Left Turns at CVS

I was driving to the CVS Minute Clinic on 21st ave, leaning forward behind the wheel as if my posture would help me accelerate. 

I was running late. Blame it on my Latin roots like the rest of the world does. I was a hundred feet from the door when I came to a green light in the left lane. I immediately slowed down to a stop watching the steady rhythm of cars drive past me. 

Left turns scare the crap out of me, so I always wait for the green arrow. It’s not enough to have permission to turn left, I need assurance that I can do it without someone driving right through my passenger seat and killing me. 

So I sat there. Even when small gaps of cars would appear, I didn’t move. I caught a quick glimpse of the man in the green Chevy behind me noticeably annoyed. Thankfully, I learned very quickly that Southerners are cursed with an inability to honk. They hide from anything that might make you think they're rude or were raised without manners. And I may have learned to use that to my advantage. 

I still didn’t want to make eye contact with him so I settled on the homeless woman standing with a sign close to my widow. As soon as she caught my attention, she gave me the biggest, toothless smile I’d ever seen. No shame in what she lacked, her warm blue eyes invited me to say hello.

It was a welcome distraction from the green light I wasn’t aggressively pursuing. How could anyone get mad at me for stopping to give a poor woman some change? I reached into my console and grabbed all the loose change I had accumulated there. I never carried cash, so if I ever got hold of any change, it went to die in my console. 
I reached out to hand her my sticky nickels and pennies. She cupped her hands and her eyes never left mine. “Bless your heart,” she whispered. 

“I have an apple in my purse, would you like it?” I responded, immediately regretting my insensitive question. She didn’t have any visible teeth and I’d just reminded her of that.

“You’re very sweet. Sure, I’d love one,” she responded. 

Maybe she just sucks on it until she can swallow it, I contemplated as I waved goodbye and rolled up my window. The green arrow finally arrived to save me and I remembered how late I was. I glided down into the garage and rushed into the clinic. I checked in at the kiosk and the robot informed me a nurse would be with me in approximately eight minutes. 

20 minutes later, the nurse practitioner on duty called me into a windowless room that was clean and orderly. Hey, this isn’t so bad, I thought. Well, I was 20 minutes late and then I didn’t get seen for another 20 minutes, so I guess it’s a good thing that I was late. I would have only sat there waiting for twice as long if I’d been on time. That was how a perpetually late person rationalized their weakness. 

Nurse Megan was tall, like so tall I had to look up at her when I introduced myself. I was grateful when we sat down in her tiny box where she saw patients and we could see eye to eye without my neck aching.

I was leaving for a trip to Cambodia in six weeks and needed a couple of vaccinations to keep the diarrhea at bay. She took my vitals, stuck some needles in me, and left me packing with an antibiotic I could take should the painful shots I’d just received fail me. As I rubbed my left arm to disperse the ache, I picked up a bag of sour skittles to treat myself for being so brave. 

Why did nurses and doctors keep the treats for the kids? Adults endure so much more and we get stuck with the bill—absolutely nothing to sweeten the blow. I paid for the skittles and opened them before I could even get my wallet back in my purse. 

The automatic doors opened to a chime of, “spare change, ma’am?” 

“I’m sorry, I…” before I could finish I did a double take. How could I forget those bright blue eyes and gummy smile?

“Hey, it’s you again. Did you follow me here?” I asked… again, immediately regretting my insensitive question. Did you really just accuse her of following you? Gosh, get over yourself! 

“No ma’am, I’m always here at twelve o'clock,” she whispered back.

“So what were you doing on that street like just an hour ago?” I said pointing in the direction of the intersection where we first met.

“Well, that’s where I stand before noon.”

Was I hearing this correctly? Was she telling me about a schedule she kept each day?

“What, like a shift? You move to different spots at certain times of the day?” I was so confused, but also so intrigued to know more.

BUt I could tell she didn’t appreciate all of the questions that were beginning to word vomit out of my mouth. She took a few small steps backward and her smile disappeared. Why was this making her uncomfortable? I was just curious about this agenda she kept. I’d left journalism many years earlier, but my curiosity didn’t die with the career.

She just stared at me, visibly uncomfortable so I tried to reel it in by offering her some sour skittles. If she can chew an apple, sour skittles would probably be welcomed. 

“No, thank you sweetheart,” she said. So, I turned and walked toward to garage. I got back in my car and drove home. 

I couldn’t stop thinking about this woman. She showed up in my dream that night. She was swallowing apples and skittles while staring right at me. It was frightening and weird but it also felt like she was calling me. I tried to put her out of my head the entire day but everything reminded me of her. My fruit basket, my toothbrush, even my cat reminded me of her and the way her demeanor shifted so quickly when I rambled my questions at her.