Ice Cream

My quiet steps quickened as I approached the Children's Center. There was hardly anyone around at 8:30 in the morning. I waved good morning to the securty guard and resumed my quest to find the gastroenterology clinic where I was scheduled to appear. I straightened my white coat and headed for Clinic 1, where a blond haired lady was sitting in front of an empty waiting room. She saw me approaching and looked at me in disapproval. In response that I can now label only as snooty, I fastened the top button of my white coat and adjusted my stethoscope that was hanging around my neck. Without hesitation and without any need of approval, I entered through the door that led to the patient rooms with only a side glance at the clerk.

Once I was through the door, I realized I had no idea where the heck I was. I made a circle with my steps, trying to locate who might be a GI attending. No one. I retraced my steps back to the front of the clinic, where the gatekeeper of all that is shit and farting was still sitting (no offense to all you GI lovers out there).

"Excuse me, but where is the GI clinic?" I asked.

"Oh, there is no GI clinic today," said she.

In that moment, I was taken back to my childhood. I was three years old, and my father was buying me ice cream at Disney World in Orlando.

Later in the day, I went to Piedmont park and laid in the grass enjoying the bright blue sky. I forgot how blue the sky can be.