that is sure to put me on cloud nine, even when my mood is buried six feet under.

Ah, I can see the powdered sugar getting scattered upon the crispy disk all the way from here. The line always moves astoundingly slow, but the shower of strawberry syrup is quite the show. I never cease to be thunderstruck by the flood of chocolate syrup that threatens to spill over the edge of the plate.

Sigh…

There are young children kicking up a storm in spite of their parents’ warning. That is quite the fit they are having…

Oh dear…

My heart drops and rain fills my soul as I realize the cause of the commotion. I can see the back of many heads, yet not even the ghost of a single funnel cake remains behind the big glass window with a sturdy white frame.