Losing Parts
A tale of self sensory deprivation.
I don’t make house calls often, but when I do it’s usually for very dire circumstances.
I should back up a bit. I was churning rabbit in my butter churn (you probably don’t want to know) one cool fall evening when I got a twitch, like a little muscle hitch in my ear. I put the dasher down in the churn and went to the sink to wash up. Then I stood by the phone. Caught it before it could ring. I really hate the sound of the phone ringing.
“Hello?”
“Is it you?” The voice on the other end was elderly, but quite strong.
“Of course it’s me, Helen, how many witch’s phone numbers do you have?”
“Oh. I’m sorry to be abrupt, but this is urgent. Listen, I need your help. Well not me, but my neighbor. But I can’t bring her out to you. I don’t think she’ll survive the trip-“ the line went quiet, “-intact.”
“She’s falling apart? Literally? Have you tried a hospital? Or a morgue, you know your friend could be dead. Decomposition does tend to make us fall apart.”
“She’s not dead! Good grief, I thought we were friends. I’m not dumb. She’s been to the doctors. At first, when all of her hair started to fall out. And, honey, I mean all of her hair, eyelashes, eyebrows, every single hair on her body and her head, they said it was alopecia or something. But then her finger and toenails started to fall out, too. One day she was opening a cracker box and a fingernail just fell off when she tried to pull up the cardboard flap. A different day she was peeling an orange and pop! Another fingernail gone. It took about about three weeks. Then her toenails started to go. She couldn’t wear closed-toed shoes or socks, the friction as she put them on just peeled those nails right back. Doctors thought it might be malnutrition and put her on all of these supplements-“
“Hold on, Helen, back up a bit. Tell me a little about your friend. What’s her life like?”
“Well she’s a bit of a shut in. Doesn’t much care for going out. Says everything is too dangerous. She’s afraid of the kids these days…”
I hoped Helen couldn’t hear my eyes roll at that one. Adults are _always_ more dangerous than teenagers.
“…She hates all the foreign food at the grocery stores. Doesn’t understand why TV’s got so much sex and violence in it. The world is a big scary place for her. I got her to come to my bingo night once, but she said the men all gaped at her. I didn’t have the heart to tell her it was probably her being hairless and having her fingers all taped up, poor dear. You see she lost her husband ten years ago to cancer and then both of her children as well. Very tragic. One died in a car accident and the other in a mass shooting. Oh, you’ve got to help. She lost a finger yesterday. She was writing a letter to her sister and the pointer finger she rested the pen on just dropped off. Kerplunk! Onto the paper. It didn’t even bleed. It was like her body had sealed off the knuckle with new skin in preparation for the finger to fall off. I took her to the hospital and they were absolutely baffled. They said there was no way they could reattach it because the wound was already healed over.”
“Do me a favor. Does your friend listen to music?”
“Oh, not at all. She can’t stand the racket, she says.”
“Go to her house and put on some music. Any music. Doesn’t matter what kind. Tell her it’s very important for her survival that she leave it on until she goes to bed and turn it back on in the morning. Tell her I said so. I’ll be there in the morning.”
“Ok, thank you so much! I knew you could help.”
“Of course. Thank you for calling, Helen.”