Submissions sought. There’s naught in the queue. Get fresh eyes on your opening page. Submission directions below.
The Flogometer challenge: can you craft a first page that compels me to turn to the next page? Caveat: Please keep in mind that this is entirely subjective.
Note: all the Flogometer posts are here.
What's a first page in publishingland? In a properly formatted novel manuscript (double-spaced, 1-inch margins, 12-point type, etc.) there should be about 16 or 17 lines on the first page (first pages of chapters/prologues start about 1/3 of the way down the page). Directions for submissions are below—they include a request to post the rest of the chapter, but that’s optional.
A word about the line-editing in these posts: it’s “one-pass” editing, and I don’t try to address everything, which is why I appreciate the comments from the FtQ tribe. In a paid edit, I go through each manuscript three times.
Before you rip into today’s submission, consider this checklist of first-page ingredients from my book, Mastering the Craft of Compelling Storytelling. While it's not a requirement that all of these elements must be on the first page, they can be, and I think you have the best chance of hooking a reader if they are.
Download a free PDF copy here.
Were I you, I'd examine my first page in the light of this list before submitting to the Flogometer. I use it on my own work.
A First-page Checklist
- It begins to engage the reader with the character
- Something is wrong/goes wrong or challenges the character
- The character desires something.
- The character takes action. Can be internal or external action: thoughts, deeds, emotions. This does NOT include musing about whatever.
- There’s enough of a setting to orient the reader as to where things are happening.
- It happens in the NOW of the story.
- Backstory? What backstory? We’re in the NOW of the story.
- Set-up? What set-up? We’re in the NOW of the story.
- The one thing it must do: raise a story question.
Caveat: a first page can succeed without including all of these possibilities. They are simply tools you can use. In particular, a strong first-person voice with the right content can raise powerful story questions and a create page turn without doing all of the above. On the other hand, testing pages with the checklist no matter where they are in a story can help identify where a narrative lags and why it does.
Gary sends the first chapter of Runaway Angel. The rest of the submission follows the break.
Rosie Flannigan charged into the shower room and tackled Catlin to the hard tile floor. There she pressed the smaller girl’s face into the central drain. Catlin was a sophomore with small hands and pink feet that thrashed and futilely struggled to slip the dead weight off her naked back. Rosie, on the other hand, had come in wearing her heavy-wool uniform and slip-on tennis shoes.
The other girls cringed under the shower heads and screamed with their arms up against their bodies. Within seconds, everyone slid along the walls for the exit and ran out of the shower room, leaving Pawa Stevens to watch as Rosie hammered the back of Catlin’s head.
In the hallway, an awkward girl slipped and fell so hard that it made Pawa weak in the knees. She wondered what good it did to escape the carnage when you broke your neck on the way out, anyway. Pawa carefully pulled her towel off the hook and secured it around herself, but in spite of a racing heart and utter disgust at every human being she’d ever known, she remained in the shower room, stunned… then curious, witnessing Rosie beating Catlin maybe to death.
Water swirling around the drain started filling with bubbles and yanked-free auburn hair. In the state’s new ‘get-tough-on-juvi-crime’ reform school for girls, almost anything interesting was a relief from endless boredom and the television locked on the wrong channel. Pawa wondered if that was why she stayed, frozen in terror and leaning back against the wall. What (snip)
This first page roars out of the starting gate with a strong and captivating immediate scene. Plenty of action and conflict, yet it also manages to introduce the character of Pawa. And it’s clear that she’s a complicated character with her mixture of reactions to what’s going on. I wanted to turn the page to find out what Pawa would do even more than I wanted to know the outcome of the attack against Caitlin. This got a page turn from me, but I do see a clarity issue and a couple of suggested trims. Notes:
Rosie Flannigan charged into the shower room and tackled Catlin to the hard tile floor. There she pressed the smaller girl’s face into the central drain. Catlin was a sophomore with small hands and pink feet that thrashed and futilely struggled to slip the dead weight off her naked back. Rosie, on the other hand, had come in wearing her heavy-wool uniform and slip-on tennis shoes. A little clarity issue—the “that” makes it her feet that thrash and struggle to slip the weight off instead of the girl. Changing it to “who” would solve the problem. Another thought: is there a stronger verb than "pressed" that could shade the picture more? For example, "jammed" or "smashed," etc.
The other girls cringed under the shower heads and screamed with their arms up against their bodies. Within seconds, Everyone slid along the walls for the exit and ran out of the shower room, leaving Pawa Stevens to watch as Rosie hammered the back of Catlin’s head. On “hammered,” I get it, but think it would be more visual if you included something such as “with her fist."
In the hallway, an awkward girl slipped and fell so hard that it made Pawa weak in the knees. She wondered what good it did to escape the carnage when you broke your neck on the way out, anyway. Pawa carefully pulled her towel off the hook and secured it around herself, but in spite of a racing heart and utter disgust at every human being she’d ever known, she remained in the shower room, stunned… then curious, witnessing Rosie beating Catlin maybe to death.
Water swirling around the drain started filling with bubbles and yanked-free auburn hair. In the state’s new ‘get-tough-on-juvi-crime’ reform school for girls, almost anything interesting was a relief from endless boredom and the television locked on the wrong channel. Pawa wondered if that was why she stayed, frozen in terror and leaning back against the wall. What (snip)
Your thoughts?
For what it’s worth.
Ray
Submitting to the Flogometer:
Email the following in an attachment (.doc, .docx, or .rtf preferred, no PDFs):
- your title
- your complete 1st chapter or prologue plus 1st chapter
- Please include in your email permission to post it on FtQ. Note: I’m adding a copyright notice for the writer at the end of the post. I’ll use just the first name unless I’m told I can use the full name.
- Also, please tell me if it’s okay to post the rest of the chapter so people can turn the page.
- And, optionally, include your permission to use it as an example in a book on writing craft if that's okay.
- If you’re in a hurry, I’ve done “private floggings,” $50 for a first chapter.
- If you rewrite while you wait for your turn, it’s okay with me to update the submission.
Were I you, I'd examine my first page in the light of the first-page checklist before submitting to the Flogometer.
Flogging the Quill © 2017 Ray Rhamey, chapter © 2017 by Kevin
My books. You can read sample chapters and learn more about the books here.
Writing Craft Mastering the Craft of Compelling Storytelling
Fantasy (satire) The Vampire Kitty-cat Chronicles
Mystery (coming of age) The Summer Boy
Science Fiction Hiding Magic
Science Fiction Gundown Free ebooks.
Continued:
. . . should she do to help, or was it even preferable?
The authorities were sure to arrive in anywhere between a minute and half day. They say it takes at least two minutes to drown. Rosie seemed determined, so all Pawa could do was watch. If she stayed where the action was, she’d be the completely unwanted center of gossip for a month. So why stay? This was a sick place everywhere, in the dorms, halls… shower. Pawa leaned back instead of running, feeling almost jaded to the degree everyone expected.
All six shower heads kept blowing stinging streams. There were no water adjustments inside the room. Steamy clouds puffed overtop the swirling water at the half-clogged drain. Catlin’s head came up and choked out a mouthful of water, but Rosie pushed the girl’s face back down into the grill so hard that Pawa grit her teeth, almost feeling the girl’s nose break. Two minutes were up. Catlin would drown if something wasn’t done about it.
Fortunately, the girl’s face twisted free a second time, on this occasion long enough to start a breath. That apparently enraged Rosie even more, causing her to straddle the girl further up her torso and push her face deeper into the drain’s grill, which hadn’t seemed possible a moment prior.
The sliver of razor blade in the toothbrush handle trick came next. Rosie slid that out from between her breasts then traced a ten-inch line across the top of the kicking girl’s back.
Pawa had been anguishing over what to do to help the miserable girl, ever since grabbing her towel, having come up with nothing. “Um, excuse me.” She leaned from the wall a smidge, but nowhere near enough to catch the blade when Rosie blindly swiped it at her. “I just mean to mention that I’m worried about where this is going.”
“Get out of here, or you’re next, bitch!” Rosie cut another ten inches of flesh down the length of Catlin’s back. Bloody water spread down Catlin’s side and made swimming clouds of pink in the little lake in front of Pawa’s feet.
The wounded girl churned the water with both hands and feet. Her back bounced up once, suggesting she’d taken a breath of water. The more she struggled, the weaker each motion became until both arms tended to waddle.
Pawa already had her escape mapped out. She’d lunge for the door, grab the trash can so it’d fall behind her and take the stairs two at a time toward the guard station. As for the girl who’d fallen during her escape, she wasn’t out there whimpering anymore, so the way was likely clear.
“You sure did teach her a lesson, Rosie. If she dies, she can’t enjoy it, though. I know how much you want her to remember what you’ve done,” Pawa tried.
Rosie lifted her ass a few inches then smashed back down on the girl’s back, squishing any breath still in those lungs. It seemed like the beast inside wasn’t listening.
“She’ll be stuck in here, too. That’s the worst possible outcome. Nobody can stand this place.”
“Shut up!”
“God, Rosie. Why don’t you kill me, too, so I can get out of here? That’s all I want.” Pawa held her wrist out straight with a fist for fortitude. “I’m serious.”
Rosie shook her head no, looked back down, but swiped her razor at the outstretched arm.
“Ahhh!” Pawa yelped, stepping back and holding her wrist.
Rosie’s head swiveled instantly toward Pawa, and her face froze, like wheels were turning inside, finally telling her how out of control she’d become. “I’m….” She crawled off Catlin and kicked away with her heels until her body met the far wall. She glared at Pawa’s dripping wrist. “Why’d you put your arm out like that? It ain’t you I was mad at. I didn’t mean to cut you.” She started crying, and then her face scrunched up with internal anguish, likely realizing the hole she’d dug herself into. She stilled before dropping the razor onto the floor between her reform-school-issued sneakers.
“It’s alright.” Pawa put the stinging wrist behind her. “I asked you to, remember. Besides, it’s not bad. I was thinking about doing it myself.”
Something had to be done about Catlin. She wasn’t moving, and though her face was tilted to the side, her mouth and nose were still underwater. “You don’t mind if I make sure Catlin doesn’t die, do you? You don’t want to get in too much trouble. I don’t want you to be in too much trouble.”
“I hope the lying bitch goes straight to Hell!” Rosie screamed, but she was a big senior who ate too much and didn’t exercise, other than to push people in the halls. Her breathing came in rapid gulps, and she started sobbing, likely finally fully realizing what she’d done.
Pawa scooted up to Catlin and turned the frail thing over. She’d been blocking the drain again, so pink water audibly flushed down it all at once, leaving the usual inch and a half depth within seconds. There was a lot of blood, but everything smelled so clean.
Pawa had seen CPR on television, inspiring her to lean over the girl and blow into her mouth once before pushing on her chest. It felt very lesbian, and being lesbian in a place like this meant a lot, so the feel of flesh on flesh totally preoccupied her mind, even though she knew she had to do something. She leaned over and breathed into the girl’s mouth again before beating on her chest a couple times, returning to pushing the water out. Probably, the approach was all wrong, but it seemed right.
The girl looked dead. Her lips were blue. Pink blood ran all over the girl’s chest, between her quivering breasts, pooled in her belly button and streamed across her collar bones and neck.
“Catlin, you’ve got to come back to life, now, or Rosie will be in too much trouble. We don’t want Rosie to get into that much trouble,” Pawa said, mostly to keep the beast from lunging at them.
The floor bounced barely perceptively. Someone hastily bashed into a wall, around the corner to the shower-room entrance. People were coming.
Catlin’s body jerked, and a plume of water erupted from her mouth.
Pawa helped her to her side so she could puke it out, while continuing to smack her in the chest with the flat of her hand.
The girl gasped for breath, making Pawa wish she could just take one breath for her. She felt herself hyperventilating in sympathy, her head growing lighter. That’s when she realized how much blood was flowing down from her own wrist, coating her hand, splashing multiple drops at a time into the water beside Catlin’s flared hips.
Someone tackled Pawa off Catlin, causing both her and her assailant to slide across the floor and into a corner of the walls. Oh my God, Rosie’s got me. But she caught a glimpse of the dark-blue uniform of one of the night security guards. He almost tore her arm out of socket, pulling her hand behind her and cuffing it. She gave the other one up voluntarily, reaching behind herself as far as possible, but it didn’t help because he dislocated her shoulder anyway, fixing her wrist and finally cuffing it to the other one. The pain in her shoulder sent the room spinning.
The man ignored her whimpers. He just stayed there on her, with his knee planted on the small of her back, waiting out the separate scuffle. The towel had gone its own way. It floated toward the drain, clogging it again.
Pawa grunted and shrieked from the misery in her shoulder, each time the man moved an inch. She was pressed into the seam of the wall and could hardly catch a breath. Still, she managed to observe a second guard and Mrs. Pentergrass wrestling Rosie onto her side. Rosie thrashed violently, hitting the wall, legs, swirling water. Cuffing her was going to be an issue. Two of them didn’t seem enough.
“Clear!” The officer’s voice sent echoes bouncing off the walls, muffled only by the continual hiss of water cascading from the shower heads.
The adults quickly stood and splashed away from the beast.
The man on Pawa’s back eased up, though his shoes remained nearly in her face.
Taser wires leapt out at Rosie and stuck to her side. The jolt of electric spread across the water, entered Pawa’s naked flesh and pushed a squeak out of her own lungs.
Strange sounds went thumping around her horrible daydream. When her eyes cleared from the star-filled blackness that had overcome them, the shower had finally been turned off. Water dripped from the one head that constantly leaked. The security men were dragging a delirious and body-cuffed Rosie out of the shower room by her feet. Her ugly head of hair trailed behind her, mopping the hallway floor. She was awake, but didn’t seem to notice much.
Not that there was a thing Pawa could do about it. Mostly she just concentrated on breathing and staying still because her shoulder constantly hurt like it was broken. Shadows were playing near her feet, so she looked down, seeing her dorm guidance counselor, Mrs. Pentergrass, as well as Nurse Roberts administering bottled oxygen to Catlin.
The girl’s face was aimed at Pawa, with vacant eyes around the big Plexiglas facemask. They got her sitting up while Nurse Robert pushed a towel up against her damaged back.
Paramedics came in with a stretcher and their fishing-tackle box of tricks for Catlin. Pawa closed her eyes and bit her lip, waiting out their first aid, calls to the hospital, calls to the dispatcher, technical jargon toward one another, chat with Nurse Roberts and careful handling of poor Catlin, who had to go back to lying on her side, both to breathe out some of the water still coughing out of her face and to avoid contact with the skin on her back that was probably going to need three hundred stitches before the night was over. She’d have scars forever, and they were likely going to be sending Rosie to the adult facility before the hour was up, also forever.
The paramedics unfolded the gurney’s wheeled legs and started squeaking the patient out. Pawa finally opened her eyes all the way, only to catch the last of the men mind-photographing her naked body. It seemed a trend. Only seventeen, and it already felt like half the men in the county had seen her naked. If they had cell phones, she’d be on the internet.
The men had put a blanket over Catlin, as least.
“I can’t believe you was part of this,” Mrs. Pentergrass said from a stance up above Pawa’s head. The woman’s body cast angry shadows across the floor, up the walls and even out the door.
There came the feel of a puddle of sticky soup near the small of Pawa’s back, coating her wrist and fingers. Some of it leaked out from under her waist, but the whole floor had Catlin’s blood on it, so maybe they’d never notice the thicker, undiluted, red stuff. Her arm was cold for sure. Her head grew chilly. The room swirled around, and when she spoke, her mouth barely moved. It was like the words came straight out of her throat. “I had to talk Rosie off before… Catlin….” There was more she meant to say, but it was hard to think, and instead of just her shoulder hurting, everything inside cramped in a full-body stomach ache.
“She’s not speaking right. Is that blood?” Nurse Roberts finally noticed.
Dying hurt. But, if she could just put them off a little bit longer, everything would be…. “I’m fine. Just give me a momen…. Go on…. I’ll be right….” Pawa thought she mumbled before the room vanished into a sea of white stars.
###
Pawa sprinted barefoot into the field. Behind her, cavalry tore across the plain. Fight! One of the horses bashed her shoulder, tossing her aside. The soldier mounted atop the beast pitched a torch into a lodge made of limbs and animal skins. Within seconds the lodge went up in towering flames, lighting the tassels in the fields. Run! She fled toward the distant trees. The fire popped and hissed behind. That hiss grew, turning into a roar inside her head. The noise eased, and out from a new crystal clearness emerged her mother’s words, “How much is this going to cost us, this time?” A long pause. Someone tinkled with a medical tray.
The light over Pawa’s head made it unlikely that she’d open an eye without suffering permanent retina burn. The headache ensured it. Both wrists stung, but the one Rosie had accidentally slashed hurt most. Her shoulder only had an ache. They’d probably given her a little bit of pain meds because she felt woozy. She was just plain tired, like she’d run a race. Disappointment flooded Pawa’s soul the moment her mind registered that she’d done all the hard work of dying, only to be yanked right back to Hell.
When she tried to raise a hand to hold in front of her eyes, nada. They’d tied it down with only a foot of play. She opened a crusty eyelid, finding a pair of computers on rolling tables. To the other side of her stood an IV stand with blood and something clear, both in bags. A heart monitor read Ohio Health on it. It did that silent little beep-beep thing. Beyond was a door with an ICU label overtop. A nurse was the only person present, and she was walking away from a second, comatose patient a little further down the elongated room.
Momma’s voice had apparently been part of the scenery while she’d been in and out of consciousness. Pawa couldn’t believe her luck to have missed her.
“That too close, little white woman,” someone next to the bed said.
The heart monitor gave a couple beeps while Pawa turned her head to see a middle-aged woman sitting on a stool two inches from her elbow. She’d not been there a half second earlier, had she?
Braided black ropes of hair hung on each side of the newcomer’s face. Colored rubber bands fastening things tight every few inches. A hundred frayed strands waved above in the neons. The face wasn’t horribly old, but her skin had seen its share of sun, attested to by laugh lines and a Native-American complexion. The shirt was a darker brown with a dozen threads loose around the collar. A white doctor’s coat with Dr. Fester stitched in red above a pocket overtopped the shirt. Pocket protector. Stethoscope.
“You have a face.”
“How much is this going to cost my mother?” Pawa asked.
“Not my department, white girl,” Dr. Fester said.
“I need morphine and anxiety pills. Also a cat.”
“Why the morphine?”
“Mom.”
“Why the cat?”
“My nose needs scratched. Alright, forget the anxiety pill; just the morphine and cat.”
“You are Great White Chief’s prisoner, abinoojiiyens. He not want you have visions of this cat.” The corner of her mouth turned up a touch.
The joke was lost on Pawa. She’d spent two off and on years in reform school, and had seen every act in the book, other than this one.
“When do I go back to that place?”
Dr. Fester, shrugged. “We will speak of this later, white one.”
Whatever anyone called her had always meant to be insulting. “Stop calling me white.” Pawa’s skin was olive, and the eyes that glared back accusingly in her morning mirror were deep as the bottomless chasm. Clearly she took after a grandparent… or an affair.
The doctor laughed and drummed her stethoscope. “It is only where you are, waabigwan.” She leaned in and put the cold end up against Pawa’s chest. “Breathe in deeply.”
The girl did.
The doctor’s eyes lit up. “It is amazing. I hear so much.” She held the end of her stethoscope up to her face and blew on it. “Ha.” She seemed to marvel at how the instrument worked. The woman tucked the scope end back into her cleavage, pulled a small, round tin out of her white coat pocket and pried off the lid. After running an index finger around in the tin, she pulled the finger out, coated in a black powder.
“What’s that?”
“Strong medicine.” The woman put down the tin, and with that hand touched Pawa’s cheek, somehow causing her neck to relax and fall back to the thin pillow. The finger with the black powder on it curled but hesitated over Pawa’s forehead.
Pawa swallowed hard. She could also bat her eyes and wiggle her toes, but nothing else. What had the crazy doctor done to her? Is this a stroke?
The woman sighed before mumbling mostly to herself, “Gitchi Manitou decided, many moons back,” as if in resignation. More loudly, she chanted, “Be still one moment longer, my abinoojii.” The hand that had cupped her jaw turned upright like a bowl and the woman’s eyes squinted as she offered up a prayer to the ceiling tiles.
Pawa blinked a hundred times and waved her feet, hoping the slow moving and distant nurse would notice her distress.
“Aki, giisis… ziibi….” Dr. Fester placed her finger upon the girl’s forehead and made a cross. “Miigwan!”
A thousand colors swarmed into Pawa’s eyes. She closed them tightly, and the colors became paisley patterns dancing like a hundred baby hummingbirds. The room began to swim around her body; she was being tossed about in a sea current. Oh my god, what is she doing? Pawa threw her eyes back open, peering into the face of Dr. Fester, who was leaning so close that their noses almost touched.
“It is alright, my little gakaashkinejii.” The doctor straightened, moving away. She took off the doctor’s coat and hung it across one of the computers. The woman kept the stethoscope as she slid out the recovery-room door.
“Crazy woman,” Pawa said, even though now her veins felt hot as molten lead. “I’ve been attacked by a crazy woman!” came out so hoarse and dry. The transfused blood was infected, or maybe that woman had put something radioactive on her forehead. Muscles all over her body involuntarily twitched and strained against the straps binding her wrists and body. It was going to hurt. Surely her blood was killing her from the inside. Without the excitement of the shower room, dying terrified her, now. She started gasping for breath. Each could be her last.
The nurse had remained inattentive and molasses throughout. The woman finally started to turn from whatever she’d been doing across the room. That’s when Pawa knew something was definitely wrong because it seemed like it’d take the nurse an hour to finish pivoting, as if the video of her life had slipped to super slow-mo and the last seconds of consciousness would entail an eternity.
“Help me, please.” Pawa passed out.
###
“… cost us, this time?”
A male answered, “I’m not sure I can even wager a guess.”
“Ballpark?” Pawa’s father asked.
“If she’s discharged by this evening, under ten thousand. She’s taking more time than normal to wake up. If her oxygen remains low we’ll be forced to keep her.”
“Ten thousand?” Pawa’s Mom’s voice. She did not sound happy. “Next time, let her have her way.”
“Now, you don’t mean that.” Father was having a polite, politically correct moment, meant for public consumption.
“We have to eat. Sooner or later, she’ll end up dead, anyway,” Momma said with drama dropping off her lips. “We need to sign one of those, Do Not Resuscitate agreements… for next time she gets selfish.”
“That nonsense wouldn’t apply,” the doctor said.
“It applied to that poor woman the Democrats murdered in Louisiana,” Father couldn’t help but say because he only watched the idiots’ news channel.
Pawa quit pretending to be asleep, wanting to see who the poor doctor dealing with her parents was. She noticed his neat haircut and perfectly composed demeanor, like he’d been raised perfectly by perfect parents in a perfect school and with a perfect career path. Not a thing went awry. Also, he was young, likely just an intern, currently rethinking his perfect choice in occupations. Well, not really.
Mother noticed Pawa’s open eyes. “What’s the matter with you?”
“I almost ran out of blood in that place you sent me.” Her hoarse voice came out a whisper.
“You sent yourself there, Pawa!” Father said.
Her arms were still bound to the bed. They were in a normal room, and not the recovery room. A matron from the juvenile system sat in a chair near the door, pretending to read a Sports Illustrated—Swimsuit Edition. “Ha.” She also had her cell phone glued to an ear, speaking to someone, maybe making arrangements for transportation back.
Pawa returned her drug-induced attention to her parents. “For running away from you.”
“Five times,” her father added. “And watch the backtalk!”
She’d never gotten farther than the downtown bus stop. Even then she’d only used the bench in the park behind Wendy’s. That particular bus stop seemed better than most others, and it was cheaper if she didn’t get on. Also, food was close. She’d get detention if she skipped school.
Mother came closer, leaning with that raging squint that constantly reminded Pawa that Mom wished she’d never gotten pregnant with her. “You almost killed that other girl. They’re never going to let you go, now. You can’t run away from this, you ungrateful little shit!”
Pawa felt her stomach drop, like it was making room for the even more emptiness inside.
The doctor tried, “Alright, people. My patient is in need of her rest. We’re going to have to—”
“Excuse me.” The reform school matron had arisen from her chair. She came forward, making a quartet of the adults surrounding the girl’s bed. “I just got word on the phone. It appears that Pawa had nothing to do with the assault on that child. As well, the slash on her wrist was a result of an additional assault by Miss Flannigan.”
“But you said they caught her beating on that poor girl.” Mother was actually disappointed with the news. Then it occurred to Pawa that if she’d been caught assaulting someone, they’d never let her out. And if they never let her out….
“A crude form of CPR, it would seem.”
“Where did she learn that?” Momma accused the matron.
“I have no idea. Television maybe.” The lady paused a second, contemplating. “We should really have classes. From the way I hear she was hitting her, she might have broken the girl’s ribs.”
“She cracked one,” the doctor said, “but she also probably saved that child’s life. She’s not out of the woods. There will be respiratory concerns for a couple days. Her lungs were saturated with fluid. Now, if you’ll all vacate this room.” He leaned in towards Father, implying it was not a request, while simultaneously implying a need for his assistance.
Father finally had his chance to show his true concerns and still save face with Momma. “This means that the other girl’s people should pay.”
“I wouldn’t hold your breath.” The matron wore one of those blue, wool skirts with the matching blazer. It had a name tag and the vague Ohio Child Protection Services shoulder patch. Her hair was up in a giant bun, reinforcing herself as well past middle age and maybe a member of some super-conservative church in her spare time.
“We’ll need the details on the family, so we can sue,” Mom said as the doctor nearly pushed them out the door. The matron went with them, continually arguing that giving out names would require legal intervention.
“Look, can you loosen this?” Pawa asked the doctor.
The doctor nodded, returned and then removed the straps across her body, as well as the one holding down her left arm. “Just leave the one buckled, alright. I know you can unbuckle it with the free hand, but we need to maintain appearances. What are you in for?” He smiled.
“Running away.” Pawa added, “A lot.”
“And?” He waited.
“Mom said I stole two-hundred dollars from her purse.”
He waited for more.
Pawa shrugged. “Do you know a Doctor Fester?”
“Yes I do.” He turned more directly and showed Pawa the name tag clipped to the pocket of his shirt.”
“No, I mean a woman, middle aged, kind of freaky. I think she’s a Comanche or something. She talks funny.” Pawa stopped herself and squeaked, “Ohmygod, I hope she’s not your mother. I didn’t mean freaky, exactly.”
“I think you’re a Comanche, too.” He chuckled, but then sobered when Pawa didn’t join in. “Where’d you meet her?”
“In the recovery room, I think.”
“Just a moment.” The doctor left Pawa to amuse herself by scratching all the places she’d been unable to touch before having an arm free. The worst itch of all was her back, right about each shoulder blade, where she couldn’t reach without a stick.
The doctor came back three minutes later, carrying the longer lab coat. “Found it. Someone must have grabbed it by mistake.”
“Did you lose your stethoscope, too, because she walked off with one?”
“Damn. That was special.”
“More than two-hundred dollars?”
He nodded. “Littman electronic.”
“Sorry.” When the pause became pregnant, Pawa asked, “Can you take a look at my back. It itches something fierce.”
The doctor helped her sit up, and he pulled the gown aside at the split. “You’ve two wicked bruises for shoulder blades. Then there’s the dislocation bruise.” His fingers ran across her skin but didn’t press. “Did they slam you into the tile?”
Pawa nodded.
“The shoulder blades are seriously swollen… symmetrically, like they slammed you perfectly flat on your back. I’ve never seen it so…. I’ll prescribe a week of NSAID, and some over-the-counter Aleve. If it gets worse, have them give me a call for an x-ray. I’ll chart it so they’ll know you’re not making something up.” He re-tied the top of her gown and shifted to face her more directly. After taking a wet-nap out of a bedside container, he wiped her forehead. “You had some kind of smudge.”
“Thanks.” Maybe she’d become a nurse and date him ten years from now. Delusions were part of being a juvenile delinquent, she knew.
The matron returned. “When will she be released? I need to get her away from those people.”
So, there was that to look forward to.