Out of habit I mistakenly parked in the lot of my orthopedist’s office instead of the physical therapist. They’re in the same building so it was no big deal. I just cut across the grassy area where office workers go for their breaks on nice days. That brings me to the other side of the building where PT is.
I squeezed through some hedges and there were two women smoking cigarettes and gabbing, each holding a tiny dog on a leash.
I startled the women when I came out of the bushes and the dogs completely lost their minds.
“Oh! You scared me!,” said one woman with the signature smoker’s voice. Her cigarette bounced in her mouth with her words like a conductor’s baton.
Her friend immediately chimed in, “yeah and you scared the hell out of the dogs!” She crouched down and stroked her dog, ”that’s ok, Chino, he’s not a threat.”
I brushed some little green leaves off my shirt, “Sorry ladies, I just parked in the wrong lot.”
They both stared at me. I think they were waiting for me to apologize to their dogs.
“Wow, smoking?” I asked. “People still do that?”
“What?” Chino’s raspy mom responded.
“…or was that bush a wormhole and I just walked into 1970.”
“Why don’t you mind your own business?” she asked.
“I think it’s genetics,” I answered walking away from them.
I got to PT, held the door open for a young man with crutches, and walked across the waiting room to the receptionist. I got the sign in sheet, clicked the pen to write my name – and froze.
“What is that?” I whispered to myself.
I raised my head and looked around. The waiting room chairs were empty and the receptionist was busy at the copier with her back to me.
I drew a deep breath.
“No way,” I thought.
I turned at looked at the rug I walked across.
So help me God, every other footprint was blotched brown.
Fucking Chino…
I wouldn’t dare look at the bottom of my shoe. I didn’t have to. What I did have to do was get the hell out of there.
I slowly clicked the pen closed, gently laid it on top of the clipboard and quickly walked back out with no one ever having seen me.
“Christ, here he comes again,” grumbled one of the women through a cloud of smoke.
“Ladies,” I tipped an imaginary hat toward them, “if you’ll excuse me, I must return to the future.”
I went shoulder first through the bushes.
When I got through to the other side one of them hollered, “good riddance!”
“Oh look at that,” I said loudly, “you’re not here. Should’ve quit smoking.”
I got in my car and called the physical therapist’s office.
“Hi, yeah, this is John Higgins. I had a 1:00 appointment today that I need to cancel. Something came up.”