"CALL SARAH....a still, small voice"

"Call Sarah!"  When I was walking closely with God, I would often receive this command as I sat at my computer or as I was going about my everyday chores. Sarah and I went to high-school and Teacher's College together.  We were good friends for years.  Our paths separated when she married very young and started a family.  I hadn't seen her for years when I heard the tragic news of her son's passing. He'd had a difficult life and had caused his father much disappointment and pain and his mother years of sorrow and worry.  Of course, she loved her two daughters, but this boy, perhaps because of his lack of self-control and confidence, was her heart. I attended the funeral and was very touched when upon seeing me, she rushed into my arms and sobbed.  

I knew that her son had become a 'believer' a short time before his death and having had a similar spiritual conversion years prior, I wanted to share what I knew to be his beliefs, with her.  Neither she nor her husband was Christian. The only problem was that I almost never saw her.  Perhaps every three or four years we would run into each other.  Our ways had truly parted. 

Several months went by...I found myself thinking about her a lot.  One day, I told the Lord that I wanted to share with Sarah, but I wanted it to be His will, not mine. I went so far as to tell Him that I wanted to visit her home in three days....on Wednesday. "Lord, if You want me to talk to Sarah about You, You'll have to arrange for us to meet.  I don't want to call her.  I want it to be Your will.  You know I hardly ever see her....so it's up to You!"

It was September...and time for the yearly Western Fair.  The Sunday of my prayer, my sister and her friend were going to 'walk around' the fair.  They asked me if I'd like to join them.  Throngs of people crowded the grounds; it was difficult to 'walk around', so we decided to go into the Progress Building to get away from the mob.  As is often the case at fairs, the building was almost as packed as the grounds.  We wandered slowly through the potpourri and plant section, then on to the knitted goods and wood crafts until we reached the stairs that led into the next part of the building. That's when I heard a high-pitched voice yell..."ARLENE!"  I looked in the direction of the voice and there was Sarah!! "Thank You, Father," I whispered, "Now I know it's Your will that I visit her."  The three of us approached Sarah and her husband and said our hellos.  I took her aside and said, "Sarah, how often do we see each other?"  "I don't know...maybe once every three or four years?"  I continued, "I want you to know that this is a little miracle and I would like to visit you on Wednesday to talk about your son.  Would that be okay with you?" She hesitated, "Sure, I guess that would be fine." 

I was thrilled, of course, that He had arranged this meeting and gave thanks!  This was to be the first of many times that He would arrange some sort of contact between Sarah and me. God was pursuing her and used me to let her know that He loved her....so "Call Sarah!"  became almost commonplace over the next couple of years. Each time I heard that in my spirit, I would question..."Is it really you, Father or is it just my imagination?" It would come 'out of the blue'.  I wouldn't be thinking about her, at all..and I would hear it. I learned to heed that command most times, and each time I did, I would call and say, "Hi. I don't know why I'm calling, but I am supposed to call you, and each time she would say, "Well, I know why you're calling," and would proceed to tell me.  It was always a time when she was experiencing great difficulty. "You're psychic," she would say.  "It has nothing at all to do with me," I always responded. "It's God wanting you to know how much He loves you." Once in a while, I would second guess myself.  "It's just my imagination.  I don't want to bother her...it's only my imagination."  I would inevitably hear...several days or weeks later, that Sarah had fallen down the stairs and broken her collar-bone, or that she was quite ill.  Each time, I would regret deeply, that I hadn't done what I was supposed to do.  He'd wanted me to show her how much He loved her, but I hadn't obeyed.  

I was taking a shower one morning when I heard, "Go to Sarah's house NOW!" "But, Lord," I complained, "I haven't eaten breakfast...can I at least eat first?" "NO.....GO NOW!"  I hurried out of the shower, dried off, dressed, and was in my car in no time flat.  I arrived at Sarah's house at 8:45 a.m., wondering why I was there. "She's going to think I'm nuts!"  I knocked softly, thinking she would still be in bed, but to my surprise she opened the door, a shocked look on her face.  "What are you doing here," she asked.  "I was in the shower and God told me to come to your house NOW. "Oh, my gosh!  I can't believe it," she said. I'm just leaving for Toronto.  My daughter is pregnant and the doctor found a problem the last time they did an ultra sound. She's having another one today.  She's worried and I want to be with her."  She asked me to pray for her daughter.  I prayed that all would be fine with the baby and that Sarah would get good news.  "I'll call you when I get home on Sunday," she said.  I didn't believe that I would hear from her, because she never called me, but I was happy to have had the chance to share His love with her once again.  

Incredibly, she did call.  I wasn't home when she did, but she left a message for me on my answering machine.  "Arlene, it's Sarah.  I just want you to know that I am going to be a grandmother.  My daughter is fine and her baby is fine.  I'm so happy...thank you, thank you!"  I hope one day Sarah realizes that it's not me she should thank, it's her Heavenly Father who loves her and wants her to know Him.

Misadventures....Part 5

Funds running low, we decided to take our lives in our hands and hitchhike once again. This time, an elderly British man, David and his "nurse" Carol, a pretty, but plump younger woman, gave us a lift. We were able to relax. There was no mauling, just a lot of pleasant conversation. The gentleman informed us that he would drive us all the way up the coast of Yugoslavia to Austria if we liked.  He mentioned that they intended to make two stops, one in Dubrovnik and the next at the island of Rab.  We jumped at the chance, particularly pleased about going to Dubrovnik.

We arrived at Dubrovnik after a few hours, checked into a pension in the old town and walked to the main square where we were just in time to celebrate Tito, the benevolent dictator's, eightieth birthday.  

The following morning, we continued on our way to Rab.  As we were driving, David mentioned that the place they were going on Rab was, by the way, a nudist beach. Nudist?  We were shocked...a nudist beach...a beach where one removes all of one's clothing?  A beach where there would be men...nude ones...who would be able to see EVERYTHING?  Shelley and I stared at each other, eyes round with shock.  No, no way...we could not go to a nudist beach!  That was just too much to ask.  We'd had to swallow our pride beside the stream in Pec, but that was..well...a matter of life or death, wasn't it? Get naked in front of a bunch of people....uh uh....not on your life.  "Uh....I think I'd feel very, very uncomfortable at a nude beach."  "Me, too" agreed Shelley, "I don't think I can do that." "Nobody even looks at you," said David.  "Wow, I just don't think I can," I said . "Well," sighed David, "I guess we'll have to let you off before we take the road to Rab." "Can't we just wait in the car," asked Shelley.  "No, we'll be there for 8 or 9 hours. If you want to continue to ride with us, you'll have to join us at the beach."

Now, we'd had more than our fair share of molestation during our many hitchhiking experiences and were reluctant to put ourselves at the mercy of any more degenerates....very reluctant, indeed!  We'd become adept at communicating with our eyes and facial expressions and reached the same conclusion without uttering a word...better to suffer a small amount of indignity on a nudist beach than to face what might eventually turn out to be a very real danger.  We both sighed at the same time and Shelley said, "Okay, we'll go." 

Resigned to our fate, we settled back and tried to enjoy the scenery. Approaching Split from high up on the mountain road, we marveled at the heart-stopping view. It was one more in the long list of God's incredible wonders that we'd been privileged to see.  The fact that Split wasn't far from Rab, however, took some of the joy from the experience. More than once our eyes met; the question on both our minds....'What the heck have we gotten ourselves into this time?'

Time passed much too quickly and sooner than anticipated, we arrived at the dreaded site.  The beach was beyond a wooden barrier where there was a sign in several languages, English being the second, "THIS IS A NUDIST BEACH.  ALL CLOTHING MUST BE REMOVED BEFORE PASSING THIS POINT."  David and Carol shed their clothes without hesitation.  They passed the barrier that lead to the beachfront leaving us to wrestle with our anxieties.  We looked at each other and giggled nervously.  Fortunately, we each had a towel to cover our 'embarrassment', but the thought of naked bodies everywhere was not the most agreeable to two shy, Canadian girls.  It had to be done, though.  We couldn't stand there all day....it was getting hotter by the minute, and the idea of the cool sea water was certainly appealing.  "Oh, well...here goes," I said and started peeling off my jeans.  "Crap," breathed Shelley, as she followed suit.  What a sight we were to behold.  Just a week before, we'd been driving scooters around the Peloponnese in Greece and had been wearing shorts and t-shirts so our faces, forearms and lower legs were tanned brown from the hot sun....the rest of our bodies were white as chalk.  Poor Shelley had to suffer one more indignity...her bottom was covered in a heat rash...angry red pimples dotted her derriere.  Oh, the humiliation!  Nothing to be done for it now....it was time to go.  Past the barrier, down the long, stony, winding path to the beach.  

We spotted David and Carol in the distance and made our way towards them, passing smooth, tanned bodies, semi-engorged penises, flaccid penises, wrinkled scrota, enormous breasts, tiny breasts, muscled torsos, sagging bellies, dimpled rumps....were there faces to be seen? If there were, we didn't notice them. Everywhere we looked, fleshly torsos assailed us.  

After an eternity, we arrived at our companions' blanket. To our amazement, 'plump' Carol was a goddess...a magnificent creature...her body bronzed golden...her shape, the stuff of a master's painting. She wasn't at all uncomfortable in her skin; completely at ease, she reclined on her elbows, legs askew. We didn't know where to look!  Meet her eyes...and his.  Don't look 'there'. Wherever we turned there were sights that jarred. "They are just bodies," I found myself thinking. "Relax," said David, noticing my discomfort, "Nobody cares, nobody stares!"  He motioned to Carol and they both stood up and made their way through the soft, brown sand to the water, Carol looking just as wonderful from behind.  Every man and woman within sight turned, and all eyes followed her as she glided to the water's edge.  "Right! Nobody cares, nobody stares," snorted Shelley.  We removed our towels discreetly and regarded each other's skinny, light chocolate-and-white frames...no voluptuous curves met our eyes. Counting to three, we raced for the cover of deep water.  

Misadventures....Part Four

"Well, since we're already here, we may as well go inside and have something to drink. What d'you think?"  "I could use a coffee," replied a still drowsy Shelley. The smell of freshly baked bread wafted through the open door and set our mouths to waterin'! "Smells heavenly," she said as we dropped our backpacks on the floor and seated ourselves at the counter.  

We looked at the couple seated several stools down from us.  I eyed the plates in front of the couple and said quietly, "That looks so good. Excuse me, do you speak English?" "A little," replied the man.  "Can I ask you what you're eating?"  "I eat 'sa sirom'...it is cheese pie, and my woman eat 'sa spanacom'...it is spinach pie."  "And what are you drinking," I pantomimed holding a glass to my mouth. "Milkshake," he answered, "It very good." We ordered the same and as we were waiting for our food, I spoke again. "We would like to take a bus because we want to go to Petrovac.  Do you know where we can get one?"  "Ah, you very lucky.... you wait one hour, maybe one hour and one half...bus stop here.  Bus stop every day...coffee."  "That's great," said Shelley.  "What a relief!"  

An hour later, we boarded the bus.  It was not the newest or the nicest conveyance we'd ever experienced, but the chickens, ducks and goats and the general odour that they and their owners emitted was certainly up there on the sensory scale.  The baas, clucks and quacks of the various livestock, and the toothless or nearly toothless grins of some of the animal caretakers were charming, even if the aroma wasn't.  

We settled in for the long ride, the bus slowly climbing the road that wound its way through the mountains.  The scenery was spectacular.  The road, however, was not at all what we expected.  It was mostly unpaved, serpentine and very narrow.  All was fine when the bus shared the road with oncoming cars, but there was not enough room if a truck approached.  When this happened, and it did more than was to our liking, the bus driver was forced to stop and back up to one of the many strategically placed inclines adjacent to the route....a feat that set our hearts pounding!  Several times during the trip, we swore that one of the bus's wheels hung over the edge of the very steep cliff. Neither one of us was at all happy about this and squealed in fear, clutching painfully at each others' arms. Hours passed. We finally managed to doze off and when we awoke, the bus had finished making its descent and had, thankfully, reached ground level.  

By this time, we were both desperate for a 'potty' break. Fortunately, the bus was not far from Pec where it would stop to give the passengers the chance to 'relieve' themselves. The bus station was the only part of Pec that we would visit but, as it turned out, that was quite enough!  

Upon arriving, the passengers from our bus dragged themselves stiffly outside. They walked over to stand behind a group from another bus who were lined up in front of a small shack.  "Do you think that's the WC," I asked Shelley.  "I guess so." We followed our group and waited as the line very slowly inched forward.  The closer we got to the WC, the more intolerable the stench became.  We'd been subjected to malodorous toilets during our six-month stay in Europe, but nothing could top this.  

Breathing through our mouths and doing the desperate-for-a-toilet-right-now dance, we found ourselves, at last, within striking distance of the shanty.  The door opened and a man exited. Unfortunately, we were at that point, able to see inside.  We found ourselves wishing we'd been struck blind. Instead we saw the floor of the shack.  It was covered with excrement! How could anyone go in there? Where could they possibly step?  There was hardly one foot of floor left uncovered. "There is NO WAY I'm going in there," declared my sister.  "Me, neither!  But, I need to go, now!"  "Me, too," answered Shelley. "Let's go into the bus station. There must be toilets in there."  

We sprinted over to the building to our right and once inside, approached the only female ticket vendor.  "Excuse me," I smiled, hoping to charm the agent.  "Where is the toilet?" The woman behind the counter pointed to the front door, and said coldly, "Outside." "Is there a toilet in here that we could please use," I asked politely.  "Toilet for bus passengers is outside."  "Can we please, please use the bathroom in here," Shelley begged. "No! Passenger toilet is outside!"  We'd been so hopeful but with that, our hopes were quashed. "Oh, my gosh.  What are we going to do?"  We exited the building, eyes scanning the surroundings. We could not go back to that shack, but where could we go?  

Another bus had arrived.  A young woman separated herself from the crowd and started walking behind the bus station.  We followed.  I've had many, many toilet dreams in my life (I could write a book), but nothing could compare to what my eyes beheld that day. Behind the bus station there was a small stream, the same stream, in fact, that ran behind the outhouse.  On either side of the stream were dozens of men, women and children, pants down, all relieving themselves.  We stopped dead in our tracks. It was too much.  What kind of country was this? The young woman that we'd followed, pulled her jeans down, and squatted, not at all bothered it seemed, that there were men everywhere. I looked at my sister. "What d'you think?"  "I think I have to go, NOW," she gasped.  We joined the congregation, dropped our drawers and left, far behind, whatever modesty we'd once had.

Misadventures.....Part Three

Please note....
THIS IS PART THREE OF MISADVENTURES.  YOU SHOULD READ PARTS ONE AND TWO BEFORE YOU READ THIS.

This might be a bit offensive to some...sorry!  It's a true story...as they all are.

Well, at least the car was nice.  It would most certainly have air conditioning and that would be a welcome relief from the scorching sun.  Shelley opened the back door and tossed in the two backpacks, secure in the knowledge that she would be too far away from the driver for any 'touchy-feeley' kind of experience.  I took a deep breath, opened the front passenger door and slid in.  A nice-looking young man smiled sweetly at me. 

"Where do you want to go?"  

Oh, good!  Someone who speaks English....what a pleasant change!

"Petrovac."  

"I am going all the way there," he said. 

"That's great!"  

I was very encouraged by the young man's smile and his educated English and had a good feeling about this one.  This could be a positive experience for a change. The young man and I made small talk as he drove along the winding road, heading north. Shelley rested her arms on her back pack and settled in for the journey.

Happily, the conversation between us seemed to be going well.  However, about twenty minutes into the drive,  I noticed that he seemed to have acquired an itch in his 'nether regions'.  He continued speaking, all the while scratching his 'parts'. I turned to face my side window for fear of embarrassing the poor guy; not wanting to make him feel uncomfortable, I preferred to let him scratch in peace. He mentioned a particularly beautiful area of the country off to his left and suggested I look at it.  I did and to my horror, his 'parts' had left the comfort of his clothing and had made an appearance. Quickly averting my eyes, I stared again out of my side window.  Oh, my gosh!  A pervert!!!  He seemed so normal and nice!  Amazing that Shelley isn't reacting at all. How can she be so calm when I'm freaking out? Leaning my head against the window and closing my eyes, I pretended to be resting.  The degenerate's dialogue became one-sided; his voice dropped to an intimate whisper.  

"You should open your eyes," he murmured.  "It's very beautiful here."  

Yeah, right!  There's absolutely no way you're getting me to open my eyes! What the heck is Shelley doing back there?  Why isn't she acknowledging what's happening in some way? I can't believe she's being so cool about the whole thing!  

"Why don't you open your eyes? Look at this.  It's really nice."  

He continued encouraging in this vein for another fifteen minutes.  

Finally, I could take it no more.  Opening my eyes, I saw a small roadside cafe ahead.

"I'm so sorry," I said feigning pain.  "I have a terrible headache and need to get out of the car.  Could you please stop at that restaurant?"  

"Of course," the "gentleman" responded. 

He pulled off the road and I was out of there in the blink of an eye. Shelley and the two backpacks followed. I glanced back at the deviant who now had a very big smile on his face.  He drove off and left us in the parking lot.  

"Can you believe it?  What a pervert!  Can you believe that he would do that?  I'm so grossed out!  Oh, my gosh!!!  Oh, my gosh!!!  Yikes, yikes, yikes," I stammered, all the while shuddering in disgust. 

"What?  What are you talking about," asked Shelley. "What did he do?" 

"What do you mean, what did he do?  Are you blind all of a sudden?  He's been pleasuring himself for the last half hour!"  

"OH NO!  I didn't see anything," screeched Shelley. "I fell asleep as soon as we got in the car and slept until we got here!" 


Misadventures....Part Four is in the works.

Misadventures.....Part Two

THIS IS PART TWO OF MISADVENTURES....BE SURE THAT YOU READ MISADVENTURES...PART ONE, FIRST!

We stood at the side of the road a while, dazed and speechless, thanking God that the van hadn't been searched, knowing full well that if it had, we would, by now, be in handcuffs. We were both overwhelmed by our close call and grateful beyond words that we'd gotten past the border without incident.  We could only hope that things would go more smoothly as we determinedly stuck out our thumbs and faced the on-coming traffic.

Several minutes passed and a car cruised by....going in the opposite direction. But wait....what's that?  It turned around.  The driver must have realized he was going the wrong way, and corrected his course.  The vehicle approached and......stopped! This was very strange and more than a bit suspicious.  Should we or shouldn't we take the ride? We really needed to make some headway. Glen would be arriving before we knew it and we had to be there to meet him. Yes, it was decided, we had to take the ride even if it meant going only another ten kilometres.

As we approached the vehicle, the man in the passenger seat got out, opened the back door and slid inside. That meant that one of us had to sit beside the driver while the other sat in back.   The look we shared was, by now, all too familiar...it was a look of resignation, a silent sigh.  Each time we got into a car, we knew it could go either way. This time, we hoped, it would be in our favour.

Normally, the sister who sat in the front seat was subjected to some form of one-handed molestation, so to be fair, we took turns sitting beside the driver. Fortunately for Shelley, this time it was her turn in the front, which left yours truly in the back seat with a potential violator.....one who had both hands free!!  

"Where you go," asked the driver. "Petrovac."  "Ah, Petrovac. Very good, Petrovac!"  He started off down the road.  We made small talk with the two men, hoping to endear ourselves to them, to avoid any future groping.  We learned that the man in the back seat was a boxer and the driver was his manager...unwelcome news to be sure!  Judging from the size of the guy beside me, I could easily believe he was a boxer.  

The two men started conversing in Slovak.  At one point, the conversation got rather heated and after several minutes of back and forth, the driver pulled over to the side of the road.  They opened their doors and switched places!!  This did not bode well, at all! Shelley turned in her seat and eye-balled me.  By unspoken mutual agreement, and before the new driver could take off, we opened our respective doors, grabbed our backpacks, and got out.  "Thank you very much." The men yelled and motioned for us to get back in the car, but we started walking.  The car followed for a while, the two inside shouting and gesticulating, but once the 'gentlemen' realized that there was no convincing us to join them again, they made a U-turn and drove back down the highway. "Are we having fun yet," quipped Shelley. "Not quite yet," I replied.

Out went the thumbs.  "The hitchhiking doesn't seem to be going too well.  I vote that we try to make it to the next town and catch a bus there.  Whaddya think?" "I agree," said my younger sister.  A Mercedes pulled alongside, a single man behind the wheel. I steeled myself because it was now my turn in the front seat.  


Watch (breathlessly, I'm sure) for Misadventures....Part Three...coming soon, to a blog near you!

Misadventures ..... Part One

Shelley's boyfriend of a year, was flying over to meet her in Zurich. This presented a bit of a problem for her, because she was in Greece and had fallen head-over-heels in love with a handsome, young British guy.  "I don't want to go!  I don't want to leave John," she lamented.  But, Glen was coming over and there was nothing she could do.  Not having the funds to fly to Switzerland, and afraid of travelling alone, she cajoled me, her sister Arlene, into making the long journey with her. 

Having done our share of hitchhiking while touring the continent, we opted for the bus.  It was certainly better than the inherent dangers of accepting rides with sketchy characters, but it took some time to grow immune to the perfume of unwashed bodies and clothing that permeated the air and assaulted our sensitive, Canadian noses. The chicken and goat 'passengers' added a little intrigue to the bouquet.

The seven-hour trip to Thessaloniki passed without incident and after a short rest to celebrate Shelley's eighteenth birthday, we re-boarded a bus for Skopje in Macedonia. Upon our arrival, we were greeted by scores of the town's youth whose job it was to accompany passengers to several nearby hotels.  After waiting for them to register, they were then escorted to the town square where a delightful ritual took place. Around and around we walked, arms linked, following the hundreds of souls, young and old, whose habit it was to stroll clock-wise around the plaza, dressed in their Sunday-best, greeting friends and neighbours in an age-old, after-church tradition. They were handsome and kind and we were charmed by their old-world courtesy.  It would have been wonderful to spend several days there but Switzerland and the ever-looming date of Glen's arrival meant that a longer stop-over was not an option.

It was at that point that we decided to save a bit of money and try our luck, once again, at hitchhiking. We had never had trouble procuring a ride. In the seventies, we were young, cute and our skin fitted us perfectly!  The following morning, we were picked up by a young man and woman driving the ever popular Volkswagen van, covered in the ever popular psychedelic graffiti so typical of that time...bright flowers, a sun, fluffy white clouds, birds and rainbows, a yin-yang symbol, the words PEACE and LOVE and of course, the requisite Smiley Face. It was like coming home, and we boarded without hesitation. Due to a dearth of seats in the van, Shelley sat on a wooden crate and I perched on a cooler.  It was not the most comfortable way to travel, but it was free!  We learned that our hosts had just returned from Turkey where they'd spent the last six months.

Several hours later we arrived at the frontier of Yugoslavia.  Two armed soldiers looked in through the van's windows and waved us through. Once we'd crossed the border, the young man and woman started to cheer, whooping and shouting. "We made it!  We did it!" "What's going on?  Why so happy?" asked Shelley.  The driver pulled over to the side of the road and said, "Open the cooler and the box."  We did as told and found both full to the brim with hashish!!  The couple laughed, and the young woman said, "The whole van, the sides, the doors, the roof and floor are lined with hashish!"  We couldn't believe our ears. We were horrified to say the least.  "But, what if they'd stopped us and searched the van," demanded a very upset Shelley.  "That's why we picked you up. It looked more innocent with the two of you aboard!"  "But if they had, we would've been thrown in jail even though we had nothing to do with it!"  "Well, we didn't get caught, so you don't have to worry about it," said the obviously brain-dead girl. The two lawbreakers smiled at each other, a smug glow of self-congratulation brightened their faces. "We're out of here," and almost fell over each other in our hurry to exit the van.

What Doesn't Kill You...

"There's a burning cigarette in my sandal!  Get it out!  Quick...take it out!" 

My friends looked at my foot, but couldn't see a cigarette, burning or not. 

"Please get it out! It hurts!  It hurts!"
  
"There's nothing there.  There's no cigarette!"

"It's on fire!  Help me!  The fire is moving up my leg."

My friends checked my foot again, but nothing!  A passer-by approached the group.

"I just killed a scorpion over there.  I think your friend was probably stung by it."  
A scorpion! People die from scorpion stings, but I knew, once the fire reached my knee, that I wouldn't die.  I somehow just knew it.  This knowledge, however, did nothing to ease the pain.  I was pain.  Pain was all...agony was the focus.

My cries summoned the proprietor of the restaurant (*see note at the bottom), a scant metre away on the very narrow street.  

"Here, give her this!  It might help." 

In her hand was a suppository. A suppository?  How a suppository would help ease the pain in my leg was beyond my comprehension....but I was willing to try anything at that point.

"Where? Where can I go?"
  
"Come into my restaurant and use the bathroom." 

Face contorted with suffering, tears streaming, I hopped on my good foot behind the good Samaritan.  The lady pointed to the back of the establishment. 

"There's the washroom back there." 

I hobbled toward the door, trying not to scream in my distress, all eyes in the nearly full restaurant on me....the door was locked.  Someone was inside! What could I do?  I looked at the suppository, hoping... no...I had to believe...believing that it would take away the pain.  It had to take it away. I couldn't bear it.  

Spotting an empty table across the room, I made for it. Everyone was watching me, but I was beyond caring.  I got as far away from the clients as I could, squatted down behind one of the chairs placed around the table, pulled down my jeans and panties, and used the suppository. I'd love to be able to tell you that it relieved the torment I was experiencing, but it didn't.  Not one little bit.  Pain reigned.

It reigned throughout the night when my friends, unable to comfort me, had at long last found their beds.  It reigned as I moaned, ground my teeth and paced the living-room floor.  Reigned as I sobbed and whimpered and groused and sniveled...as quietly as possible, not wanting to awaken my companions, who were snoring peacefully in the adjoining rooms.  How could they sleep when I was being tormented like this?  You'd think one of them would've had the heart to stay with me in my misery. Then again, what could they do to help?  Nothing.  Nothing could help me.  In my delirium, I understood for the first time, that we are all alone no matter how much we surround ourselves with family and friends.  When it comes down to it, there are just some things that we have to do solo, and this was one of those things.

I made it through the long night and as the sun rose, the pain ebbed a little...then a little more until later that night all that was left was a red spot on my foot, a terrible memory, and a great fear of scorpions (which, to my mind, are the stuff of nightmares).

They say that what doesn't kill you, makes you stronger, but I don't agree. I say that what doesn't kill you, gives you the right to complain about it for years to come!


*I later learned that the proprietor had been stung by scorpions four times...twice in the neck as she lay on the rocks sunbathing, and twice in the arm. Each time (according to her), the duration of the pain decreased.  The first time it lasted(as it did with me) about 28 hours, the second about 20, and so on until the last time, when it lasted about 12 hours.  Don't know if this is true.