Ode to Mother Nature

Written by Uncle Pan

"Hi, mister Buford." The soft tones of a girl's voice sliced its way through the stillness of the morning. It was Joanie Simpson, the thirteen year old from across the street. For my part I am JimBob Buford, esquire, thirty eight years old but who's counting? and a fairly solvent coupon clipper thanks to an inheritance from my late uncle Gillian B. Buford, who worked his ass off his entire life so that his no good nephew, me, could live the carefree life of an extravagant wastrel. He probably hated every drudging moment of his life, and I'm loving every carefree minute of mine.

Joanie and I have had more than just a casual friendship since she was seven years old, which was when her family first moved across the street. It began a couple of weeks after they moved in. I was seated on my front porch swing reading the morning paper and washing down the dregs of my morning coffee. Joanie was riding her bicycle on my side of the street. She took a rather nasty tumble onto the sidewalk in front of my house. She went down hard, and let out a plaintive cry, and I sprang to my feet and rushed over to her.

She had a cut on her forehead, another cut on her right knee, and she was extremely shaken up. I felt compelled to make certain there were no broken bones. It is important to check for possible breaks or fractures before you consider moving a person. Limbs, arms and legs, are important sure, but there's something to be said for carefully checking out other vital areas like pelvic bones. You can't be too careful, you know.

When she seemed whole and unbroken I asked her if there was anyone at home at her house. Through copious tears she told me that no one was there, her father worked and her mother was off to town on an all day shopping spree. Then she tearfully admitted that she had promised her mother she would stay inside, and hoped I would not spread word of her dereliction. I assured her I would keep matters to myself.

I then suggested that she come into my house and let me apply medications and cover her wounds with bandaids. I very carefully helped her to her feet, but walking proved painful for her so I offered to carry her inside. She nodded her assent and taking the child in my arms I proceeded to carry her into my house, where I laid her gently on my living room couch.

I felt her forehead, it was cold and clammy, she was obviously in a mild stage of shock. Assuring her I would be back in a moment I left her for my bathroom, where the elixirs of healing and recuperation were stored. Number one in importance is Hydrogen Peroxide used to clean the wounds against a possible bacterial infection. Next in line is Vitamin E, a truly magic potion facilitating healing and rejuvenation. And finally there were bandaids to protect the wounds and keep the nasties out.

I gathered and brought them into the living room. I treated both cuts, the forehead wound and the cut on her knee, and after a thorough cleaning I covered each wound with a bandaid rich in Vitamin E oil. Afterwards I asked how she was feeling. She gingerly felt her two wounds and she nodded okay. Then she tried to stand up, but soon fell back on the couch.

"What's the matter?" I asked, no little concerned. She hesitated to answer at first, seemingly embarrassed. After I asked her a second time she finally opened up. "I hurt," she simply said. "How bad?" I asked. "Pretty bad," she replied. "Where?" I insisted. "I'm embarrassed to say," she said simply, all the while looking down at the floor.

"Should I drive you to the emergency room?" I asked. "No, I'll probably be okay after a little while." "So where is it you hurt?" I asked for the umpteenth time. She blushed a little and said, "in between my legs."

Oh, Geez, I said to myself, what do I do now? And then out loud, "I really think I should drive you to the emergency room. I mean, I can deal with cuts and the like, but what if something is messed up internally? I wouldn't be a bit of help there." She kept on assuring me that she was sure she'd be alright in a while, but I persisted, "At the very least you need to let me take a look at you, just to make sure you're not bleeding, or anything." ......(cont)

.......Read the entire Ode to Mother Nature ....written by Uncle Pan.
Copyright © 2007-8 Uncle Pan. ALL Rights Reserved




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This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.


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