Flu Season

Chapter 1

                                                                       Copyright © 2018 by Sheri Brown

Sarah Portman stood rigid, one arm across the chest of her purple puffy–jacket and a hand hovering over her nose and mouth. As she glanced around the waiting room she noticed it grew thicker with bodies every flu season. It was standing room only now. How did it get so bad? Were these people really that sick? Or, were they just afraid of getting sick? And, what was wrong with people, didn't they know how to take care of themselves anymore? Everyone just sprinted, or Ubered their way to the doctor's office.

Memories took her back to childhood, how her mother would always tell her that it was important that you get sick and get over it on your own. This was called natural immunity. Your body will get stronger each time you encounter and get over a cold. So, don't take prescriptions if you don't have to, she always said. But that was before, when she had both her parents. Now, she had none.

The flu took mom five years ago and dad just two years later, so she was told. But she had misgivings about their deaths. Mom and dad were both healthy, active in sports all their lives. They ate well, real food that mom made from scratch, none of that processed crap.

And then one winter it happened. Mom started feeling achy and she complained of her muscles being sore. A fever took hold and two weeks later, she was gone. But she remembered mom never had the flu shot. The only needle she ever remembered mom getting was for freezing when she had to get a cavity filled. And her mother always needed many of those because the freezing wore off so quickly. Her mother said it had to do with the fact her body metabolized the freezing too fast. And it seemed to make sense too because her father was the same way.

An annoying repetitive voice turned her attention toward the front desk, "ma'am? Excuse me ma'am. You need to check in," the receptionist said squinting through a pair of thick gold-rimmed glasses. Her bright pink lips pursed in wait.

"I'm just waiting for my grandma," Sarah said matter of factly.

"Well then, come over and we'll book that appointment for you." The sounds of her fingers nails clicking along the keyboard caused Sarah eyes to twitch. The screeching sound of train rails had the same affect.

"I don't need to see the doctor. I'm fine." Sarah leaned against the wall, arms hugging her close and stared blankly. Brightly streaked paint strewn in every direction upon a stretched piece of canvas deemed her immediate attention. Was she supposed to see something in the image or was this just one of those crappy abstract paintings that people call art? Give me some realism, she thought 

"Well it's better to be safe than sorry," the receptionist pointed out.

Sarah let out a heavy sigh and muttered, "I already am."

"Pardon me, young lady. I didn't quite hear you."

Of course you did! Otherwise you wouldn't have said anything,  Sarah thought.

The teenage girl merely shook her head. How much longer did she have to wait? The feeling of the receptionist's eyes pressuring her to make the damn appointment irritated Sarah into seclusion.

It was becoming claustrophobic in this infectious room. All she wanted to do was go back to school. The spare block allowed enough time to accompany her grandma to the doctor and be back in time for her dreaded next class, math.

Even through her jacket Sarah recognized the gentle touch of grandma's hand resting upon her shoulder, she gave a small shake to say she was ready to go home. Though Sarah is only seventeen she stands a good four inches taller than grandma. Grandma always told her granddaughter she got her height from Devan, her father. Though a draft wafted in from the constant opening and closing of the office door, Grandma's smile warmed her face into a smile. It always did.

"Mrs. Portman?" Erupted the receptionist's voice, "maybe you can convince your granddaughter here to make an appointment. She hasn't received her flu vaccine yet." She was standing now, twiddling that fluorescent blue-pen between her fingers, still staring through those coke-bottle glasses of hers.

With feigned surprise grandma looked at the receptionist and raised her hands.

"Kids will be kids."

"She needs her flu shot!" The nasally voice ever insistent.

"No I don't!" Sarah snapped. "Let's get you home grandma." But before Sarah ushered grandma out the door she shot Miss Coke-bottle a dirty look.