I Sat with an Angel or Was it God?

by Judy Safford

Dr. Arazaga, a dermatologist, greeted me five minutes before my appointment. It being my second visit in three years, he didn’t really know me. I approached as my name was called. He looked into my eyes, “Hi Judy.”

Not so tall a figure, copper skin, large face, gentle eyes, he walked with an unhurried gate. He placed his arm around my shoulder, firm, steady and soft and guided me to his office. His large gentle hand left my shoulder and gestured toward the patient’s comfortable chair. He relaxed into his chair on my right.

“Tell me, Judy, what are you doing for fun?”

I told him of my writing class and loving the experience of reading poetry on the open mic. It reminded me of the days as a lay reader at church.

He told me of his little Catholic church and how they had no priest for twenty years and how they took turns being the priest. A priest was finally assigned to them and he did everything himself, killing the bond of community. We spoke of Pope Francis and how he is standing the Cardinals on their four pointed hats. We went on to the topic of Trump and his trumpets. He said when he sees the poor, the women and those of color cheering Trump, he weeps. We concluded that Jesus was a rebel turning people upside down making them look at their morals. Trump is a rebel turning us on our heads, shaking us awake and bringing the Jesus out of us.

I saw no clock in the room. Time disappeared. It seemed like eternity.

I kept thinking he was a very, very old friend like one where all time is erased.

I kept thinking that if he is one more centimeter relaxed his bones will collapse and fold up like those tent poles that unsnap into a small eighteen-inch bundle, his clothes and skin would tumble to the floor and, whoosh, he’s gone.

I kept thinking I’d been there for hours and hours. He changed chairs and checked my face,

One pre-cancerous spot on my nose.

“I will freeze it, if you allow me. It will hurt a bit but bear with me.”

He held my hand inside both of his, one on top and the other underneath, awaiting my yes.

“There, it’s done.”

When I reluctantly left his office I noticed the clock. Eternity only lasted seventeen minutes.

Photo by Gabriel Lamza on Unsplash

by Judy Safford...

Philip Brautigam
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