The price to pay for achieving greatness come at a cheap price these days, was her first thought as she changed back into the hospital gown that the nurse left behind. She sat on the hospital bed and waited for the surgeon to return. In her mind, she went through a checklist of all of her accomplishments. Her career at a high point that benefitted many whose dream was to acquire a diplomatic piece of paper with the hope that it will be the ticket to secure a job. She has a lovely husband who made up for a daughter whose ambition in life was to make sure she can make a sandwich when she gets up at 4 p.m. in the afternoon. Her colleagues respected her intelligence as much as they would for a woman. After all, the ‘boys club’ will continue to exist as long as men will. She’s already met every goal she set back in high school: education, husband, house, careers, etc. There’s just one more thing left to be done.
She looked around the small room where she will be sent back after the ‘fix up’. The room filled with all the medical instruments to ensure that a new life will be re-born. She realized how interesting it was that these types of rooms may look similar to a labor and delivery room, but in fact it is another form of re-birth that will occur. Unused and sealed suctions are neatly placed on a table next to the sink. Catheter tubes in packages sealed from the bacteria of the world are stacked for easy access while scissors of all sizes and shapes are laid in rows prepared to snip away at their duties.
She sighed and decided to take advantage of the full length mirror that hanged in the far wall by the bathroom. She stood up and walked over to look at the shell that is merely a vessel in this lifetime. She untied the hospital gown once again, folded it neatly and set it on the bed where evidence of her ass clearly showed on the paper pad.
The mirror was now filled with her reflection. Her body was a treasure map with dashes to lead the marked X. There were dashes lined from her clavicle to her bikini line. She never quite understood why it was called that as she was never bold enough to wear one. From the bikini line, the dashes led to the X located underneath a fleshy part of her stomach. She laughed at the idea of the skin underneath would feel once she took away the fleshy house that they inhabited all those years. Her eyes migrated towards the dashes from the center of her breastbone to her left nipple and all the dashes that circled the skin beneath her breast. Her right breast bore the same marks.
She thought of the surgeon that will perform this task to this shell that contained herself. She thought of him as the treasure hunter. A treasure hunter who would have dug, sliced, and shaved away all the bits and pieces. Once all the work has been done, his treasure would come in the form of $75,000.
She looked at herself once more and began her check list once again. Her breasts was once the barrier that protected her from revealing how her anxiety showed through the nervous thumping of her heart. They were the victims duct tape and gauge rolls during puberty when she denied her shell the evolution that it was fighting to go through. They nourished the baby who decided one day to remain asleep and the baby who decided to stay awake and caused nightmares for everyone around her. They had their time of sorrow. The skin on her stomach bore the maps of the world in the form of stretch marks. She was able to determine the roads to Italy, Paris, and Germany through the crevices etched on the scarred flesh. The flesh that hung beneath her belly button did not protect her from anything, but hindered her from everything. Its needs surpassed even her own. The flesh needed to be strapped down with strong material to prevent it from protruding when she wore her dresses and slacks. Its maintenance required purchases from the most pricey intimates and at one point practically slapped her in the face when she tested the material by stretching it out with her hands. The material bounced back slapping her face with vengeance. She decided that she will not grieve once the flesh has been burned and cinged away from her shell.
She wished that it was that easy when it comes to people in her life. She believed in her version of the circle. There are 5 circles that existed in her life. She in the center, at the core. The 5th circle consisted of people that she loathed and felt a vile vomit for. These people consisted of those that she cooperated with in the form of business. Their characteristics fit a particular mold of greed, ambition, and lack of true intelligence. Their intelligence consisted of the ability to move within a corporate realm on the basis of social negotiations rather than the hard work that encompassed the true meaning of success. These people she kept in her circle as a means to self-preservation. The 4th circle consisted of social friends, those in which she maintained contact to utilize for furthering the mission of her work. They remained in that circle as tools to be utilized when the occasion arises. The 3rd circle comprised of extended family. She felt obligated to make sure that they belong somewhere as in reality they are either not acknowledged or non-existent. The 2nd consisted one lost soul no longer pacing in this world but merely hovering in the back of her mind. This circle had the tendency to siphon on her energy that leaves her lost for days. And, her inner circle consisted of only three people. One she trusted completely. The other trusted her faithfully. The third one she neither trusted nor trusted her but existed in her life through accidental means. Her circle was her methodology of compartmentalization within a life she deemed as temporary.
She sighed once more and walked away from the mirror. She picked up her gown and got dressed.
She sat on the hospital bed clearly satisfied that she checked off the list in her mind. Like a young girl she dangled her legs and like a 45 year old woman she waited patiently for her treasure hunter.
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