Gregor and the Cure

Gregor touched her skin. It was cool and smooth and perfect. An electrical signal ran through his body originating and concluding at the brain stem, causing every organ and muscle a slight anticipatory convulse. Her breasts quickly responded with flesh mound conifer alertness, pushing the nipples to a soft anxious attention. A stirring in the girt now focused to a salient point, a prominence, firm and charged. A lightening rod of potential building to that promised, inevitable leveling calm of release. His hands smoothed the rest of her body, The stomach with the mysterious and magical navel, source of energy and illumination. Then the inevitable moving down ending at the mons and its moist terminus, not the source higher consciousness of but the entry point, the data port, the fleshy connection to others. He inserted first one, then two fingers in preparation. His individual physiological purpose about to be fulfilled if only for a fleeting instant in the cosmic chaos everywhere else.

Though quietly, Gregor becomes aware of the opening door and he detects the padded footfall of others present around the bed. From his opine perspective he can see four people huddled at bedside. He had momentarily forgotten where he was. He recognizes the doctor, his understudy and the two nurses. “We decided you should have some epinephrine just to be on the safe side.” He held up a vial of white crystalline powder and passed it to a nurse for preparation. He lies back, his hand still resting on her mons, fingers curled still aware of the waiting warmth of abandoned purpose. He imagined the white suspension, he would soon be swallowing, bitter but quickly done with. Then he heard one of the nurses speaking “Hello Pert” she called out. Another woman in a starched nurses uniform, walked through the room. She was new on the job. Gregor had not seen her before. She had the face of a favorite aunt, affectionately distracted by obvious glasses with heavy rims, her blue eyes enlarged by the lenses. She tried hard not to stare at him and the surrogate, uncomfortable at the intimacy of the situation. He looked back at the team and saw them measuring a brown liquid into a half gallon sized plastic tub. He grabbed it from their hands and looked inside seeing it half filled with white creams and unmixed colored chemicals still to be blended into the conglomerate. “Look, I am ready to fuck here.” He tossed it into a nearby trash basket. The team looked at the doctor and through his surgical mask he spoke. “Fine, we’ll go.”

Once the room was empty, he continued, the spell only partially broken. He realized he had found something this session. Something non prescription, something way over the counter, something he had not counted on. It was always there but muffled by the din of responsibility and expectation and synthesized desire. He was cured and he had cured himself. It required quiet and time and realization but it was always there and knowing this was the medicine.

He lay enlightened and contemplative. This is the grounding of our humanity. The compelling force beneath the politics and food and work and social responsibilities. The reason for living. It is under everyone’s clothes, behind all the curtains and doors and facades. Shrouded, invisible, often un-acknowledged, sometimes avoided but real. Programmed but natural, passed down genetically from life’s beginnings. Fleeting and temporary in each of us but perpetual in our species and all others on earth. Invisible but as constant as the our planet’s revolution around the sun.

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