418 by Edgar Scott

Author:Edgar Scott
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: PublishDrive
Published: 2021-02-11T00:00:00+00:00

22

Really? That’s Odd

My message was successful. I found myself at the café, waiting. I turned off Samuel, though I could still turn him off since I wasn’t at work. I made my way in through the kitchen into the dining area.

“Good morning,” King said. There was an egg and two pieces of bacon set across from King’s breakfast. “How are you today?” King was smiling like he was pleased about something.

I sat down and I held up my hand. “I got stepped on.”

King reached out and I gave him my hand. He gave it a squeeze, and I almost jumped through the roof. “You aren’t going to work today,” he told me. “I can feel something that isn’t right.”

I smiled, “What’s this? My own breakfast?” I asked, motioning to the egg and bacon.

“I wanted to see if you could eat and keep it all down.”

Still smiling, I said, “I’ll try.”

“I get the hand, but what’s so bad about the shoe store?”

“Oh, that.” I felt almost ashamed now that he’d acknowledged my hand. “It’s humiliating.”

“Humiliating?” King squinted at me, as if he wanted to know if that’s what I meant to say.

“Yeah, the way that I get treated. I don’t like it.”

“Really?” King asked, “you don’t like it?”

“No.”

“That’s odd,” King continued thinking aloud, “you aren’t supposed to care.”

“Well I do.”

“Okay.”

I looked at the egg, cut it with my knife, stabbed it with the fork, and took a bite. It wasn’t so hard to swallow.

“Okay,” he said again. “Let’s enjoy breakfast. Then you should go to the clinic to get that hand fixed.”

“Okay,” I replied, and broke out into a big smile.

“Welcome back, George,” Samuel greeted me, after I left King sitting at his table. “I have something unfortunate to tell you.”

“Oh, what is it?”

“It has been reported that you have been injured, and I am obliged to guide you to the nearest medical clinic, where you will receive an examination and treatment where required.”

“Wow, that’s great.”

Samuel looked a little puzzled. “Actually, being injured is not great, and can be dangerous.”

“No, I know,” I tried to explain. “I think it is great that it is going to get looked after.” I could feel myself getting into a car, the door sliding shut to seal me in for my trip to the clinic.

“Yes, this is true,” Samuel seemed to muse. “Would you like to know the specifics?”

“Sure.”

“You have an unspecified injury to your left-hand.”

“Really?”

“Yes, it occurred at an unspecified time in an unspecified manner.”

“That is helpful,” I commented.

“Thank you.” We were pulling into traffic.

Soon enough, the car was sliding back into the clinic. I was getting used to being there. When the door opened, it almost felt like home again. Two med-techs were waiting for me. Before I could get up, they grabbed me, flipped me around and landed me into a medichair. I had to squelch a moment of fear. Right, I thought to myself, they are just going to fix my hand. I was pushed up the ramp through the doors and into the dimly lit clinic, where I was parked in shadow between the sparse lighting.

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