Along the canals, bluebirds were singing some of the classic tunes from the 40's and 50's. The fruit of palmetto palms flashed in the sun like orange pearls. The late azaleas shone in the early morning sun like jewels. The lagoons shimmered like liquid silver. And the ducks. Well, the ducks were like ducks.
Cooling summer breezes came drifting in from across the sea and the entire world seemed new underneath the blue umbrella sky. It was a good day to be alive and I felt it.
"Poopsie!" I called up the stairway in the direction of the sanctum that I'm sure you know well by now. "Poopsie, I feel good." There was no answer. Probably on an international call. That's where I usually find her.
I got upholstered in the outerwear of a coastal gentleman because today was the day I was to meet my new dermatologist. Before you go off the deep end, let me explain. It wasn't a doctor's appointment that had me bucked. It was an opportunity to explore an unfamiliar district of Wilma. Always a pleasure.
It was the work of an instant for me to crank the self-starter in Wynd Horse and virtually fly down Grandiflora and across the Cape Fear River to Wrightsville Beach. I refer to the town and not to the boardwalk. The boardwalk I'm familiar with already. Who isn't?
The derma office was a pleasant enough place. There was a passing annoyance of the urge to cough too much in the waiting room but I fought it down with a swig of organic, refined guava syrup. I know! Guava syrup! Who'd have guessed it was the coffee sweetener provided for clients?
The coughing fit was alleviated somewhat when my attention was captured by the office terrier, who insisted on getting scratched behind the ears. That's right! A dog in the office. This place was beginning to be as entertaining as the boardwalk. And it was just the beginning.
In minutes, I was escorted to the examing room where the doctor introduced herself and her office attire was the biggest surprise of the day. Instead of the usual lab smock or scrubs that one usually sees in healthcare services, she was dressed like a golfer on her way to an early tee time. Come to think of it, no reason why she shouldn't have a date with girlfriends to get in a quick nine or even eighteen before lunch.
The doctor was very efficient but personable and after a few comments about the top of the scalp, the right ear, and the left shoulder, she wrote a script and I was on my way. The day had begun perfectly and I was ready to enjoy a beautiful afternoon. I toyed with the idea of motoring down to Ocean Isle.
Back on the road listening to Frank Sinatra singing Summer Wind, my attention was again diverted. This time it was a voice in my head.
"Genome," said the voice, and I'm sure it's one as familiar to you as to me.
"Genome, that spot on your ear," she said.
"What about it?" I said and I put a lot of topspin on it because I wanted it to sting. The very idea, I thought, of my own limbic system working against me when I was thoroughly enjoying myself.
"What if it's cancer?" she said. "It could be cancer."
"It's not cancer," I said. "It's nothing."
"It might be," she said, "and she's going to remove that spot on your scalp when you come back in October. What's that going to be like? You'll probably need to wear a hat for who knows how long."
"No big deal," I said. "My mom had those things removed all the time."
"Yeah, and the healing process was ugly. You don't need any more unpleasant-looking spots."
"Go away," I said. The conversation was bringing me down and I resented her messing with my head.
"At least she'll freeze the top of your head," she said. "That'll be a good thing."
"Why do you say it will be good?"
"Well, having your head frozen can only improve things for you," she said.
That was the last straw. I refused to respond to any more of her comments even though the comments kept coming until I got home.
"Poopsie!" I called up the stairway. "Something terrible has happened."
"What's wrong?" she said coming down the stairs to console me if consoling was needed.
"What did the doctor say?" she said. "Did she find something wrong?"
"It's not the doctor," I said. "It's Princess Amy. She's back."