Toast
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It was a silly, stupid thing. Later that day, when I was being searched at the hospital after returning, a worker saw the tattoo and said, “What the hell is that?”
“Nothing,” I said, embarrassed. “Truly.”
“In some cities that signifies gang membership,” he said. “You need to tell your doctor about this.”
“Look – it’s really nothing,” I said. “Do I look like a freaking gang member?”
But it was too late. Soon they had my family on the phone and then all the doctors, a social worker – the whole goddamn cavalry. It’s an amusing story to look back on but then it was just another pain in the ass. Something more to get on myself about.
*          *          *
It cost forty-five dollars for a membership to Toastmasters and when I signed up I wasn’t sure if I did it more for Dr. Laney or for myself.
“You son of a gun,” he smiled when I told him. “I do believe you’re beginning to develop some large ones.”
“You’re crass when you’re pleased,” I said. Then I told him about all the Toastmaster paraphernalia they give new members – a magazine subscription, a workbook on all the nuances of communication. Ribbons for good speeches.
“Do they hand out team sweatshirts or anything?” he smiled.
“You know,” I said. “Sometimes you don’t even remotely sound like a therapist.”
“What do I sound like?” he said.
“A sardonic asshole sitting in the back of the class in eighth grade,” I said.
He held his hand up and said, “I’m sorry – listen, when is the first speech?”
“Two weeks,” I said. “It has to be about five minutes. They recommend something very basic but I’m thinking something more ambitious.”
“Would you like any guests?” he asked.
*          *          *
When I first got out of the hospital after surgery, I stayed at my parents’ house for a week in Guilford, Ct. My mother was a dutiful nurse, crushing all the medications for me and offering chocolate protein shakes and strawberry Fribbles. For the first five days I couldn’t sleep more than two hours a night, leaving me to craft long, inane email rants to a few right wing blogs. When I finished I’d be up at four so I’d bundle up and go for slow walks (my lungs were completely exhausted if I moved too rapidly.) There was a cove about one hundred yards beyond the dark marsh and the house and I’d pile on the layers and sit on a stone slab at the small beach and wait for the birds to do their thing and welcome the sun.