The Doctor

 I visit the doctor as often as I can.  He always welcomes me affectionately.  “Jamieee!” he says when I enter the Medical doors, the last syllable of my name ending on a lower note.  Then he pours me coffee into the dark green mug.

My visits are either a medical need like the monthly blood test I need to do, or more frequently, a social visit.  Derek comes to visit the doctor frequently, as does Tom, Darcy, and Brian.  Derek and the doctor have a special grandfather–grandson bond, with Jim giving him sweets he orders just for Derek, and Derek swinging his legs as he sits on the exam table, telling the doctor all about his fishing adventure, wonders he finds on the island, or how Adrian is teaching him silat.  Of course, we all visit the doctor when we need medical attention – a stubborn splinter, a headache, stomach problems, a nasty cut, sunburn…

As we sip our coffee, we tell each other about how our day is going, how we grew up, and what we miss from home.  Jim confides in me that he misses his wife terribly, so much it has become a physical ache.  When he describes her to me, his face softens and becomes sad, where his lips smile but his eyes don't.  He writes to her every day from the computer room.  He says after he returns home from Jackel Island, he will never leave her again.

I told him about the kindness I remember from my mother and father, and then the harsh contrast when I was forced to live with my Aunt and Uncle after my parents were killed when I was nine.

“Did your Uncle ever draw blood when he hit you?”

“No, I can’t say that he ever did.  And it wasn’t like I was bruised really either.  It was just a lot of shoving and pushing and yelling and ignoring.”  I picked at my thumbnail.  “I don’t know…”  After some silence, Jim reached over to pull my one hand away from the other.

“Do you stay in touch with them?” he asked.

“No, not really,” I said.  “I sent them Christmas cards for a while, and my Aunt responded, just signing both their names.  There was never a note, just their names.”

“Do they know you’re here?”

“No.”

“They must have been proud of your accolades with your work with the horses in the States, weren’t they?”

“I don’t know.  I suppose, I guess… maybe a little.”

“Well Jamie,” Jim said, setting his clay coffee mug down, “I am proud of all you’ve done.  I truly am.  And until my time is up,” he said, touching his finger on the table with the words until, time and up,  “I’ll send you a Christmas card every year.  With a note.”