A dip..

(I initially submitted this as an article.
After the editor read it she called me back. "It's more like a blog" she complained.
I took her advise and posted it.)



Being Nigerian there are very few things in life that I am afraid off.
I am for instance unimpressed with Mosquitoes. I don’t even flinch when they bite me. Having been bitten all my life I no longer pause to yell my outrage whenever these unwanted visitors stop by. Gone are the days when mosquito bites used to leave me looking like a pimple advert. These days whenever a mosquito bites me at night it usually has to go to the dentist the next morning to fix its broken teeth.
I am equally unfazed with Cockroaches. If I come across one I simply turn around and walk the other way. If the cockroach is stupid enough to come scuttling after me (this happens every now and then) I proceed to plan B—An intricate move which involves a flying shoe and a very flattened, very dead cockroach.
But despite my invulnerability as a Nigerian there is one thing I am still terrified about.
Water.

Well swimming to be exact.
I can’t swim. It is one of those things that I keep promising myself I have to learn. Being Nigerian has taught me caution. You never know. One day I might be trapped in the bathroom with a shower that refuses to go off. Then what would I do?
Swimming, I realized was one of those important things that people never got around to learning. It was a delightful form of exercise for those wishing to lose calories and a perfectly convenient means for irregular transportation. Take the Mexicans who swim into America for instance.
It was quite clear to me. One day I would have to stop procrastinating and actually get around to swimming.

I reached that point last week.
As I celebrated another birthday I decided to do something positive with my new year.
I was going to learn how to swim.
It was surprising how many centers there were in Port Harcourt for beginner swimmers. After inquiries I settled on one which my friend Jeff had recommended. Jeff weighed roughly 120kg. Every time he moved some Asian country suffered an earthquake. And yet whenever I was with him at the pool he always amazed me with the ease with which he moved through the water. He was like a clumsy bungling penguin which transformed into an aquatic marvel once it hit the water. If anyone could teach Jeff how to swim I decided then he must be very good.
So I settled on Jeff’s trainer.

I turned up at the pool the next day.
I was unsure what exactly one wore to swimming lessons. Would I need swimming trunks or would I be given one of those inflatable arm bands. Jeff didn’t help matters much. Shortly before I left he hung a bright Red “L” around my neck.
Just so other swimmers don’t bump into you ,he said.

I arrived at the pool with an excited air. Today I was going to get my license as a swimmer. I wasn’t really worried. There was probably nothing to swim. Just jump into the water , kick your legs, swing your arms and presto, you were swimming.
My swimming instructor walked up to me as I approached.
“You must be Mr. Thrisxtyereix.” He suggested.
“No. That’s my father. “ I said with a grin. “ Just call me Carl.”
He nodded and gave me a serious stare. He ran his eyes over my body. I was suddenly conscious that unlike him my body was not hard and riddled with delightfully placed muscles. He was lean as a Shark and I was …well…let’s just say I wasn’t shark material.
IN front of us a little boy was swimming circles in the water. He couldn’t have been more than five years old. I watched his act with amusement.
“Your son?” I asked my instructor.
He flinched like I had called him a cockroach.
“No. He is not. I have daughters!”
He said this with pride. Like there was something wrong with having sons. I made a mental note to ask my mum about this reaction when next I visited her.
“When do we start? “ I asked excitedly. I took of my shirt quickly and dropped next to my bag which in turn was lying on the Learner L.
He looked at me with a smile.
“We may begin now if you’re ready.”
I laughed in amusement, stretching my hands to the sky. The sun felt warm on my bare back.
“Ready?” I scoffed “I’m a Nigerian. I was born ready.”
And with a running leap I dived into the pool.

Quick lesson.
For those of you who are yet to visit the pool there are things you must know. Most pools have shallow ends and deep ends. The shallow end are designed for people who can’t swim and yet insist on jumping into the pool. Perhaps for the sake of a picture .The deep end are for the professionals who are so skilled they can make coffee underwater if they decided too. Yet still, there are other pools that have shallow ends, deep ends and then very very deep ends.
I didn’t know all this. If I did I didn’t suspect. There was a five year old boy swimming already. Nobody warned me.
The instructor tried to shout a warning as I jumped in but I didn’t quite hear him. All I heard was a shouted “No .Don’t….” and then I was in the water.
.

I didn’t panic for the first 2 seconds. The force of the impact caught me by surprise but I recovered quickly. I kicked my legs in the water. I had read books with instructions. If I kicked with the right momentum I would move forward. It didn’t work out that way. Instead of a burst into sunlight I remained in my water prison. I noticed quickly that I was sinking instead of rising. It didn’t make any sense. Opening my eyes I could see two baby legs hanging above me. My lungs were screaming their alarm. I had been in water for only 2 seconds and suddenly I realized was in trouble.
And then I panicked.
I opened my mouth to scream for help.
I was going to either shout Help to the side or Jesus to the heavens. I did neither. I managed to open my mouth and succeeded in tasting my first mouthful of pool water.
It didn’t taste like sprite.
Water rushed into my mouth flushing out whatever self control I had left. I thrashed about in the water madly. My eyes were bulging out with alarm. I must have looked ridiculous. If a penguin swarm by it would probably conclude I was some confused seahorse. I had fought in the water for another five seconds when suddenly my head broke the surface into the warm sunlight.
I inhaled deeply as I popped out. A sharp pain warned me that maybe I was overexerting myself. I looked around quickly for my instructor. He no doubt was on his way to save me.
I found him still standing on the side of the pool. He was looking at me with a puzzled frown.
“What are you doing? “ I gasped out. “I’m drowning you idiot.”
Then I sunk back in again.
My arms went crazy .They flayed madly in the water. Almost as if they were trying to run away and leave me to drown. I thrashed about in the pool for another 3 seconds before bobbing back to the surface. Frothy foam was all around me. I could feel a dull ache in my arms slowly growing. I wouldn’t be able to fight any longer.
The swimming instructor was still standing at the side when I popped out. Beside him the five year old boy was watching with concern. I had probably scared him out of the water with my swimming antics. I splashed wildly around me. Trying to stay afloat. If I wasn’t so busy trying to stay alive I would have been furious with the instructor. Was this how he trained his students?
I wondered if there were any bodies at the bottom of the pool. People that had failed his course.
Despite my heroics I was losing the battle. I couldn’t fight anymore. In another second I was going to go down again and this time I wasn’t sure I could make it back up again.
“Help me.” I gasped to the instructor. “Please.”
The instructor shook his head at me and sighed.
“Stop being silly and just stand in the water.”
His instructions took a while to register. I struggled for a moment before deciding to do what he said. I let my sink and then stood up.
My head burst into the warm sunlight.


It turned out I had dived into the shallow ending. Standing, the water was no more than 4 feet high. More than enough for me to breathe. I stood in the pool, hunched against my knee gasping for breath.
The instructor and the little boy watched me perplexed.
“ I almost drowned.” I pointed out.
“ In 4 feet of water? You’re six feet!” The instructor snapped.
Beside him the little boy laughed at me. I glared at him angrily. Maybe this was why little girls were better than boys. A little girl would have crying for me.
They watched me patiently until I stopped panting. Then slowly I made my way to the side and climbed out of the pool. Water dripped of me as I slowly made my way to my bags.
“Where are you going to?” The instructor asked. “We’re about to begin your lesson.”
Begin?
I had almost ended my life there and I told him as much.
He laughed at me. “No one drowns in the shallow end. You just panicked. We’ll have to work on that.”
I ignored him and sat down. He was joking if he thought I was going back into the water. I was Nigerian not stupid.
“Oh come on.” He urged with a smile.
“Once beaten. Twice I shy” I said. I picked up the learners L and rehung it around my neck. I didn’t mind that everyone knew I couldn’t swim. I had survived almost drowning. Come Sunday I had a testimony to tell.
“Practice makes perfect” He crooned.
I closed my eyes and enjoyed the afternoon.
He might have had a point but it was flawed.
Practice might make perfect, but nobody's perfect, so why practice?

Day 365

As I stood there with my arms full, my breath a disorganized series of deep inhalations and exhalations, I pondered the journey that had gotten me here.

If life was a series of journeyed paths, then I was standing at a junction which appeared to be the indirect intersection of various roads I had travelled in the last one year.
If my feet weren’t hurting and my arms so full I might actually have laughed out loud. It was funny when I thought about it; The tiny things that I had disregarded which had all joined together to bring me here. Somewhere on the sidelines they were standing with satisfied grins watching me sort out my dilemma. I wanted to reach out and throttle every single one of them.
From the recent entrees to the pixies that were there at the very beginning.

Off course, to do that, I had to be sure when exactly that was.

I think it all started on my birthday.
My last birthday to be exact.
Last year I celebrated my birthday.

As decisions go maybe it wasn’t a particularly wise one.
I was born on the 7th of July. A most unique date if the zodiac enthusiasts and experts are to be believed. My friends certainly believed them.
When my friends realized that my birthday would land on the magical number 07/07/07 they insisted that I simply had to celebrate my birthday.
A firm man would have pointed out that numbers were a pretty silly reason to throw a party.
A broke man would have insisted that a party was a silly reason to use up the numbers in his account
Seeing as I was firmly broke I didn’t fight hard enough and went ahead to convert my cash for birthday party pictures.

My birthday isn’t the issue.
What is, is what happened because of it.
Don’t get me wrong. The party was memorable. I got kissed six times, once by a girl, but that again is not what I want I want to talk about.
What I am talking about is the fact that I danced.
Yes.
I danced.

In years to come when questions are asked, I can always reply that the first time I danced was on my birthday. Prior to that I was convinced that dancing was a ridiculous expression of fun practiced by people who just weren’t cool enough not to dance. Dancing was for sissies I announced. That had been my mantra for most of my life ever since I realized that I was caused with the marionette-like dancing moves of the British. It probably might have lasted the rest of my life had I not decided to throw a party to celebrate another anniversary of said life of mine chugging along.

I’ll never know what exactly made me start dancing.
Maybe it was because I realized that after the party I would unofficially financially be dead. Maybe it was because of the sexy girl who had her arms around me with that incredibly impossibly lithe waist.
Maybe it was because I was drunk on vodka and juice.
Whatever the reason, I thrilled Zodiac enthusiasts by proving them right.
On 07/07/07 young drunk and visibly horny Carlang finally realized his destiny and saved the world from certain Septenary Astral destruction by simply dancing.
Enter Triumph Music.

Granted, it begun in hardly the most classic of tales (a man’s accidental drunken redemption of Mankind is hardly the stuff of Homers Iliad.) but once it started it grew very quickly. All of a sudden I found myself dancing. True I was no Terpsichore, my waist refused to bend as lovely as the siren that teased me out of my cave, but with enough practice I could do the Yahooze and a couple other interesting shuffles. I was growing. A late bloomer, I was determined to get the hang of it. One day, I was determined; I would become a good dancer.

Birthdays are accepted landmark occasions.
Like most people, I found myself making attendant resolutions whenever I approached another one. Last year was no different. I promised myself that I would start writing again. I hadn’t done anything serious for the last four years. Apart from two weak attempts at writing a short story, one of which was a detailed exploits of Jack and Jill’s walk up the Hill, I really didn’t have much to show where writing was concerned.

The morning following my birthday, I decided, midst a blinding headache from a hangover, that I would once again begin to write. Sitting down at the desk, as I stared at the blurred page in front of me I came to another decision. I would begin writing the next day. Hopefully by then I would be able to see more clearly and my fingers wouldn’t shake so much.
To help me fulfill my resolution I decided on doing something drastic and supporting. Something that people suggested would greatly help my writing.
I joined Blogville.

And so it was that last week I contemplated the anniversaries before me.
Alongside my birthday I would be celebrating a year of dancing.
A year of blogging. However irregular that might have been.
And a year since I had gotten drunk.

Too be sure it was hardly the making of a triumphant list, the like of which you might have found in the diaries of ,say, Christopher Columbus--“Dear Diary, today I found America. God help us all.”—but that didn’t really bother me. What was important was the fact that I had actually kept some resolutions for a year despite the turbulence that had come my way.

Besides, if you were going to make an argument out of it, Christopher Columbus didn’t set out to find America. He stumbled on it by accident. I didn’t stumble on an Anniversary of Blogging. I actually worked for it. Keeping a journal was hard work. An electronic journal that is, not the silly little leather book Christopher had to show for 3 years in open seas.
Comparing me to Columbus was terribly unfair.
He had a ship didn’t he?

“What are you doing?” Jeff asked me walking into the room.
Jeff and I had a curious alliance. I was born on the 7th and he on the 8th. We came up with the theory that since our birthdays fell within a 24 hour radius we were kinda born on the same day.
The look on peoples faces whenever we announced our theories suggested that our way of thinking was technically flawed but we children of the 7½ natal day clan are never were one to consider the opinions of others.
“Making a list.” I announced. “It contains all my resolutions I’ve managed to keep in the last one year since my last birthday. My list of triumphs you could say.”
“Have you started on the list of failures.” Jeff asked.
“No.” I said guardedly. “My birthday’s coming up soon. I’d like to be depressed after and not before.”
Jeff laughed at me.
“Whatever happens,” He began walking away “Make sure you add the Spanish chick to your list of failures.”
“Failures?” I said in shock. “Why would you say that? I only met her 5 days ago.”
“You aint done nothing bout it hombre. That counts as a failure in my book!!” He repeated still laughing.
“I’m not failing you idiot. I’m thinking up a plan.”I said quietly.
“Right. Let me know how that goes in another year.” Jeff said still walking away. His head shook from side to side with laughter. Idiot.
I yelled at his retreating form. “Christopher Columbus cheated. He had a ship”.

Spanish chick.
That was what Jeff had taken to calling our new friend, Andromeda.
In the end coming clean hadn’t been difficult.
Andromeda had laughed when I told her I wasn’t really a doctor but instead some physics graduate who had fallen for the physics behind her beauty despite her attempts to doctor them.

If relationships were anything like the play acts that most novels today portrayed them to be, then I was well past the introduction. We had gone by the first two chapters. The heady meeting of two single people. I was somewhere between chapter 3 and chapter 6. The sustenance of intrigue between said heady members.

I was supposed to see Spanish chick come the weekend.
A hang out she had called it. The way she saw it I owed her a lengthy debriefing of who I really was. I had seen her hospital file. She was demanding her pound of flesh and being very greedy about it. What she wanted was a date come Saturday. She left the decision of where to me.
I sensed that my choice would be the deciding factor of how this symphony of ours would end. A roaring finale of triumph or the sad ending of mistakes repatriation found.
Was the final chapter of our tale going to be one of Romeo and Juliet.

Or something more delightful, like my retold comedy of Jack and Jill.

As any man who has had the misfortune of impersonating a doctor would know, you really want to get the second meeting right. I was trying hard to think of some place terribly irregular to have a date and yet delightfully fun. I stared at my listed list of triumphs in frustration. Forget my anniversary of dancing where did one take a Nigerian girl who spoke English and Spanish and still had the delightful hips of a Nigerian?

The answer was quick as it was surprising.

“You’re crazy.” Spanish chick said laughing at me.

“I get that from time to time.” I replied with a silly smile on my face.

“ This is terrible.” She said giggling. “ I’m never going to be good at this.”

“We’ll see.” I said still with the same smile.

We stood together in the middle of the room, my hand gently rested on her firm hip. Her hand was on my shoulder. She was playing out some tune with her fingers.

At our side the dance instructor was yelling out instructions at us and the rest of the class.

“Salsa is all about rhythm. Tap. One two three. Tap. One two three.”
He did a demonstration. An incredible blur of motion with his feet that left all of us newbie dancers with jealousy and dread. Still dancing to the music, he grabbed a large lady who belied her size by moving easily across the room with him sensually swinging her hips as she did. “Rhythm.” The instructor yelled again.

Show off.

Beside me Andromeda punched me.

“You’re crazy you know. What in the world made you invite me for Salsa lessons? How did you know I would come?”

I shrugged.

“I didn’t. But I hoped you would. It would have been terrible if I had arrived alone. Everyone else has a partner. I would have had to dance with him.” I said pointing out the instructor.

She smiled at me. Her eyes said a million things. They all sounded good.

“Happy Birthday.” She said.

“Don’t jinx it. It’s not till Monday.” I pointed out.

“Again.” The instructor yelled from across the room. Asking us to resume the forward and back shuffles that we had been doing for the last one hour since we go there.

And so I stood there with my arms full, my breath a disorganized series of deep inhalations and exhalations, and pondered the journey that had gotten me here.
Last year I had started dancing.
This year I was beginning Salsa. The difference was slight but progress had been made.
Thinking of progress, I looked into the bewitching eyes of Andromeda and inhaled the soft musk of her perfume. She had her hair in tiny braids. Black laced with touches of violet. It added a hint of mysticism to her. In my arms she looked even lovelier than I remembered.

Her eyes were filled with mischief and her lips looked even more beautiful when she laughed after stepping on my toes for the 134^th time. As we murdered our first attempt at Salsa, I thought of all my triumphs thus far and wondered what I would be celebrating come the next birthday.

Life was an interesting tale. I stared at her lips. They were still trapped in her enchanting smile.
It was worth the read just to see what happened next.

Carls Anatomy.

I am not a doctor.
It is very important that everyone remembers this. At some point in this story of mine the debate of whether or not I really am might arise.
For those not paying attention.
I’m not.

I had a lovely weekend.
By the end of Saturday I was convinced that, come the following week, I would recount my exploits over my blog. Saturday was a delightful day. A day which had me attending three equally delightful weddings. The last and by far most memorable ended abruptly when the host grabbed a bottle and threatened to stab some guest who had insulted the Bride’s mother.
In all the confusion no one noticed me grabbing most of the cake left in the tray.

Yes. Saturday was fun. From the three weddings I attended, to the finale buffet my friend threw to usher out his married sister. (Said Melee wedding was not his).
But as memorable as Saturday turned out to be it had nothing on the antics off Sunday.

My friend Jeff belongs to a family of Doctors. His mother and father are the directors of a Clinic. Sensing the dark plan being forged by his father—a dream that he would one day takeover the family business—Jeff applied for a course in Computer Science. A path he was certain would protect him from his legacy.
As plans go it perhaps was a lovely idea except his father was determined. Once Jeff left school he handed the construction of the Hospital Database over to his son. And just in case that was not enough. He bought a CT scan unit and handed the operations over to him.

This was why on Sunday I was in the Hospital with Jeff.
The South African Contingent ,coupling and training would be operators of the CT scan, were working that day. I think Sunday falls on a Monday in South Africa. Jeff asked me to tag along with him to watch them set up the machine. It was a pretty fun exercise I suppose but after one of the South African Radiologist warned me that I could risk getting sterilized from the radio waves if I hung around long enough ,I decided to leave the room and explore the clinic.

When I say explore what I really mean is the Clinic had this really cute doctor who not only was delightfully single but was actually silly enough to consider me a lovely friend. With the choice of being beamed to death firmly out of my head I made my way to her office.

She was having lunch when I got in.
I found out what exactly she was eating when she screamed my name. Trapped between her lovely teeth I made out the bits of what looked strongly like peanuts and banana. I wondered amusedly why I didn’t find it a turn off.
“You’re here.” She said with a smile remembering to swallow.
“I should hope so. It would be weird if I dreamt up a balding Male South African Caucasian Radiologist.” I replied with a laugh.

I sat in her Doctor chair whilst she remained on the observation bed.
She offered me a bit of her Banana and groundnut but I declined.
I wasn’t really hungry I told her.
She nodded and we kept on gisting.
After 4 minutes she repeated her offer.
This time I accepted. I was starving by then.

And so it was that we were seating and laughing about nothing really in particular—she told me that she got a lot of her features from her father. I nodded and replied, He must have nice boobs—when suddenly there was a knock on the door.
“Come in” The” doctor said wearily still laughing.

And then she walked in.
Memories are deceptive. You can never really count on them for accurate recollection.
Take this particular bit of memory for instance. The way I remember it when she walked in Time slowed down to a halt. Behind her there was a flutter of doves as they swarmed into the room. Her lovely face was lit up with a nimbus. The glow echoing of the red gloss on her perfect lips. Beneath her head her clothes hugged her body singing a soft sensual song with every step she took.
I didn’t exactly see the violinists but I heard them. The melody of the String Orchestra filled the room as I stared at the lovely lady that had just walked in.
Like I said, Memories are unreliable but I am completely convinced of the last detail.
She walked into the room gave me a smile and then started my Sunday.
“Good Afternoon Doctor.” She said to me.

Looking back at it I could understand how she was mistaken.
I was sitting in the doctor’s chair.
I was at the time playing with a stethoscope.
I should have corrected her error right there and then. I should have.
But I didn’t. Common Sense was buried beneath a pile of groundnuts and Bananas. Instead I looked at her with a smile and said.
“Good Afternoon. And how are we today?”
Beside me, On the Gurney table, my Doctor friend looked at me with a smile. Her face was contorted in a struggle not to break out in a laugh.
I glared at her with a frown.
“You know what. “ I told the beautiful patient. “I need to run upstairs. My intern here will attend to you. Don’t worry. You’re in good hands.”
I walked out of the room very quickly before the actual Doctor convulsed from restrained laughter.

I returned to CT scan room hoping to find everybody had been beamed into dust. No such luck. They were still working on the assembly. Something about switches not being firmly in place. Everything else was okay. The machine hadn’t gone critical and initiated a Nuclear Countdown. Hospital work was really boring.
“Are you a doctor?” A South African radiologist asked me.
“What?” I asked with a dumb look.
He gestured to the doctor’s Stethoscope which I had slung over my shoulder.
“Oh?” I said. “No. I’m not.. It’s just. Never mind. It’s a long story.”
He nodded and studied me for a minute.
“Doesn’t it have anything to do with a girl?”
I stared back in stunned shock. Had the radio waves turned him Clairvoyant?

After 5 minutes hanging around the CT room I decided to return to my Doctor friend and test out my new Super powers. I hoped the radio waves had given me something neat. Like Super Speed.
“Where have you been?” The Doctor practically yelled at me as I walked in.
Patient Aurora had left the room. The Doctor was seating on the gurney again. Her legs swinging gaily back and forth.
“She likes you.” She announced with a happy smile.
“Me?” I scoffed out loud. Within I gasped in delight.
“Yes you.” The doctor laughed. “After you left the room she kept asking about you. Asked me why she couldn’t just wait for you to return and examine her.”
“Examine her?” I said with a blank expression.
The doctor chuckled and shook her head at me.
“What was wrong with her anyway?” I asked trying to act degage “Or is it something you can’t tell me.”
The doctor laughed.
“No. she’s fine. She just had Malaria that’s all. A bit of Typhoid came up in her blood test.” She smiled at me. “She’s clean incidentally.”
“I didn’t ask that.” I said with a laugh.
“Oh no. I’m volunteering the information. Just incase you were trying to avoid getting her number.” The Doctor said laughing.
“How would I go about getting her number? She’s gone already.” I said.
And then she walked in.
Again.

Just like that.
One minute we talking about her and the next thing the sexy devil was in the room.
She barely glanced at the actual doctor. She looked straight at me and said.
“Doctor I have a problem. Is there any way you could help.”
I grabbed the bottle of peanuts and tried to look Doctor like.
“What’s the problem?” I asked.
“The Clinic Pharmacy is taking forever to give me my drugs. Is there anyway you could speed them up. They don’t have enough change at the moment but I need to get home. I’m Starving.”
“Yes.” I said. “You should eat. It’s terrible to take drugs on an empty stomach.”
Sometimes it helps to remember what your mum tells you.
Behind the doctor gave me a silent laugh and then announced.
“I’ll go see what I can do.”
She didn’t wait for a response before she ran out of the room. I hoped the CTmachine blew up and killed her with it.

I sat at the table for half a minute trying to think of something incredibly witty to say. My brain was asleep.
Me?
Nothing to say?
“Is it bad?” She asked me.
“What?” I asked.
“My results.” She said gesturing to her file which was still on the table. “Is it bad? You’ve given me an awfully long list of drugs to buy.”
“Oh no. You’re fine. We’re treating you for Malaria and Typhoid. A bit of it came up in your blood test.” I said quickly. “Other than that. You’re fine.”
I stared at her lips.
Very Fine.
I was still brain dead. I couldn’t think of anything to say. I was about to have an imaginary surgery that would take me from the room when Jeff saved my life.
He walked into the room.
I could see the effect she had on him.
He took one look at her and raised his eyebrows.
Dude!
He telegraphed with his eyes.
I know! I telegraphed right back.
“My friend Jeff. “ I announced.
“Andromeda.” She said with a soft smile.
“Lovely name.”
“Gracias.” She replied with a laugh.
“Spanish. That’s sexy.” Jeff said. I glared at him. Why was my brain dead? He was stealing my thunder right in front of me. I picked up her file and pretended like I was going through it.
“Yes it is. “ She said still laughing. “That’s why I learnt it.”
I dropped the file.
“You speak Spanish?” I asked in shock.
She nodded seriously. “Yes I do.” And then she ranted out five quick sentences in Spanish.
Jeff looked at me quickly.
Dude! Dude!
I nodded silently at him. I know dammit. I know!!

For the next 10 minutes she chatted with Jeff talking about herself. She was an aspiring lawyer. Yet to go to law school but done with her University degree. She loved watching Series. She was working in a law firm. She was single. I sat like the dumb idiot I had become unable to say anything. I busied myself with her file. Looking over the gibberish the doctor had written in it. I was beginning to worry that maybe my brief exposure to radio waves had turned me stupid.
The Doctor returned after 10 minutes with her drugs and handed them over to her.
“Thank you.”She said to me.
I nodded my head. We doctors do our best.
She smiled one last time at me and turned to leave the room.
And then I snapped out of it. My daze vanished. In another 15 seconds she would leave the room and I would lose her. Forever. Until she once again got sufficiently beaten by Mosquitoes to warrant another visit to the Hospital. I had to do something.
“So. What happens if I need to call a Lawyer? “I asked.
She stopped at the door and gave me a puzzled look.
“What?”
“What happens if I need to call you?”
I held up her file defensively. As if justifying my right to ask the question.
I needn’t have bothered. She smiled at me and walked back to the desk.

And so I got her number.
We both swapped numbers. I gave here mine and saved hers.
The doctor smiled after Andromeda left. She and Jeff stared at me with expectant looks.
“What?” I asked wearily.
“What the hell do you mean what?” Jeff snapped. “Dude. You’ve got to call her man.”
“No.” I said.
“Why not.” Jeff asked.
“Because I am not a Doctor.” I said simply.
How come everyone else seemed to be forgetting that little hiccup? Did I have to wear a T-shirt with the words “He is not a Doctor” Before everyone remembered?
I had done enough damage as it was.
Lied for 30 minutes to some gorgeous girl who i didn't know. More or less ruining my chances of getting to know her. Sunday couldn’t get any worse as far I was concerned.
“So you’re just going to give up.” Jeff gasped.
“Yes.”
Jeff scratched his head in confusion.
Seriously? He signaled,still scratching.
“Handle your lice problem.” I said.

Sunday was finally coming to a end.
Earlier on, I had called my sister and recounted my day. At first she had refused to believe me. But after Jeff confirmed my story she called me a cow and hung up.
Family support was always so dependable.
I was seated in a chair watching the Euro finals. Spain was beating Germany which was a good thing. No one seemed to be in support of the Germans. I could relate to that. I was considering turning in for the night when my phone gave a vibe.
It was a short message.

“Are you still in the Clinic? I’ll be returning next week. Hasta Leugo. That’s Spanish. It means I Hope to see you soon. Preferably not as a patient.”

Attached to the message was the ID of the sender.
Andromeda.

Again Memory fails me on what happened afterwards.
The following is what I seem to remember.
I gasped in shock at the text message. I think I sat down. Over my heads dark clouds gathered, darkening the room further. The ceiling seemed to grow higher leaving me feeling incredibly small. In the Back ground some clown started playing with a fiddle. Some comic western jig. I was glad someone found it funny.
Directly opposite me my phone vibrated on the table in tune with the music.
I had been with the phone long enough to understand its mood and what it was trying to tell me.
Its light flashed a merry white and Blue.
Dude!! My phone said.