How Milo Fletcher became a Murderer

Part 2

Everyone was born with a purpose. At least that's what people tell me. But sometimes I wonder if somewhere up in Heaven, God created a room full of rejects. Like projects he started but part way through dropped it and never picked it up again. He leaves them to wander, devoid of purpose, but completed enough to feel the need for one. They spend their days gazing down on Earth and its inhabitants. They see all the feelings experienced by humanity, feelings they cannot feel. All humanity accomplished and discovered. What if they could feel envious towards this and wished to join them. What if they had the deluded notion going to Earth would give them purpose? What if this itch grew too strong so they could no longer scratch it? What if they escaped Heaven and fell to Earth? Only they soon discover they're still without purpose. What if they wander Earth, never content with anything or anyone? What if they join the portion of humanity who only dream of heaven? What if I am one of them?

These thoughts plague me, as I sit in the doctor's waiting room. The room is plain and typical. A couple of chairs, a plant in every corner, and magazines. I've never read a magazine in a doctor's office. They all seem fake cheerful. My mom is at the receptionist's window checking us in. This is my third doctor this month. So far none have been able to diagnose me. If it was up to me we would stop going all together. I know what's wrong with me and it's something they can't diagnose until I tell them, but I'm not ready to admit it to anyone.

When we get called back the process is as normal. The nurse weighs me, takes my blood pressure, and inputs random answers to her questions into the computer. She tells us the doctor will be in soon and ducks out of the room.

My mom looks at me. Disappointment written in her eyes, her mouth pursed, and her eyebrows sewn together. I catch my breath in my mouth. She knows. She'll make me talk about it, and I don't want to. We'll end up seeing a whole other group of doctors.

"You lost three more pounds." My breath escapes. That's all the look meant. She doesn't know what's going on. I nod in response. I don't know what else I'm supposed to say. "That's in 10 days, Milo."

I stare at my shoes. I can't meet her gaze, but I can't tell her why I'm losing the weight. I'm not ready for it to be a big deal. Everyone would think I'm being dramatic as they thought a couple years ago when I told them. They just don't get it and I don't think they ever will.

The door opens and an older man walks into the room. I don't like him. He has white close cropped hair with specks of black trickled through it, a beard matching the color of his hair, everything about him is normal. Except his eyes. His eyes are what makes me dislike him. They're arrogant, he's knows everything and I know nothing.

"Hello, Milo. How are we today?" His smile confirms my suspicion.

"Fine." I don't know what else to say. I'm at the doctor's office. Obviously I'm not great. He clicks through the computer skimming through all my information.

"And when was your last menstrual cycle?" He asks, not looking away from the computer.

"16 months ago."

"I know your mother is here so it might be a bit awkward, but I need you to be completely honest with me. Are you sexually active?"

"No."

"Any chance you could be pregnant?"

"No."

He looks up, eyebrows raised. He doesn't believe me. I roll my eyes inwardly. I haven't had a period in 16 months, there's no way my body could conceive- let alone carry- a child. Instead all I say is, "Yes, I'm sure."

He turns to my mom. "With your permission, I'd like to do a more thorough examination, to make sure she hasn't had any trouble developing. Of course you would be in the room the entire time."

"That's fine with me."

He adjusts my chair to a flat position and puts on a pair of gloves. "Lie down."

I lay down, looking up at the ceiling. His hands slide under my shirt and press around my stomach, going up higher until they're pressing breasts. I gulp and hold my breath. This is the most invasive any appointment has been. He then lifts the front of my pants and peeks down there. My cheeks burn. This is his job. He's just making sure I'm healthy.

"Alright." He leans back and deposits the gloves in the trash bin. "You may sit up." I don't look at him or my mom. I've never had anyone venture either of those places. "As far as I can tell," he continues, "everything has come along as it should, so your severe weight loss hasn't affected that. I'd like to get blood and urine samples to do some tests." He continues talking but I zone out. I don't really care what else he has to say. If he's doing tests then he doesn't know what's going on. Nothing ever shows up in the tests. But a doctor can't know what's going on in someone's head based on an iron test. He can't see the countless nights I stayed up reading because if stopped than the thoughts would swarm in, and I'd break underneath their weight.