Hello Zelda

It was late May, Graduation Day for the class of 1969 of Perpetual Frustration. The gaggle of over- wrought, competitive, impatient, adult wanna-bees wilted among the cool limestone columns of the cathedral walls. It was the mandatory practice ceremony to get the heck outta town. This women’s academy and time of life had simply grown too small for them. Oddly, the gray stone walls and small altar alcoves had been a place for scouting, courting and eventual mating dances for some since the young mens’ prep school was directly next door. Even in church, the most deadly of sins, lust resided in young hearts amid the many altars.
Logistics stalled, and tempers flared. Sisters’ Anne and Suzanne patience and authority were long gone. Reluctant sopranos and occasional altos sang their uninspired songs. The outer world was heating up making the air heavier. “Crap. It’s going to rain. My hair will frizz into a bush!’ Zelda wailed. Despite the drama of anticipated bad hair, it was the trepidation and anticipation of Zelda’s first visit to a gynecologist to get birth control pills in the next hour that made her sweat. Her plans for pomp and circumstance had a completely different sound track than graduation.
Zelda’s bravado and wide world experience helped her to choose a doctor based on a brief interaction with his similarly aged daughter during a part time job orientation. The second criteria-location. She needed something within the confines of the geographic area near, but not too near, home since she would be using the borrowed family station wagon. She would need a reasonable story of where the time had flown. All lies and excuses were rehearsed in her head. Zelda raced from the cathedral. She felt brave, defiant and awfully sweaty.
Finding the right address took only 2 drivebys. She grabbed her purse feeling smug until she entered.
The waiting room was paneled in wood, darkened by age. The lighting was dim. Zelda took the clip board to fill out forms. Looking around she felt lucky to be alone but recoiled when glancing at the walls covered with dead duck prints. The air was stale and was becoming increasingly heavy in her lungs. The carpets were thread bare. Not remembering getting there, Zelda found herself in an exam room. She must have spoken to someone because she was now wearing only a hospital type gown. The room had a hollow feel. Zelda lay on her back, flat with bare feet through metal rings that reminded her of circus acrobats. Her knees were bent creating a small tent of white tissue paper.
The doctor was a small man with big glasses and a bald head. He was shaking with unabashed tremors.
Zelda thought, “He’s a lot more scared than me.” His clothes were ill fitting, he moved slowly as though only partially awake. Clearly something was very wrong with this guy. Zelda didn’t remember much of the exam except for the tremulous, damp hand at her breast,the glow the sweat bald pate between her legs, and the distant clanks of metal against metal. The speculum blade intrusion was much colder than the cathedral walls had been. After some deep breathing and half-hearted prayer for forgiveness, it was over, or so she thought.
Dressing hurriedly, Zelda was directed to take a seat in the doctor’s office. Dr. Nervous Breakdown was perched behind a massive expanse of desk reminding Zelda of Perry Mason courtrooms on TV. Zelda perched on the edge of the chair feeling a little sick with slightly damp panties from the lingering lubricant. Dr. Nervous tried to behave authoritatively, but Zelda fully dressed, saw him as his most distressed self. He tried to persuade her from her pursuit of carnal knowledge. Zelda,certain she knew better, persisted. The weary man gave in and Zelda left triumphant with the magic prescription in hand.
“Oh my gosh, where is it safe to get this prescription filled?” she wondered. I’ll figure that out later, she planned, as she sped down the causeway.

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