Hey, is anyone out there a chiropractor?
I think I’m going to need you to come over. My shoulder is so bad I can’t even tuck in my shirt, anymore. Well, I can, but it hurts like bulldozers and that scares me. Don’t ask me to reach the Wheaties. In fact, if I don’t get better soon, we’ll have to move everything down a notch: the coffee cups, the Frosted Flakes, the juice glasses; you know.
And we don’t drive.
I started needing a doctor when the roof leaked. Mid-morning, Wednesday, my mom was cleaning up the water from the leak in the kitchen, where what looks like a tiny orange freckle in the ceiling feeds the Great Lake, she calls it, right in front of the fridge.
She bent down to wipe it, when her feet started going out and she sat down hard, just missing one of the cats. Momma’s built for town, you might say, so I thought somebody had thrown a boulder against the house. When I found her I was on my way to yell at the neighbor kids again. She was clutching her robe shut and missing a slipper, where four little toe robins were begging from a big hooky-beak momma toe. Her eyes were still big with pain, while she accidentally did fat lady yoga.