Hey, is anyone out there a chiropractor?
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.
“Get me up. I’ve got to pee,” she said.
“I’d better get help,” I said. I was kidding, which I rarely do.
She immediately got mad. “Get your lazy ass over here and give me a hand. No one’s coming in here to see me like this.”
So I grabbed her left hand and wrist and pulled and she covered my hands with her right and gave mine a heave-ho. Now, I’m 41 and weigh 360, so I’m not exactly an afterthought, but I couldn’t budge her. Just slid her into the Lake Erie wet spot.
“Aaah!” she yelled, and then I bust out laughing. She tried that freeze-you-with-my-disapproval look, but the ice melted and she laughed, too, jiggling and shaking till her tears came.
I told her: “You are going to have to do hands and knees.” So we worked her over onto all fours and up the set of cabinet drawers, one pulled out after another.
The third one cracked a little and now it won’t close. I’ll have to fix it when my shoulder doesn’t hurt.
I’ve got all my dad’s old tools.
So. Any chiropractors out there?
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