Nitro

"I don't think she's well," said the woman with the walker by the door and we all looked up. I from my newspaper, Joe from the crossword puzzle. It seemed everyone had brought things to distract themselves from the wait. All eyes fell on a very elderly woman, holding on to her chest, trying but unable to speak. Doors of offices flew open at some invisible call and soon she was surrounded by health care professionals asking questions about mediations and nitroglycerin. The crisis seemed averted when her colour came back, her voice came back, and her had left her chest. "Make sure you tell the doctor about this," said one nurse and the elderly woman simply nodded.

One by one people went back to reading, knitting, crossword puzzling. I hadn't been all that involved in the paper so I just glazed my eyes and sat aimlessly watching others in the clinic waiting room. After four or five minutes, the woman at the center of the crisis picked up the book she was reading. I glanced to see the title of the book, something I've done since I could read. At first I couldn't see but a few minutes later she shifted in her seat and the cover of the book came into full view.

I tried to get Joe's attention but he was busy with this crossword and 'in the zone'. It was one of those romance novels that have a lurid cover. We've all seen them. There was a strong, handsome man towering over a busty woman holding her. His shirt is ripped open so you can see he has a nipple the size of Montana and tectonic pecs. The muscles of his arms, visible through another tear, ripple with restrained strength. The woman looks at the man with a mixture of fear and love her breast strain at the cage of clothing and her face lifts as expecting a kiss from his handsome but cruel face.

Oh my.

Did you know that there are only three words separating 'lurid' from 'lust' in the dictionary?

She reads quickly there in the room where her heart was just medicated to keep it going. Turning the pages rapidly her face colouring, her hand going to the throat, I just knew she was reading about heaving breasts, lips meeting and 'heaven forfend' thrusting.

A smile crosses her lip as she dabs at her forehead with a tissue. She's in a different land now, not one of medical smells and others waiting. She looked up only briefly when I was called to go in and see the nurse.

On the way out, she was still here but completely involved in her lusty, lurid book. Her eyes sped along the row of words and even though there was a bit of a fuss getting the wheelchair past a stack of boxes that had been placed near the door, she never looked up. Never left the world where men with flowing hair and arms made for ripping trees from the ground loved women with dark glasses and breasts forever perky.

There's life in the old girl yet.

Don't let the oxgen tank fool you. Don't let the crocheted shawl distract you. This is a woman who is still very much alive, living well within her body and mind. And let's make it clear, the everyday disabilities of the old affect not the desire for desire. There are some gifts given that can be freshly opened, even after taking a nitroglycerin