“Go on. Ask.” Her tone has a resigned smile to it.
“How in the name of Saint Christopher are you going to stitch me up with only one hand?”
“Easy peasy. With your help, of course.”
Hmmm, how exactly do I handle this?
“I can see your skepticism, you know.I’mnot blind.”
The other thing about having damage to your eyes is that you lose the ability to be as expressive as you normally are. “But my eyes are…”
I’m hit with that familiar sting that always comes when I think of how things were versus how things are. And I know how things are because I made Meemaw tell me.
“You might be looking off into the distance, but your eyebrows nearly shot right off your forehead.”
Holy crap, I’m rude.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. If you offered to drive me somewhere, I think I might raise an eyebrow or two myself.”
I laugh again, and the tightness in my chest eases a smidge.
“Hattie, you know, I might just like you.”
“Good, cause I like you. Okay, now this might sting a little.”
I suck in a breath. “Holy fucking horseshoes, that hurts like a mofo. Sure it isn’t less painful just stitching it up live and all?”
“I tell you what, next time we’ll try it out.”
“There isn’t going to be a next time.”
“Glad to hear it.”
I’m surprised it takes Hattie no time at all to stitch me up. She asks me to pinch the skin together and tells me if I’m doing it too hard or too soft. All the while she’s stitching me up, she tells me she’s got a new job at Joe’s animal sanctuary.
“I love Joe’s. I go there every Tuesday.”
“I used to work at Joe’s vet practice before he started the sanctuary. He never took any of my bullshit after the accident. He told me if the drummer of Def Leppard can drum with one arm, then I can still be a vet. He wouldn’t accept my argument that Rick Allen adapted his drum kit, and I could hardly perform surgery with one arm.
“He told me there was no shame in getting help. So, yeah, there are things I can’t do. And does that frustrate the holy crap out of me? You betcha it does. But the only person who can hold me back is myself. And yeah, I’m never going to take up beading in the future, but that’s okay. I just leave that up to those who can. Because I bet there are people out there who can’t jack a horse off.”
Well, that’s something to hear. “Excuse me?”
“Oh, I’m not some sort of animal perv or anything. Sometimes we needed to collect the sperm from the stallions. So I got the fun job of holding the doodah that he shoots his load into. Some people don’t have the stomach for that.”
“It’s me. I’m some people,” I say, wrinkling my nose.
“Well, there you go. You’re all good to go. You think you could make me that tea now? I’m parched. How did you get into this pickle anyway?”
I recount my little adventure.
“Good God, that sounds like something out ofFinal Destination.”
“Right?” I laugh and the sound shifts something in me. God, when was the last time I laughed like this? A deep ache settles just behind my solar plexus. How long has it been? Almost a year?
“So, I guess clean up in aisle three before you make the tea, then?” Hattie asks.
