I cannot believe…my own father….would make me go through what I went through today. I’ve not had a check-up for almost 3 years, that doesn’t make me immune to the doctor’s looming presence, his cold glare, his demonic…black stethoscope, his tight pursed lips, everything about him. His mindset wasn’t to make me feel comfortable. His ultimate goal was set fast: make me squirm. Let's just leave it right here and now...I simply hate him. His shifty eyes settled on his papers clustered in his hands.
“She’s malnourished. She should weigh at least ten more pounds.” He declared gruffly, gaze never leaving the page. “And she needs glasses. She didn’t do very well on the eye test. She has good hearing though.”
Well, at least I had that…I try to preserve my hearing, not blaring music in my ears with those ugly white headphones everyone seems to be wearing these days, and what does he mean by malnourished? I’m not scrawny by any means! My limbs are of perfect proportion to my age and height. I eat plenty of food all the time! In fact Father says I eat far to much! What does it mean if I don’t weigh 200 pounds? That doctor must feel insecure, knowing that he’s pushing 300, and he wants everyone else to be as fat as him. Sometimes people are the most selfish creatures alive. Honestly.
They brought me into this gigantic room that was awfully dark. The doctor only grunted for me to sit down. His hulking shoulders were shrugged forward, and his tree-trunk-like arms encircled around some black contraption, with a long red laser flashing in my face. He looked like a yeti, a big white one with that hideous overcoat.
“Let’s get this terrible ‘meeting’ over as soon as possible please” I hissed. He made me look at a bunch of things, I didn’t really remember, nor did I care. I just wanted it to end. He just kept bloody staring at me. So much was bubbling up inside of me, I couldn't imagine taking anymore.
When we *finally* got the prescription for the glasses, I picked the most eccentric pair I could. I didn’t want to look like a typical nerdy-glasses wearer. Life isn’t fun without being different. So I got myself a pair that look like Leanne Marshall's, from Project Runway season 5. Yes, I do watch this marvelous show when I can.
Last night was much more pleasant then yesterday afternoon. We finally got home, the pediatrician’s office is ridiculously far away. But our lonely house greeted us with open arms as I ran out of the car, longing to forget the whole experience. I almost collapsed on the bathroom counter, splashing cold water on my face just to make sure the whole thing wasn’t just a nightmare. But then, of course, when you are in the most awkward position, the oddest things happen. I was frightened out of my wits when I was dunking my face into the faucet. Father and one of the boys from next door had waltzed up behind me without me noticing. Probably because the noise of the water running drowned out their footsteps.
“Hey, Katrina ain’t it?” That was Izzy. I certainly don’t think it’s his real name, but he wants everyone to call him that. Probably about a year older then me and a head taller…and black. All the kids in my neighborhood are black. Let’s face it. I live in the ghetto. I almost choked when his voice reached my ears. What in the world were they doing? I was in the bathroom for goodness sakes! Don't they understand I would like just a few minutes by myself to contemplate exactly why I hated everything about that doctor's visit? I pulled my hair back and slowly raised my head from the sink. While trying hastily to dry the water off my face by rubbing it with my hands, I put out a clumsy smile.
“Uhm, yes…I’m Katrina….and this is my….lovely bathroom.”
“Yeah…I see. Um, look I was just outside and saw you runnin in ya know, and ya pops and I was wondrin if you was ok.” His face almost glowed with honesty and concern. I almost laughed. What were they thinking?
“What in the world do you expect?? Do you think I’m ok???? I just came from that witch of a doctors office with his demonic hands touching me and his big fat body parading around me? Do you think I’m ‘ok’??? How could you ask such a question, Father?” I turned towards him and pointed an accusatory finger. But right then I realized how uncalled for and how random that outburst must’ve seemed. Especially to Izzy. His gaze switched from me to Father several times but neither of our faces could make more sense out of the situation. There was a long pause where no one said a thing. Finally, Izzy spoke to break the silence.
"Well as long as you's ok, I'll head back to the house alright? I think we's eatin dinner." He stated a little shakily. And before I could say another word, he bolted out of the front door.“She’s malnourished. She should weigh at least ten more pounds.” He declared gruffly, gaze never leaving the page. “And she needs glasses. She didn’t do very well on the eye test. She has good hearing though.”
Well, at least I had that…I try to preserve my hearing, not blaring music in my ears with those ugly white headphones everyone seems to be wearing these days, and what does he mean by malnourished? I’m not scrawny by any means! My limbs are of perfect proportion to my age and height. I eat plenty of food all the time! In fact Father says I eat far to much! What does it mean if I don’t weigh 200 pounds? That doctor must feel insecure, knowing that he’s pushing 300, and he wants everyone else to be as fat as him. Sometimes people are the most selfish creatures alive. Honestly.
They brought me into this gigantic room that was awfully dark. The doctor only grunted for me to sit down. His hulking shoulders were shrugged forward, and his tree-trunk-like arms encircled around some black contraption, with a long red laser flashing in my face. He looked like a yeti, a big white one with that hideous overcoat.
“Let’s get this terrible ‘meeting’ over as soon as possible please” I hissed. He made me look at a bunch of things, I didn’t really remember, nor did I care. I just wanted it to end. He just kept bloody staring at me. So much was bubbling up inside of me, I couldn't imagine taking anymore.
When we *finally* got the prescription for the glasses, I picked the most eccentric pair I could. I didn’t want to look like a typical nerdy-glasses wearer. Life isn’t fun without being different. So I got myself a pair that look like Leanne Marshall's, from Project Runway season 5. Yes, I do watch this marvelous show when I can.
Last night was much more pleasant then yesterday afternoon. We finally got home, the pediatrician’s office is ridiculously far away. But our lonely house greeted us with open arms as I ran out of the car, longing to forget the whole experience. I almost collapsed on the bathroom counter, splashing cold water on my face just to make sure the whole thing wasn’t just a nightmare. But then, of course, when you are in the most awkward position, the oddest things happen. I was frightened out of my wits when I was dunking my face into the faucet. Father and one of the boys from next door had waltzed up behind me without me noticing. Probably because the noise of the water running drowned out their footsteps.
“Hey, Katrina ain’t it?” That was Izzy. I certainly don’t think it’s his real name, but he wants everyone to call him that. Probably about a year older then me and a head taller…and black. All the kids in my neighborhood are black. Let’s face it. I live in the ghetto. I almost choked when his voice reached my ears. What in the world were they doing? I was in the bathroom for goodness sakes! Don't they understand I would like just a few minutes by myself to contemplate exactly why I hated everything about that doctor's visit? I pulled my hair back and slowly raised my head from the sink. While trying hastily to dry the water off my face by rubbing it with my hands, I put out a clumsy smile.
“Uhm, yes…I’m Katrina….and this is my….lovely bathroom.”
“Yeah…I see. Um, look I was just outside and saw you runnin in ya know, and ya pops and I was wondrin if you was ok.” His face almost glowed with honesty and concern. I almost laughed. What were they thinking?
“What in the world do you expect?? Do you think I’m ok???? I just came from that witch of a doctors office with his demonic hands touching me and his big fat body parading around me? Do you think I’m ‘ok’??? How could you ask such a question, Father?” I turned towards him and pointed an accusatory finger. But right then I realized how uncalled for and how random that outburst must’ve seemed. Especially to Izzy. His gaze switched from me to Father several times but neither of our faces could make more sense out of the situation. There was a long pause where no one said a thing. Finally, Izzy spoke to break the silence.
There was something wrong, because Father just kept staring at me. I knew, when he continued to stare at me that he was thinking. And I knew when staring and thinking were combined, there was something wrong. In fact, I knew what he was thinking. He was blaming everything on himself. But what was there to blame on himself? I didn't do anything wrong did I? Except that little eruption...no real harm done? I wish I hadn't done it right? But Father was blaming my badness on his bad parenting, even though he is a marvelous father.
But whenever he blamed things on himself, he goes away in the middle of the night and comes back in the very early morning. He doesn't tell me where he's going, but I know where he goes each time.
What did I do?
Did I do soemthing all that wrong to make him come back every time...with a hangover?
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