Sunday, May 08, 2005

Pecaw's Gift Chapter 32 / Great Legs

Laura, from X-ray, came into the room around midnight with the portable. Sinclair had been asleep for about six hours, or at least his outwardly appearance gave that impression. The roar of digital information continued to bombard his senses as Laura prepared to shoot some pictures of Mr. Alejandro’s leg. Not wishing to expose Sinclair to unnecessary radiation, she took one of the shielding jackets and draped it over the desk chair. The chair was then placed in between the two patients and Laura was able to proceed.

“Thank you!”, the words rolled gratefully across the room as Sinclair’s mind was granted a brief reprieve. He sat up and let his head gyrate on his shoulders for a few moments as the cob webs of noise vanished.

“Hu ?”, not sure of any particular deed that she had done that would warrant any thanks.

“Thank you for shutting off all that noise. It’s been so loud that I couldn’t even think.” Sinclair poked a finger in his ear, as if by doing so would help.

“Yea . . .”, Laura rolled her eyes sarcastically in their sockets as she nodded her head, “ . . . right.”

Sinclair peered over the top of the protective jacket and immediately felt the blast of information that was ever present. He ducked his head quickly and the noise diminished just as quickly as it had started. He raised up again, more slowly this time, as he gauged the amount of noise that he could handle before it began to hurt.

"Okay! So what’s with the peek-a-boo routine?”

“I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to . . .”

“No problem. I’m just not used to it. Most of the time I come through, take my pictures and go without anyone noticing me at all.”, straightening her posture just a little.

"It was the noise, or I should say the lack of noise. I was trying to figure out what you did to shut it off. It must be that flack jacket.”, pointing to the chair.

“So . . . the sleeping beauty has been awakened.” Pat from the nurses station was making the rounds. She enjoyed heckling Sinclair, mostly because he was a cop, but down deep she kind of liked him. She took his pulse and studied his skin color. The data was charted as she continued to talk without breaking stride. “So . . . Laura . . . has he been behaving himself or is that chair there to keep him off of you?” Her laugh was fun to hear as she tried to embarrass both of them.

“Give me a break.”, pulling a few strands of graying hair from her curled tresses. Sinclair thought carefully of what to say; his own wife had about the same delicate mixture of spent youth on display.

“I kind of like the view.”, clearing his throat as he made sure to nod a vote of admiration towards Laura.

“Cops . . . they’re all the same.”, Pat spun off. “If they’re not writing you a traffic ticket they’re lookin’ up your dress!” She smiled and pranced a little as she breathed out a deep raspy sort of laugh. Sinclair leaned back, his arm bent neatly to support his head, as he watched Pat strut by the end of his bed. He was glad to have the screeching noises out of his head, or at least most of it. He was still picking up a fair amount of noise from the airplanes that passed by every now and again.

“You still hot about that cop that wrote you last week?” Pat had been ticketed for speeding, sixty in a fifty mile per hour zone. Actually she had been going closer to sixty eight and had been given a small break. Pat was miffed anyway; nurses were supposed to get a better deal than that.

“I’m not angry at all.”, her brow taking a bend as it made an arch , “He just better not get shot while I’m on duty. It might take a while longer . . . You know . . . doing everything by the book.”

“She’s still pissed off.”, Laura injected the obvious.

“Not that I’d let something like a traffic ticket interfere with my professional duty . . .” Pat let a naughty smirk rest momentarily as her eyes flashed the hidden fantasy of sweet and total revenge.

“Yea, I think your right.” Sinclair looking down to the linoleum as he muffled his laughter, only slightly.

“Maybe I should have gotten out of the car; you know, to let him get a better view. . .”, pausing at the chair. She tugged at her greens, allowing a portion of natural skin to gradually appear. The white tube socks didn’t help; she continued to draw the loose fitting material higher until it cleared the lower calf.

“Point made, nice legs.”, Laura tossed in; wishing to move past the subject quickly.

“I da’ know, look a might thin to me.” Sinclair jabbed directly; having found a weak spot in her armor.

“Thin? What do you mean thin?”, pulling even more of the light green scrubs up over the knee as she flexed and displayed the nearly perfect limb from side to side.

“I guess I’m used to a more firm type”, making sure to cast a generous flirt in Laura’s direction.

“Thank you.” Laura smiled, an air of renewed confidence managed to ignite the roses in her cheeks.

“Delta seven five nine’r moving to fifteen thousand; have visual on Southwest’s seven thirty seven at eleven oh clock.” Sinclair’s mouth moved and the sounds came out. He could not understand why he had spoken the words; they just were there in his head.

“Say what?” Laura did a double take, extra body English as her hands accentuated the move. Her fingers curled in unison, the nails flickered as they came to rest on her hips.

“Oooooowheeeeeoooooohhh !” Sounding like a stage prop for the Kraft Mystery Hour, Pat chimed in. Sinclair tilted his head and raised his eyebrow slightly as the echo of his words reverberated in his mind.

“I tell you . . . I just heard that from an airplane that was passing by . . . Honest!” His hands flexed meekly as he tried to convince them of the truth.

“I need to get the rest of my portables done. Why don’t I just leave you two in here to sort this all out?” Laura moved away from the bed and engaged the motorized wheels of the X-ray machine. The electric motor quietly whirred as Laura guided it carefully out of the room and down the hall.

“Could you switch that computer on for me?” Sinclair could have done it easily, but wanted to include Pat while he struggled within himself.

“Sure, no problem.” Pat toggled the power on, watching his every move. She studied the shaking of his hands, ever so slight, and the serious stare that fixed his eyes to the monitor.

“Come on, come on ! Come on, come on! Why does it take so long?” Sinclair was impatient with the few seconds that delayed his viewing of the monitor, views of his own thoughts as the screen began to glow. The computer completed its power up and the information danced across the screen.

“Come on, come on ! Come on, come on! Why does it take so long?” His most recent thoughts displayed themselves quickly and neatly, light blue letters on a black background.

"I love it when you do that. I mean . . . that’s . . that’s the word? Neat, . . . no better than neat. Weird or something. How the hell do you do that anyway?” Pat had only seen him express his thoughts on the computer a few times. Most of the time he left the monitor off and let the voice synthesizer do all the work. Her words instantly appeared on the screen as quickly as they were uttered.

“I was hoping that it would catch that sound I was hearing in my head, but it’s gone now.” A distant look, a longing for peace enveloped Sinclair as he tried disparately to regain the lost moment.

“What did it sound like?” Pat quietly pushed for some clue that would let him return to the real world. “Was it the airplane or something else?”

“No. . . It was a warm feeling. . . kind of like a hug or something like that; only it came from out of the blue, mixed in with all the other transmissions.” Sinclair could not put his finger on it. He kept his eyes closed and tried to block out all his thoughts. It was like being awakened from a dream too soon. He wanted to slide back into the warm covers and prolong the feeling that had just escaped him.

“Earth to Sinclair . . .”, Pat quietly interrupted. The muscles in his face had began to relax. Each line on his forehead became smooth as the tensions of life disappeared systematically and he faded into himself. She watched as his jaw line unclenched and dropped half an inch or so. His shoulders dropped back and his arms fell to his side. Sinclair had learned to use small amounts of free time to relax. He found that even a ten or fifteen minute break, when properly directed, could be just as relaxing as a two hour nap.

“Well at least the noise has stopped.”, opening one eyelid and panning the room. The blur of color entered but did not register reality to Sinclair’s relaxed attitude. The chocolate had run the course and his system was no longer super sensitive. “I feel like I could sleep for a week and never get up. Could you turn the lights off on your way out the door?” Sinclair lay his head on the pillow; adjusting its shape slightly for a more perfect fit.

“So what do you think? Have I got a great pair of legs?” Pat was talking to herself. Sinclair was fading out of it and there she was, wanting to talk; wanting a little reassurance. She shrugged her shoulders and once again pulled up the material, just enough to clear the calf of her leg. “I got good legs . . . yea!” The screen came back on, her back to it as she continued to fantasize. She longed for someone to flatter her, to whisper soft romantic words in her ear, to peel away the course defensive veneer and find the fragile woman that was hiding inside of her.

“They really are nice. Now go away and let me sleep.” The words appeared momentarily then disappeared as his thoughts turned to other areas of expression. Pat had not seen; it might have helped her feel better about herself. She let the green cotton cuff fall back as she regained her composure.

“Hey Laura, wait up. Did I tell you about the guy at the Post Office?” Pat quickly got out the door and was back in the grove, boisterously depicting the real and imagined antics of life as it passed her by.