By B.H. Bates
I went to see my doctor last week – and I’m afraid I have some bad news.
The day started out as any other, the sky was such a eautiful blue, the birds were singing and all was well under the watchful guardianship of the Great Spirit. The only thing different about today, was that I had a doctor’s appointment.
I was sitting in the waiting room, twenty-two minutes before my noon appointment. I know it’s silly to be that early for a doctor’s
appointment but I know how much I hate it when people are tardy.
Besides, I don’t want to be known as the ‘late’ Mr. Bates, before my time!
And wouldn’t you know it … at the stroke of twelve, high noon, a lady dressed all in white suddenly appeared. She called out my name in such a soft, sweet angelic voice: “Mister Bates, Mister Bernard Bates, the doctor will see you now!”
As I looked up the bright sun light cast a glow all around her and I
couldn’ t see her face. Shielding my eyes from the bright glare, I stumbled into the light. I went down a long corridor and wound up in a sterile white room, all alone … except for my thoughts.
And there I sat, and sat, and sat – doing ‘Doctor time’ and cursing the wasted twenty-two minutes of my life. The meaning of time seemed to slip away, little by little. I picked up a book and started reading a section, appropriately called: Life’s Like That. The next thing I knew I was lost in thought … reviewing events that happened years and years ago.
One passing thought I had was of my early childhood. I was in grade school, during recess and I had a young kid, by the name of Tommy, in a headlock and I was telling him I was going to make him eat a dead black widow spider.
Then a feeling of profound guilt came over me – all these many years
I wished that I could’ve gone back in time, at that moment, and told
that kid; “I’m sorry!” And not only him, but all the folks and even all the animals that I’ve wronged! “I’m sorry, so very sorry!”
“Sorry, Tommy! Sorry, Dicky! Sorry Harry etc. etc. etc. Then I came to the name Karen, then my thoughts turned to other memories … happier thoughts, happier times … if you know what I mean!
I went from, apologetic to appreciation and in some cases, even all out admiration.
I was no longer a child in the ‘spring’ of my life, but in my prime, in
my ‘summer’ time, my glory days! I was full of piss and vinegar, ten feet tall and bullet proof. Then a few fleeting seconds later, I found myself thinking of things that have just happened lately, and sadly, I was now in the ‘fall’ of my life, looking at signs of the approaching, cold, dark ‘winter!’
If you think that was a ‘downer’ – you should’ve seen the look on my
doctor’s face as he came into the room with my open file in his hand. His brow was furrowed and he had a look of utter sadness.
After he sat down, he started out with the usual small talk: How are
you? How was your summer? And that’s when I asked him, what’s wrong, is everything okay, do you have some bad news?
Then with a forlorn sigh he told me:”I hate to say this, but, I hate
this time of year! I have the end of summer ‘blahs!’ The days are getting shorter, the nights are getting colder and soon the trees will look like theboney hands of death.”
I knew exactly what he was talking about – the poor bastard. Because I too suffer from “Fall-itus!” It’s a new word that I’ve made up, to describe that sinking feeling you get in the pit of your stomach, when you see that first TV commercial about ‘back to school.’ It’s the death of the carefree days of sum-sum-summer time!
Even though it’s been many, many moons since I went to school, those damn advertisements still get to me. They’re just one more sign that freedom will be over, all too soon. It’s like looking into the mirror and seeingone more wrinkle, one more gray hair … AAAGHHH!!!
As I left the Doctors office he looked at me with a little grin and
“For what?” I asked.
Now wearing a big smile he replied: “At least we have ‘Indian summer’ to look forward to!”
You know something … he’s the only person, who has ever thanked this little Injun, for those last beautiful, warm days known as: “INDIAN SUMMER!”
if you have a bee in your bonnet about Bee in the Bonnet column, or suggestions for future articles please feel free to contact B. H. Bates at: firstname.lastname@example.org