DISTURBING POSSIBILITIES

Ron, an otherwise abled-bodied gentleman, bagged my groceries at the market.

He smiled at me when the scanner went off  

and, when he picked up the first item to place it in the bag, 

he announced it with the modulation of a well-trained radio announcer.

The scanner beeped and Ran announced: 

Green bananas

Plantains

Cabbage

Korean Barbeque

Excelsior Water Crackers

Mangos

Champagne Cola Soda 

Coconut.

I chuckled each time the words left his lips because never before had there been  a soundtrack of the international foods in my basket.

He told me to have a great day, and his farewell rang out like an invitation. 

I smiled, genuinely and said “Thanks Ron.”

Ron couldn’t have known that just a few minutes before

I had taken off my cute tee and pants and replaced them with a gown and scrubs.

I had taken  off my jewelry, pulled each hairpin that held the bun atop my head, and walked with the technician to the MRI machine.

I laid on the gurney, put the yellow earbuds in my ear, and when the technician asked what music I’d like to listen to, I said, “Reggae.” 

The machine was louder than the music, but somehow between the loud banging, thudding sound of the machine taking images of my brain and neck, the music seeped into my ears. 

The music kept my mind from thinking about the gravity of my being there. 

It kept me from thinking that this machine, this very moment, these very images were being taken to rule out two disturbing possibilities. 

The Reggae music reminded me to celebrate as I waited. 

So I planned how I’d spend my afternoon…

I’d stop at the music store and pick up a Djembo drum for my husband.

I’d stop at the grocery store and pick up foods that reminded me of the Island.

At home, I made coconut chicken over a bed of rice, Jamaican style cabbage and carrot, sweet fried plantains on the side, and served the meal with an ice cold glass of Jamaican Champagne Cola.

Before we cleared the table, Hubby played his drum.

♥

KADINE CHRISTIE