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Coppertone 2
Coppertone 3
Coppertone 4
Coppertone 5
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Coppertone 7
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| Having been aware of the physical exam schedule two days prior, I was wearing a light soft cup bra, beige satin, that I chose because of its front closure. I had hoped it would allow me to discretely open rather than remove entirely the bra at the appropriate time. Baring my breasts before the towering, horse-faced Dr. Nancy was not something I relished, having done so on three prior occasions. But my circumspection had worked against me; the clinging, diaphanous fabric of the cups revealed the physical manifestation of my nervousness, arousal, and chilliness: I was packing a pair of coat hooks. Personal bests. Sometimes I hate this animal I ride around in... But I digress- time to strip in front of the man I love! I sat on the bench before Ted. I stuck my fingers in my damp, fragrant armpits and leaned forward as he snapped a fitting onto the illuminator. "So, how's Cheryl today?" "You tell me," I answered with unnatural celerity and volume, then laughed immoderately. I was a nervous wreck. "I'm sure you're just fine... If you could sit up, I'll have a peek in you eyes." The bluish-white light blinded me. "I had to bring Coppertone to the garage when I got back yestrerday. She needs a valve job." His breath was slightly beery. Kind of nice... or it would have been under other circumstances. "Is that bad?" I asked, desperate to find something to contemplate other than my impending girly-show. "Well, it's pricey, but I knew she needed one when I got her." He snapped a funnel-shaped fitting on to the illuminator and inspected my ears. He was careful not to mess my spray-dependent hair sculpturing. I was trying to fabricate a plausible conversational bifurcation with which I could apprise Ted of my heart defect employing Coppertone's worn valves as a segue. "Speaking of leaky valves, did I ever tell you?" sounded, well, queer. But that was all I could come up with. I decided to keep my mouth shut about it and maybe he simply wouldn't notice it. He wouldn't be the first doctor to miss it. The calmer I remained, the more likely it was that he would not hear it. He extended my arm and wrapped the blood pressurre cuff around it. My BP is low, as evidenced by the dizziness I feel if I stand up too quickly. "Smack dab in the middle of normal range," Ted commented, like he was proud of me. In reality, this meant it was elevated. I was beginning to feel as though I was going to make it through this okay. But that was the easy part. " Could you stand up, please?" The phrase "tit-time" materialized in my consciousness, lingered until I acknowledged it, and vanished from whence it came. The things one finds in one's basement... He palpated my neck and jaw and percussed my chest as he had done with Wendy. Then he slipped the stethoscope tips back into his ears. I took this as my cue to remove my bra. For some reason, I didn't want him to have to ask me; I think this was in consideration of him, but I'm not sure. Ted studied his shoes as I set the bra on the bench, and stood up straight. A bit nippy... Caramel and custard. The cool disk to the upper chest. "Take a deep breath..." A boisterous giggle erupted from bench. Stacy and Rachel were cracking each other up. I wondered if I was the object of their amusement (I later learned that Stacy had been suddenly beset with an untimely spell of tummy-growling). Ms. Costigan apologized to Ted, and turned to the red-faced teenagers who were convulsing with suppressed laughter. She clearly welcomed any opportunity for castigation; she got off on it. "Listen, girls, Dr. Novak was kind enough to fill in for Dr. Nancy. You can at least show some appreciation by behaving yourselves while he is here!" She again apologized to Ted, who shrugged in a "no biggie" sort of way. This suspension of the proceedings had unnerved me: my heart began kicking in vehement protest. Ted pressed the disk a bit below my left clavicle and asked me to inhale. Now exhale. He listened for a pregnant moment. His brows furrowed. He was hearing something that wasn't right. "Could you put your hands behind your head?" He was skipping the lung auscultation and would investigate the source of the turbulent cacophony he had marginally detected. "Elbows back... That's good." (so long, Hooterville!). At this point, I had neither the desire nor the faculties to enlighten him regarding my condition. I chose to let it play out. I tucked in my chin and looked upon my flattened chest. Ted placed the disk firmly beneath and to the inside of my turgid left nipple. This, I knew, was the epicenter of my murmur. The room seemed incredibly quiet, the native's drum having fallen silent. I could hear my valve click in the tomb-like silence. The stethoscope's latex tubing juddered with each pulsation. The air of the room seemed untenably thin- I suddenly couldn't pull enough of it in, short of gasping. His concern mounting, Ted placed his palm beneath my prominent nipple, which nestled in the vertex of his thumb and index finger. Our eyes met. My field of vision tunneled and grayed, and my ears rang. The room slowly pivoted with me at the fulcrum point. The floor unhinged, floated upward, and struck the side of my head. What'd it do that for? I wondered. But it was okay. Suddenly everything was very okay... and very far away... One is up and apparently conscious a bit before the cognitive centers are back on line after one passes out. I was dimly aware of a spirit of officious solicitude and abundant but inutile concern pervading the locker room; however, it was some time before I realized that I was at its focus. Quickly assuming the role of relieved onlookers, the girls dutifully supplied the standard dialog employed in such circumstances. "She's coming to." "...just keeled right over..." "...had me pretty scared, for a minute there." And the old nonsense standard for this situation, "Stand back and give her air." The only cliché that remained holstered was "Is there a doctor in the house?" Of course, even I knew the answer to that one. As my brain re-oxygenated, it occurred to me that I had been staring at my feet for an abnormally protracted period. My head had been placed between my knees- by someone. I sat up. Big mistake. I'd forgotten about my state of undress. Wendy, God love her, retrieved my blouse and helped me put it on. Evidentially, she had promptly written me off for dead and had been taking it awfully hard, and now my apparent resurrection was eliciting fresh tears of gratitude and joy. The roller-coaster ordeal had taken its toll on her eye makeup. I looked up at Ted. He was rubbing his temples and shaking his head. He was pretty rattled. He said to me: "I'm sorry, Babes." I looked to Ms. Costigan. She seemed to be running back what she had thought she just heard, decided she had heard wrong, and dismissed it. Providence took pity on me and handed me a face-saving cover story that I would stick to regardless: I fainted because I skipped breakfast. "I skipped breakfast this morning. I think that's why I passed out- Doctor." I imparted an italicized emphasis on "Doctor", hoping it would prevent Ted from calling me "Batgirl" or something equally inappropriate under the circumstances. Ms. Costigan's radar was up. It is not that I questioned Ted's judgement, but I sensed he was very upset and wasn't thinking clearly and was quite capable of saying something that would, well, create the right impression. "Yeah, that would... that could definitely- you know- cause it. Fainting. Not eating. Breakfast. Could... Did you know you have a..." "Yes, Dr. Nancy knows about it," I said sharply. My anxiety was turning into anger towards Ted and the rubbernecking bimbos and the dried-up cunt of a cheering advisor that it was my misfortune to have to suck up to. I tried to make a show of contemptuously ignoring Ted as I got dressed. I doubt that he noticed. He had his little harem to play with. I returned to what was left of French class. For the remainder of that black day, I would later learn, Holly regaled anyone who would listen (every Goddam male) with an rollicking first-person account of the semi-nude action-drama she had witnessed in the girls locker room during third period. That explained the pimply moron with the trouser tent who poked my shoulder while I was at my locker and looked me right in the tits and asked me if it was true I'd had "like a heart attack or something". "Yeah, and then I fucking died. Asshole," I said and slammed my locker shut and stalked off. I considered turning around and telling him to quit looking at my ass. Fuck it, it'll just get him hornier. Fucking men. I didn't care- I couldn't afford to. Not till I got back home. Once the tears start with me, there's no fucking stopping them. I'm like that. I unplugged all three phones when I got home. I didn't want to have to deal with anyone. Especially what's-his-face with the car. I took a quick hot shower, put on my robe and slippers, then went straight to my room and fell into the bed and did the fetal bit with a pillow over my head occluding both light and fresh air. Go to your womb and stay there- that was my plan. With my constitution depleted by the day's traumatic proceedings, I succumbed quickly to a deep and dreamless sleep. I slept for about an hour and a half. I woke up with a sharpened awareness, and that's when the absurdity and cruelty of the day fully hit me. I began to cry. Choking sobs and an aching throat. I was free-falling from the heights I had been ascending for two months and suddenly I wondered if the entire experience had not been the product of my own confabulations and delusions. He was probably screwing Wendy right now, I thought. An image of devastating clarity presented itself. I moaned in anguish. The capacity for pain that humans have when it comes to these sorts of matters is excessive and quite unnecessary. I don't imagine I am trying to explain anything to you that you have not experienced first-hand- it is part of being human- but, still, don't you think it's a bit much? A new and even more painful image intruded my consciousness. I struck my head as hard as I could with my fists to dislodge it. I could not. I was in some foreign territory, deeper in one's basement than one should ever go and I was terrified that I may never find my way out. I had gone insane- I lost it. I recall very little after that. The next thing I remember is waking up as my hair was being stroked. It was Chad. He was on my bed, holding me. I was sucking his thumb- a reciprocal service we provided each other as infants. He was making comforting nonsense talk. "There, there, Sweetie...whusamatta, huh?...Everything's okay...everything is." I tried to talk but the lump in my throat prevented me. "Let it go, Cheryl...let it go, Baby Girl" my brother whispered. And I did. He held me tightly as I thoroughly soaked his shoulder with mucus and tears (I would do the same for him a year later). I was in pain, but at the same time I felt so close to Chad that there was something pleasurable about it. It was like the old days- before we were born. Eventually I depleted my tears and made my way out of my basement. For I long time I just stared at my stuffed animals and sucked Chad's thumb as he held me. Then I asked him, "How did you know to come home?" "I was at Eric's having a good time, but all of a sudden I got all weirded out. I knew something bad was up." "You didn't hear what happened?" I asked. "Nope... Is it about Ted?" "Yup," I sniffed. He knew not to press. For a very long time we just lay there. Then I asked Chad about what he'd been up to for the past few weeks- for the first time in my life I wasn't entirely sure. "Same junk." I asked him how it was going with the Dipshits. "We still stink. We should call ourselves Blame the Dog." " Aww, don't say that," I scolded him affectionately. "Well, it's true." "That doesn't make it okay to say," I said. Then I kissed his forehead. "Nobody says that about my brother's band. Not even you." He liked that. "Even the Beach Boys had to start somewhere," I said softly. "Yeah... Those guys are gods." We went downstairs and I made tacos for him. My appetite was shot, but it made me feel good to feed Chad. I love him. Mummy wasn't going to be home till maybe seven and Daddy usually pulled in at eight-thirty. We went back in my room and watched Bugs Bunny on my TV. He knew I didn't want to be alone. I surprised myself by asking him if he liked anyone. "I like lots of people." "You know what I mean. Girls," I said. "Them too." I rolled my eyes and sighed. "Look, I'm trying to help but you gotta work with me. Isn't there some girl that you'd like to have for a girlfriend?" A few weeks before I would not have wanted to know such a thing. Something in me had changed. But Chad's unexpected answer caused a relapse in my emotional rehabilitation. Chad wanted Wendy Abbott. Poor Chad wondered what he had said to set me off. "Nothing. Everything. Never mind." I blew my nose and managed a smile. "Wendy's a nice girl," I said softly. Chad looked at me, and his eyes widened with reverence. "She's so pretty and smart and funny... I'd do anything to go out with her." I agreed that Wendy was a stunner and could be a riot and left it at that- two out of three ain't bad. "Well, she's not going out with anybody. And I think you're a little taller than she is. Most guys aren't." I heard the garage door open. Mummy was home. Chad stared at the TV screen, but his thoughts were elsewhere. Mummy called up the stairs and asked us what we wanted for supper. I told her we already ate tacos. "And you cleaned up after? Are you feeling okay, Honey?" We watched Leave it to Beaver on channel 9 at six-thirty. About half way through, Mummy called up the stairs. "Honey, there's a girl from school here to see you. Can I send her up?" This was weird. I said yes. Chad and I looked at each other and shrugged. Our visitor wore black spandex tights and a cut-off midriff-baring sweatshirt and a red headband. If you haven't already guessed, it was Wendy. I got a big hug from her. "I was so worried when I couldn't get you on the phone. I figured maybe you died or something." (joke or no? one never knows with her- I compromised with a half-baked smile). Then, being Wendy, she hugged Chad. His hands floated awkwardly over her back, shy to touch her. Funny what desire does to a person. Stunned into dull silence, Chad drifted zombie-like out of the room. When he got out of earshot, Wendy whispered, "He's cute- but I don't think he likes me too much." (Toss another irony on the pile, will ya?) . "So, Wendy, I'm happy to see you, but what brought you here?" "Scotty's bike... Anyway, I came over to see if you were okay and everything and, if you were, like, were you still gonna go out for cheering?" "Well, I don't think I passed the physical, to tell you the truth." Wendy shook her head vigorously. "Ms. Costigan says if Dr. Nancy says you're okay you can be on the squad. She's coming back next week." Wendy fixed her gaze on me and said, "Please be on the squad. If you're on the squad I won't be able to say everyone on the squad hates me, which will be nice for a change." Her aquamarine eyes were welling up. "Well... I probably will." She squealed with delight and I got another hug, a hot and vibrant embrace. It seemed funny to see a person I only knew from school in my room- dreamlike, kind of. As it was early September, the sun was still up. I decided to shed my "psych ward" habiliments and put on some shorts and a T-shirt. I almost asked her to leave as I changed, but in light of her gallant rescue of me earlier that day, that seemed ungracious. Not surprisingly, Wendy held a rather shameless view of nudity. We rode our bikes to the Sugarplum Dairy for ice cream. Beneath a pastel parasol and over a butterscotch sundae, I spilled my guts to my disarming companion. I told her about my summer and confessed my love for the dopey doctor. Wendy was a good listener. Too good. Her gaping mouth and unblinking attention were distracting and made me lose my train of thought on several occasions. She lived for soap operas- she was that type of girl- so she just ate this right up. "Oh, Cheryl, I hope you didn't think I was, like, hitting on him when asked him if he wanted gum. I didn't, you know, like, know, when I did that." Typical Wendy. As though I might have construed the offer of a stick of chewing gum as an added enticement to seduce Ted after he touched her naked breast. She said she noticed he smelled a little beery and thought the gum would hide that. "With a blabbermouth like Holly, he could get into all sorts of trouble," she said. Wendy could be pretty smart now and then. "And then that thing I said about getting back in line. I mean, I didn't know. I just said it 'cause you looked all nervous and everything... I was just kidding... I should never try to make jokes- they just wind up hurting people's feelings... So now you don't like me anymore, right?" I told her not to worry about it, but I had to reassure her a half-dozen times that I didn't hate her guts. I tried to picture Ted tossing off a beer or two to steady himself for the gland-straining ordeal examining several dozen adolescent females. It was all too easy to imagine, frankly. I wondered if he knew I was on the menu. God, I loved him. Wendy stayed over at my house till after eleven. We had a great time, though I worried about Chad firing up the old box spring. Thank God, he didn't. I put in some good words for my brother. I had to introduce Wendy to the concept of shyness to explain his apparent lack of interest in her. "Well, I wouldn't mind making out with him and stuff- but every time I do that with a guy I wind up making him miserable. You know?" We made plans to go to the mall on Sunday, then Wendy said that she'd better head home, "...so I can get yelled at some more." Her stepfather was a fundamentalist type who wanted her to repent all the time, but she never much felt like it. It was too dark for Wendy to pedal her bike home so I asked Daddy if he could drive her home. He said he'd be delighted. I went with them. I had to. Trust me on this. When I got back home I did a little soft crying by myself. It was necessary and it felt good. I don't know how I'd have made it through this day without my brother Chad and my friend Wendy. And they were to play an ongoing part in my surviving the difficult time to come. http://maxpages.com/coppertone/coppertone_6 |
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