Geneva, New York, USA
It seems to Alan that the snow would never end as he looks out the waiting room window. It had been snowing for nearly three days straight and doesn't look like stopping anytime soon. The snow doesn't cover the window, but Alan guesses that's due to the heat of the room as he can see snow piling up on either side of the windows. Further out in the parking lot he can see snow piles nearly twenty feet tall and snow drifts about half that height. His own car, parked in front of the entrance to the hospital, already had a snow drift building against it.
Sighing, Alan pushes his long, wavy hair out of his face. Brown with hints of red, he usually pulled his shoulder length hair back. Today, he had left it free and was regretting it. He pats his jeans pockets and fails to find a hair band. Shaking his head, Alan puts his mind to trying to find a comfortable position for his lower back. He had taken his jacket off the moment he walked into the hospital, finding it too hot inside and preferring his short sleeve shirt.
"Mr. Pierce," a blonde-haired nurse in red scrubs calls out from the door to the back. "Your doctor will see you now."
Alan smiles and pushes himself out of the chair and walks towards the door. Letting his brown eyes take a quick glimpse of the nurse, his eyes lingering on her green-blue eyes for a second before letting her lead him into the doctor's office. It was his first appointment with this doctor after moving to Geneva a few weeks ago. The nurse beckons him into a far office. He thanks her and then sits on the raised bed, rubbing the bottom of his spine as it begins bothering him again.
After a few minutes, he can hear the nurse's voice. "Alan Pierce: Caucasian male, age 33." A second female voice thanks the nurse before a knock comes and the door opens.
"Hello, Mr. Pierce," the doctor says, giving him a small smile as she walks to her chair. Unlike most of the doctors he'd seen, she wasn't wearing a white jacket. Her blue blouse and black pants are left uncovered. Her red pixie cut hair draws and keeps Alan's attention on her face and her green eyes hold his eyes on them. "I'm Dr. Grant. It's nice to have you as a patient. I see that you have chronic pain in your shoulders and lower back. Why don't we start there?"
"The most painful and consistent is my spine," Alan begins. "I don't think I go more than a few minutes without some pain in my spine. It's more trying to reduce the pain as much as possible. With my shoulders, it's not so much pain as reduced mobility."
As he speaks, he lifts his arms, first outward and then back and forth. Going through the arm motions, he watches Dr. Grant take notes as she watches his range of motion. He stops before the pain in his shoulders gets too much and then movies on to explaining his lower back. Dr. Grant sits silently and takes her notes.
"So, what physical activity do you get, Alan," she asks when he finishes.
"If you're looking for physical torture, I do go to PT once a week," Alan jokes. Dr. grant gives a small chuckle of her own as he continues, "Outside of that, I do light HEMA training for two hours in the morning. Stretching, some jogging, and then training with a few different swords and knives." When he sees a small look of confusion on the doctor's face, he adds, "HEMA is short for Historical European Martial Arts."
"How long have you been doing that?"
Alan thinks for a moment, his eyes moving up as he does. "About five years. I tried sparring and it was too much for my shoulders, so I keep to non-contact training."
"Has it helped any?"
"Keeps me in shape, seems to keep my asthma in check and I'm back to being able to jog a bit without too much back pain afterwards. But it hasn't helped much with my shoulder rotation."
"Any other physical activity?"
"Walking across campus to my lecture room at the colleges and carrying whatever materials I need for the day. That occasionally includes carrying boxes back and forth. Those are the days my spine really loves me."
Dr. Gray nods and writes a few more notes before saying, "Well, it sounds like you have most of the pain under control. I see no reason to change your prescriptions or your physical therapy. I see prescription for escitalopram. Do you need a refill?"
Alan smiles and shakes his head. "I have an appointment with my therapist later this week. I'll talk to them about it then, thanks."
"Alright. I'll write up those prescriptions and how about we schedule an appointment for a month from now? Talk to Micah up front and he'll have everything for you." Dr. Grant and Alan stand up before shaking hands. He lets the doctor leave before leaving himself and walking to the front desk of the office. He nods to Micah and gets his prescriptions and sets up his next appointment before grabbing his jacket.
As he leaves, his phone vibrates in his pocket, and he answers by the third ring. "What's up, Kristin? You're up early."
"I never went to sleep, Alan," an exhausted voice answers. "This security system has been hell," she continues through a yawn. "Think you can pick up some coffee before you go to work? I need to get this program running by lunch."
Alan looks at the time on his phone. It was only a few minutes after 8:30. "Yeah, give me thirty minutes. I'm sure the line is horrible this early. Gonna be awake for tonight's session?"
"Depends on what time I get this program done. The faster you're here, the better the chance I will."
"Yeah, yeah," Alan jokes lightly. "I'll have two coffees for you when I arrive."
They hang up and Alan jumps into his Subaru Outback. Turning it on, he leaves the parking lot slowly, his wheels crunching over the inch of newly fallen snow. Turning to the left, a snow dune moves from one side of the street to the other behind him. He blasts the windshield heater to keep snow from building up and drives the empty streets.
He knocks on Kristin's door and he's pulled in by his ragged friend who was wearing flannel pants and a black tank top. Where Alan has somewhat of a tan on his face and arms, Kristin looks pale and a bit ghostly, with dark bags under her eyes. Both were nearly six feet tall and their hair about the same length. But hers is nearly pitch black and hasn't been put up. Her green eyes give her thanks for the coffee as she turns and walks to the kitchen. As they walk through the short hallway, an audiobook is playing in the background. Alan recognizes the name of the main character and finds himself wondering how long the book series is. Shrugging, he sits on the couch in the living room, letting Kristin lose herself in her work. A yowl comes from behind the couch a second before a white Persian cat jumps onto the back and then slips its way onto Alan's lap.
Kristin goes through her program step by step, trying to figure out what the new break is. When the Covid pandemic hit, GE switched her to working remote. That had been four years ago, and she had enjoyed every minute of it. No longer did she have to worry about leaving work only to be called back because a test failed. Especially Fridays when she was dressed for partying or for a campaign session. More than once had she gone back to the factory in a dress or tunic and pants with a sword or bow in her car. Only once did someone comment about her clothes. It was the last time anyone in her team had said anything about her afterwork hobbies.
Staying home gave her more time to work on her Medieval outfits. In the last year, she had sewn three dresses and made two sets of leather armor. She had even started Alan on more advanced sword techniques. She'd been impressed with how dedicated he is, even as she watched him struggle with his back and shoulders. Multiple times over the four years she has known him she had wanted to suggest taking a break. She held her tongue each time when she saw the look in his eyes.
Since the two had met, he had become like a little brother to her. When he had successfully defended his dissertation, arguing US history should be split into four distinctive eras, she had taken him out to celebrate. They finished at a local gaming bar where she had presented him with a sword she had commissioned. The sword, fully battle ready, hangs above Alan's TV in his living room. She had insisted the next morning that he tests it and set up her backyard for him. She had watched him go through his paces for nearly three hours before exhaustion took him and she had to drag him to the couch.
When Alan moved to Geneva, Kristin had been the one to help him move. Or rather, she was the one to buy him things to fill his new house. His previous place was a small one room apartment that was sparsely decorated. He just didn't have a lot of things. His new house is nearly five times bigger than his apartment and Kristin had gone on a shopping spree. When she had arrived at his new house, he had been relaxing for a few hours. Moving had only taken one trip. She was pretty sure that her car had been filled up more than his. She had also filled a ten-foot trailer and the two spent most of the day setting up his house. He had bought Chinese takeout and the two had fallen asleep on the couch binge watching TV.
Today, however, she barely takes note of Alan. She has some notion that he's in the room and playing with Ryoshi, but beyond that her attention is fully on the coffee and her work. She knows he'll play with her cat for a bit before heading off to work.
"Shit," she whispers under her breath, realizing what had gone wrong. Rubbing her eyes and groaning, Kristin goes back through everything she had done over the last ten hours. Muttering under her breath, she fixes a minor detail and runs the program.
Alan lifts Ryoshi up and kisses the cat's head before putting him on the couch and gets up. He had long ago stopped caring about the sheer amount of cat fur that covers his pants. It is just part of the deal with Ryoshi. You pet Ryoshi and Ryoshi sheds enough fur onto your pants to create a second Ryoshi. He leaves Kristin to her work and locks the door behind him.
It takes another half hour for Alan to arrive at the colleges, driving carefully and still having to dodge a few snow dunes that had built overnight. Alan can't complain much about the town of thirteen thousand, mostly because a month isn't long enough to find things to complain about. That doesn't stop him from grumbling about the abysmal condition of the town's snow removal system. Even the highway didn't seem to be a priority for snow removal. Even living in New York his entire life, this seemed to be a bit much for him.
The sign reading "Hobart and William Smith Colleges" is halfway covered as he drives past. The school didn't want to push back the start of the new semester, and that really isn't a problem for most of the students. Due to school policy, living on the campus or school housing just off campus is mandatory, which meant eighty percent of the student body lives on campus and half of the others living within a mile of campus. He watches a few students trudge through the snow before turning into the parking lot in front of the history building.