Sunburn

The surgery

By the time I'd reached the doctors; I wished he could give me some cream to put on the burns on my face, or an ointment for my poor blistered feet. But instead he hardly gave me a glance as if I was just a dumb kid with no money that had wandered in of the street. As I approached him I saw his eyes wander sideways and his neat, clipped, moustache twitch. He had his dark brown hair combed back over his head and his pale European skin glowed menacingly in the half lit corridor. “What can I do for you?” he asked. His voice was deep and baritone. “It's about my mother,” I replied trying to sound grown up. The doctor was unimpressed. He sat staring at me as if his misty grey eyes could bore holes into my skin. Suddenly I realised what it was that he wanted. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the jingling coins. “I do have money,” I said. My voice came out as an inaudible squeak. The doctor nodded. “Can you take me to your mother?” he asked. “Yes!” I replied. “Then I will do what I can to help her,” he said with indifference. “Thank you,” I whispered trying not to choke on the flood of tears that I was holding back. Dr Schzev led me out to his car. Auto-mobiles were not common in my life so a ride in one was a privilege that I couldn't resist. I slipped onto it's smart black leather seats and stretched out my legs. With it's cool air-conditioned interior and suave sleek elegance it could only be the car of a rich man. I began to feel uneasy in the doctors presence.