Thursday, June 23, 2011

Fifth Metacarpal in D

The man who made the cast for my broken hand was named Romeo. He was soft spoken, gentle, and an artist. The cast room was brightly lit with many cabinets and drawers filled with everything Romeo needs to put Humpty Dumpty back together again.

Romeo gave me many colors to choose from. I chose purple with no hesitation.

As Romeo began to mummify my hand with various gauzes, he asked me how i broke  the bone: it was stupid really, a deer jumped out, my horse stopped short, i jammed my hand . . . i didn't even fall off 

Romeo rides a motorcycle to work. A Ducatti -- fast fast, i say. His job never let's him forget how dangerous motorcycles are, but he says I am drawn to speed. And sometimes when I ride in the country I can relax you know? Not like riding in the city, you gotta watch out for everybody.

Romeo wraps and wraps the damp casting -- everything is smooth and perfect, i feel like a paper maché project. Romeo had to bend my fingers, I'm sorry he says,  It's okay i say. The broken bone clicks into place, it aches for a moment, but Romeo holds my hand still and presses as the casting hardens. I feel safe with Romeo.

When he's finished, he gives me a sheet of paper instructing me on the care of my cast. He goes to a cabinet filled with little drawers of band aids and hands me a pile of little round ones -- you can put these on your fingers or on the cast where ever it rubs -- sometimes that happens. Or you can make polka dots for your cast, he smiles.

i didn't want to leave, really, i wanted to stay with Romeo and open all the drawers and cabinets, but i had to leave the sculptor to his day -- bones, them bones.

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