“Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul-
And sings the tune without the words
And never stops at all-“
This was the quote that greeted me on a brown rustic wooden board that stood beside Sam’s door. Stepping out of the car, I stood for a moment, inhaling the jolly sweet rusty smell of after-rain which evaporated from the sand In the mini gardens. The sky was mostly cloudless with only a few light clumps of clouds here and there, and even those were shady. The unwelcoming rays of the sun penetrated through my skin, a hot 35 degrees; I was home. It had rained the previous day, no wonder the weather was so hot.
“Need any help?” George’s voice snapped me out of my daydream.
He stood a little behind me, grinning as I turned to face him. He knew pretty well I hadn’t even started offloading yet, I was lost in thoughts.
“Hey, don’t mock the cancer girl, doc. I’m hurting enough already you know.” I replied back, gently grasping at the upper part of my blouse where I knew my heart was.
He laughed, “Oh, so you’re playing the cancer card now huh, good thing I’m immune.” We both laughed.
Dr George Sandow’s an old friend of mine. He was the one who diagnosed me with my Meningioma and helped me through the first few months of coming to terms with having a tumor growing in my brain. Ever since then, we became tight friends even with an age gap of about 12 years. I remember when I was leaving town, he told me
“This is your home Summer, and when your home comes calling, you know where to find me.”
When I called him the other day that I had decided to come back, his voice rose to a high pitch as he exclaimed,
“I’m glad you took it literally Summer.”
Perks of living in a small town, everybody knew everybody and everybody got emotionally invested in everybody’s business.