2016 Fiction
Hickory, chapter 5 (from Oct 2015)
Hickory, was first introduced in the short story "Posterity", published in "A Wounded Echo" by iUniverse in 2005.
She watched the egg as it broke on the kitchen floor. Her breakfast was not going well. She tossed in the vegetables and spices and stirred everything in the pan with a wooden spatula. The skillet's mixture sizzled, hissed and gave off distinctly Mediterranean aroma. She broke in another egg then heated to her liking and she diced the concoction as a kind of fried omelet. She didn't think of herself as an especially well mannered cook. But she liked her meal. She prepared an identical second serving and ate it rather slowly. Why was she so hungry?
Spring training would start in two weeks. She shivered. 'Great...finally...some baseball.' She paced herself through her windup. Several times. Each time emphasizing the end point of her throw. But, something was wrong...out of phase. Not her right arm. Nor her left. Not her shoulder tilt. Maybe the angle her head made with her shoulders. She shook herself and threw out several more cycles. '...but it still did not feel right.' She quickly changed into her sweats and jumped on the stationary bike. After twenty minutes at moderate speed she felt relaxed and motivated but her windup was still off. The morning was cool and breezy when she opened her door and went outside. Three times around the block, greeting Ms Winters, Swarthemore and Gifters. She saw the two small children from Apartment 534 riding plastic scooters but not their parents. A young couple was seated at the bus stop.
She reentered her apartment and worked through her warm up wind up again. There was something definitely wrong. There was a numbness in her shoulder and a dull ache all along her latisimus dorsi. She phoned the team physician and set up an appointment for 2:30. A same day appointment was relatively easy this far in advance of spring training. She ate a quinoa salad for lunch put another twenty minutes on the stationary bike and took a cold shower before leaving for her meeting with Dr. Jarvis.
Dr. Harve Jarvis was a stocky, mid fifties Midwesterner who could have played professional football. He said he preferred water polo. After a brief physical, some X-rays and a blood sample he sat Hickory on the cot next to the X-ray viewer. After a few pleasantries…
“I take it from your endomorphism that you don’t eat a lot of meat?”
“Well…true. Is that bad?”
“Not necessarily.”
“And you work out every day, what…at least an hour a day?”
“Yea. Well sometimes more on the weekends. Aren’t athletes supposed to work out every day?”
“Not necessarily…but most people will live longer if they work out regularly.”
“Aren’t I most people?”
There’s a knock at the door. It opens and Finlay hands Harve an X-ray.
“Hot off the press.”
“Thank you.”
Finlay closes the door behind him. Dr. Jarvus snaps up the X-ray onto the viewer and flicks on the light. He looks at the film for about thirty seconds.
“I thought so.” He points along the spinal backbone. “You’ve got an inflamed cervical disk. See there?”
Hickory squints at the X-ray. “If you say so. So why does my shoulder hurt?”
“Referred pain. You probably have exceptionally developed Erector Spinae muscles. Since you have such a breaking curve ball. So those opposite shoulder muscles, your non-pitching arm overcompensate and that stresses your left side. So you feel most of your pain on the left side…but your whole spine is affected.” Hickory straightens up.
“So what do I do?”
“I’m going to put you on the Disabled List. I can prescribe pain killers if you want. I’ll start you on physical therapy later this week. You might want to easy off your exercise program…maybe just yoga, stretching and light work outs. You’ll probably be on the List for three months… maybe more.”
“Three months!?”
“Maybe more.”
“So I won’t be back for the All Star game?”
Heave looks at Hickory and smiles. “With a little luck and consistent methodology we might have you pitching by then. For now, don’t throw anything heavier than a wiffle ball.”
“Bummer.”
“I’ll inform the manager and pitching staff. You can talk to any other teammates you care to inform. If there’s anything in the blood work you should be concerned about I’ll let you know. Your circulating stress and inflammatory proteins are probably elevated. We’ll consider medication if we need to control them.”
“Okay doc. Thank you for seeing me on such short notice.”
“Thank you Hickory for your sound judgment to get yourself examined. There are a lot of players who would try to work through that sort of pain. It would only result in more problems and longer recovery. Just follow the protocol and don’t rush it. Okay?”
“Okay doc. Thanks again.” She starts to leave the office then turns, “Do I have to come in for the Spring Training physical?” She smiles.
“No. You’re excused…but come in anyway. I like seeing the first woman pitcher in the majors. Someday I’ll write a book.” He smiles.
“A book! No kidding? Maybe I should write a book too?”
“There ya go. Could you sign the X-ray… for posterity?”
“Okay. Don’t put this in the book.” Hickory signs the film and leaves the exam room.
Sample Poetry
Poetry on the spectrum [from 1-5-2010] version 5
this course
forced
to deceive
deter
delinquent
an unsuspecting reader
off
plied
for some to do
overdue
a feeling of having to do would undo me
reached for a pen
penmanship declining
not yet reclining
noticed
semblance of schism
onto paper
you go to go still
journey without
found rhythm of rhyme for a time not my own.
work the spasm of space with a trace
wait
a new line
Fine tuned to release yet primed for failure barriers freeze
melt inspiration calf
chunks mostly submerged
drifting with a circulating current
errant ideas weather wrinkles in the text
next line is written write another line
another
worlds overwhelming stumble
made humble humorlessly
look where trying to see where
be
don't see
all most sense
freeze fast approaching Encroaching
fatigue another line
Enjambment
Collision
Anti fission
Concision
what a mess yet
Sample Fiction
[Richard] (original draft from 8-7-1989)
Richard did not smile. His walk was slow but not deliberate. He chose the outside edge of the sidewalk...He did not have a destination other than to eventually return to his apartment. He wasn't hungry. He hadn't dressed for exercise or rain. He knew with daylight savings over it would be dark by 5PM. But he needed to walk. To feel the pavement as he maneuvered the sidewalk. There were many cars racing to some objective and more than a few bicyclist but almost no pedestrians. Maybe because there was nowhere to walk to. Stores or shops or even parks were not in easy walking distance. The neighborhood was designed for cars. Richard wondered why he lived in a car town without a car. Why he lived here rather than somewhere else. But Richard and his job needed to be in the same place. The place called here. He would need a different job to live there, or anywhere else.
After his walk Richard checked the potted plants on his patio. He watered the ferns and then the semi tropical palms. He readjusted the PVC shade frame to maintain it's former solidity. He unlocked his apartment and entered. He turned on the light. The light flickered and went out. A pungent odor emanated from the compact fluorescent lamp. He adjusted the LED reading lamp to medium intensity, opened the closet, replaced the CFL with one from the closet, closed the closet and turned down the LED lamp. The CFL had nowhere near ten thousand hours of use. He wondered about its efficiency.
He sat down on his futon and started to write. He wrote what had just transpired and dated his entry. His diary was seventeen years long...well into it's seventh volume. He considered the earlier volumes on the bookshelf as he put the current volume on the end table. Richard stretched out on the futon to relax. He was asleep in forty seconds.
When he awoke he only vaguely recalled his dream. Something about driving a vehicle on a river, racing another car. The garbage disposal truck was backing up outside his apartment to get to the rear dumpster. A stockman unloaded deliveries from across the busy street. A leaf blower moaned in the parking lot of the local food mart. Several squirrels raced across the apartment roof. Two scrub jays argued over a favorite spot on his patio. The noise was typical for early morning weekdays. Richard did not hear the noise in his head when he heard the neighborhood noise. The noise from outside met the noise from inside at the edge of his diary. He tried not to think about it. He failed. His failure caused him to write more.
By 2PM he had written two pages. He thought about what two pages meant. Quantity did not measure quality...and thinking about writing was not writing. He decided to eat lunch. He collected his wallet, keys, hat, pen, watch and lunch bag with two zip lock bags and lifted his bike through the door frame. He positioned his bike against the entry gate while he closed the door. He rode his bike to the local Crepeville. Petrichor germinated from the pavement as a mist enveloped his face while he rode through the drizzle. He stopped for six of the eleven traffic lights and one stop sign. His rear brake needed adjustment. A girl at the curb was attending her cell phone. He locked his bike to a Sycamore tree as all the bike parking was occupied. Richard always secured his helmet with his Fuji. There was no waiting line. He scanned the overhead menu on the wall but chose Chicken Curry Crepe with potatoes and ice tea as was his custom. He set his ice tea on the counter and positioned serving number 27. Richard stirred four bags of sugar from the lunch bag into the ice tea with a straw. He watched pedestrians pass the wall size window. Town folk, a dog on a leash every third person, students biking and rollerblading between cars. It was amazing there were no collisions. Gusty wind sprinkled with sunshine. His order arrived and he thanked the waiter.
He ate slowly and methodically after portioning half the crepe and potatoes to separate ziplock bags from his lunch bag. The potatoes were burned on one side, which he liked for their crunchiness and texture. The spicy curry was especially tangy. Customers came and went, talked loudly, some laughing uncontrollably. Richard remained silent. He sipped from the ice tea to ensure it was gone at meal's end. The people outside were all engaged in conversation, either with companions, cellphones or earphones. Richard was silent. After finishing his meal he placed the napkin on the plate with the knife, fork and empty sugar packets. He left when he saw the entrance was unoccupied with people.
Richard 3 (8-3-2017)
“Where do you go from here?” Richard lay in a hospital bed, in the B4 cubicle of the Emergency Room. It was noon. A catheter was inserted about an hour before, draining a dark amber fluid from his body. Electrodes squared his chest and a rubber cuff encircled his right arm. The monitor could remotely measure his blood pressure. There were four other cubicles on his side of the room. Across the nurse's station he could make out two more. When the drape was closed he could only perceive footsteps, medical alarms and shadows. A constant cacophony of sounds and whispers. Nurse Linda pokes her head through the drapery then enters.
“How you feeling?” She looks at the monitor.
“Much better, now that the catheter is in.”
“That's good. You look worlds better than an hour ago. Your blood pressure's still a little high...but that's to be expected.”
Richard took a cab to the Emergency Room after a visit to the local urgent care center provided no treatment and a request for more tests. His predicament was probably fairly typical. 'His predicament...ah well...I'm committed now.'.
“Your doctor will be here shortly to explain what's going on.” Linda was cheerful, competent and composed. 'All positive traits for an ER nurse'. She portrayed proficiency.
So his first ER episode was an anticipated emergency. 'So is it still an emergency? Or was it because nothing else in the hospital was open for business on a Sunday? But it couldn't wait till Monday. So, it is what it is.'
A week later Richard had adapted to life with a catheter. He had restarted his exercise program. He had resumed bike rides. He still walked for groceries last weekend but he would bike this coming weekend. In a week he had scheduled a cytoscopy. And a CT scan had revealed a kidney stone, a bladder stone and a circular pancreas. 'So much potential? Life is a story within a story.'
Eleven days after the ER episode Richard received a summary of services from his insurance provider. ER visit, level 4: $425; CT scan: $408. Several days later he received the primary hospital account statement for his ER visit. Drugs incident to radiology: $600; IV solutions: $215.20; laboratory chemistry: $721; laboratory hematology: $106; laboratory bacteriology: $ 40; laboratory urology: $44; Ct scan general: $3,279; ER general: $3,449; Total: $ 8,264, of which he had paid $250 on admission.
8,600 dollars would max out both his credit cards and leave about $4000 unpaid. Life would be stressful. He cancelled his cystoscopy, as out of pocket expenses was about $495. Health care was just too expensive. Richard would later reschedule the cystoscopy but the taxi service would be late and he would miss the appointment. He would switch to Medicare coverage at the end of the month and a minor error to pay the premium by mail would cause his credit card payment to be declined. Richard decided to forgo medical procedures until he knew he would be covered by Medicare. It was an uncomfortable month.
A week later, the next hospital services summary indicated all but $100.00 was paid by the insurance provider.