In The Blood

Making Appointments

(Chris)

Packed like sardines in Kline's SUV, Cerise's booster seat securely situated in the backset and wedged into my hip, I found myself scrunched up to the car door and wondering exactly why we'd decided to let the shorter Matt sit up in the front. He had shorter legs. We had longer legs. Even Ericha had long legs. Our seating arrangement made little to no sense. My feet were under the front seat, legs twisting and curling awkwardly round in the limited space, a pair of steel grey paint cans occupying more than their fair share of room. The alternative though was hand weights and a rusty old kitchen pot I wouldn't trust to boil water in. Ericha and Adam were dealing with those, her feet plunked squarely in the pot as he kept trying to push the hand weights under the seat. Laws of physics said it would be an impossible move, yet he kept at it with his feet in sheer hopes. Matt just had to deal with the broken toaster and was seemingly afraid an unplugged appliance would electrocute him. The trunk would have been the logical place to put all this junk, but the latch was jammed and currently inaccessible except from over the backseats, which we'd resorted to throwing four bags' worth of Goodwill and recyclable items. Why Kline had decided to do a massive winter clean three days ago was anyone's guess. And was proving inconvenient since he still hadn't made it to either Goodwill or the recycle yard. I was debating telling him to go there right now but I really just wanted to get somewhere and lie down. Surely I can take a half hour of being cramped up here. I've been through worse, after all.

After a seemingly endless ride, we pulled into a long driveway, Kline hitting the garage door opener. We pulled in and started to pile out. Ericha pulled off of Adam's lap and kind of fell out. Adam started to flex his left knee a little as he unstrapped Cerise, then crawled out stiffly as Ericha pulled to her feet.

"She probably had the best seat in the house," she remarked, making Adam laugh.

The door stuck slightly so I had to lean into it a little. It opened and I put my right leg out, then my left, trying to force joints to work right. I'm too old for this. I grew out of clown cars ages ago. My left knee started to buckle on me and I threw my arms out for balance and to hold onto the car, but Matt reached back and closed the door for me. I knew he was trying to be helpful, but I'd needed it there for a second. Left to my own devices and on a leg that had stopped talking to me ten minutes ago, it decided enough was enough and just gave out on me, sending me sprawling.

"Chris!" Matt yelped, staring down at me uselessly.

"Chris?" Adam asked worriedly, racing around the car to check on me.

"Are you OK?" Kline asked, picking up an ice scraper that'd fallen off the shelf I'd narrowly missed falling into.

I sat up and shook it out real good, hoping to jostle some feeling back into it. "Stiff joints. Leg fell asleep on me."

"You're bleeding," Kline observed.

No shit. Seemed like it was all I did lately. I was so tired of it all and I'd barely even begun. So many things whirled through my brain, but all I said was, "Dude, this is Los Angeles, California. You don't need no ice scraper here."

Matt and Ericha giggled at that, Ericha with a sleepy Cerise hugging onto her leg.

"Just get up, wouldja?" Adam grunted.

"Ice... huh?" Kline was clueless.

"I'm working on it, Adam!" Nerves connecting and blood flowing into my leg, it rejuvenated and I stood up. "Ice scraper, Kline, you're holding an ice scraper. Get a lot of usage of it out here?"

He looked down at it. "Oh... well, I suppose not." Sliding it back in place, he added, "But it was a lifesaver back before I moved out of Colorado ten years ago."