Wednesday, October 19, 2011

"I don't need no psychiatrist"

"I don’t need no psychiatrist," Kirby said, "what I need is good surgeon.
I can’t help it my eyes move around without hinges.
I know they need hinges - do you think I’m an idiot and don’t know that?"

He blinked his large hazel eyes a couple of times
and then opened them wide to expose the orbs.

"You see, they just roll around in here like marbles -
the doctors can get in there and fix that, can’t they?
That’s what they go to medical school for,
to fix things like that -
so what are they waiting for?

"And as for my spine, it just grows like this -
out of my gums where my chompers should be."
He grimaced, displaying yellow crooked teeth.
"I don’t know if they can fix that though -
it might be too late -
it might paralyze me if they try to do anything.
I don’t want to be no parasite, or paralegal,
or whatever they call it when you lay around all day
like Christopher Reeve.
He used to be Superman you know,
and flew around saving people.
Now he can’t even walk.
But I can walk just fine,
and my teeth don’t hurt me none when I eat."

A fly alighted on Kirby’s grey hair.
He swatted it away,
and then tugged on a lock
hanging down on his forehead.
"And this damn algae keeps growing up here,
and they won’t give me nothing to cut it off with -
so don’t blame me.
It might be taking over my brain -
it might be, I’ll grant you that,
but it’s not my fault.
If you’ll just let ’em cut it off, I’ll be fine.

"And get someone to fix my eyes, like I said -
so those stupid little flying seahorses will leave me alone.
They know they can get in that way, through my eyes -
but if the surgeons would just put the hinges back in,
I could close ’em and lock ’em up tight so they can’t get in.
Yep. Then I’d be fine, don’t you think doctor?"

The grey tabby,
which hitherto had been watching Kirby
with disinterested attention,
having grown bored with his company,
stood up, stretched and softly padded away,
leaving the man reclining in his yard.

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