Chapter Four

Chris drives Allison and I to a closed animal clinic. I think it's weird, but I don't question it since this past half hour has been fucking insane anyway. Chris rethinks his parking; he pulls out and then goes and parks in the shadows in the back. We wait around the front door for a few minutes, only entering when Scott, from the inside, opens it up for us and immediately locks it again once we're inside. Chris grabs my left arm and tugs me toward large metal table, which, when making contact with my exposed skin, sends endless shivers through my body. "Lie down on this while we wait for Deaton."

I groan and lie down on the freezing table; the wait is forever and I drift in and out of sleep, only really awakened at the sound of a booming, angry voice that forces back all the tables, instruments, cages and people in the room. "ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL HER?"

Chris barks back, "We need to weaken her!"

I'm scooped off of the table and placed into a nearby, empty porcelain tub.

The new voice bellows, "AND NOW WE MUST REVIVE!"

I see a black hand beckon someone over; Scott jumps to my side and they both lift me the off of the table and into a tub. They only leave me alone once I'm in a sitting position, against a narrow back of the tub, and pull my arms out and over so that I may balance myself. I manage to turn my head to the right, resting it a bit against my shoulder. I see a black man, perhaps in his mid-thirties, attaching a hose to a near by faucet. He looks over his shoulder and rests his eyes on mine. I smile weakly, "This is a nice surprise."

He smiles softly at me, "What do you mean?"

"I was afraid to be the only black person in this small town."

He laughs and says, "I'm sorry to say that you basically are. You would think that this town would have some diversity since we're so close to San Francisco."

I laugh and then sigh.

He looks at me and says, "You're pretty light – you're more golden than anything else. You'll pass."

I breathe out loudly and heavily and slip against the back of the tub. I hand my head over the edge and say, "Isn't that so weird? My mom was dark. And our treatments were so drastically different, even if we were at the same place at the same time."

He nods, continuing to mess with the faucet and the hose.

I sigh again and stare up at the paneled ceiling, "Isn't it weird that there's even such a thing as 'passing'? That we have to try so desperately hard to blend in, to assimilate? For our safety? To even touch our 'rights'?"

He nods again and looks at me for a minute before focusing completely on whatever his task is. After a few minutes, the man asks me, "Where are you from?"

I turn my head to the right and find him no longer at the faucet, but at a spice cabinet. I don't question why he has a kitchen spice set in an hospital and answer him, "South Central then Pacific Palisades."

"Wow," he looks at me over his left shoulder, "That's quite the move."

I swallow the sticky spit in my mouth, "It's a long story."

"I would imagine," he smiles. He turns to the spices again, but then looks back at me and says, "I'm Doctor Alan Deaton."

I smile again, "I'm Selamawit."

He pauses for a minute, but then says, "Sudanese?"

"Probably," I weakly shrug, "I'm Egyptian though." I shrug again, "They share a border, though."

He nods and looks back at his spices, so I ask him, "What's a black man doing with an Irish surname?"

I can see him grin as he responds, "Well it all started in 1441…"

Scott and I burst out with twisted laughter. Doctor Deaton looks at us with his own smile, so I say, "That's deep, Doctor."

His smile widens, "I know Eastern Africa wasn't as accessible, but surely you know your histories."

"Well," I roll my wrists and flex my fingers, "I know my African histories, but clearly not my origins."

Doctor Deaton's smile slowly disappears, "It seems that all of you are unsure of this."

I just look at him.

He walks over to me with his arms full of flowers, stems and other shit in jars. He sets them down on a metal counter near me and says, "I'm going to need to fill the tub with water."

I grab the sides of the tub and start to push myself up.

"No, no, no," He objects, "We need to revive you."

I continue getting out of the tub, "Not in designer shit, we're not."

Scott laughs at me and helps me out of the tub. I start unzipping my red, Gucci boots when Isaac tosses thick, canvas aprons at me. I catch a few and the rest fall to the ground. I look up to ask him what he wants with these, but I see the crowd of people behind me and see his point.

Scott turns his back to me and stands in front of me to act as a human shield while everyone shifts uncomfortably and looks away as I undress and cover up with the aprons. Scott helps me back into the tub and Doctor Deaton starts to fill it with cool water. I shiver and ask, "Can the water be warmer?"

"Sure," he smiles and goes back to the faucet. The water becomes a comfortable temperature, so I relax against the tub, leaving my arms hanging over the sides. It's quiet the whole time the tub fills up, so when Doctor Deaton shuts off the faucet, I ask,

"Can we play some music or something? The quiet is unsettling."

He nods and takes out his phone. "What do you listen to?"

I shrug, "I could go for anything right now – Kid Cudi, Janelle Monáe, Queen Latifah…"

He starts taping the screen on his phone, "I'll see what I can YouTube."

I smile and whisper a "thank you" to him. I push the back of my hair up and over the tub as much as I could before I relaxed too much. Doctor Deaton saw how much I was sinking into the tub, so he beckons Isaac over and says, "Scott – you need to stay close in case they need help."

"They?" I turn my head to look at him.

"Help?" Isaac stutters.

Doctor Deaton smiles and says, "Just trust me, alright?"

I sigh and close my eyes, letting the water relax me. Suddenly, Doctor Deaton starts tossing the contents of the jars he was looking at earlier into the tub. They fizzle and pop in the water, causing me to shift and try to jump up. Doctor Deaton holds me down by the shoulders and says, "You need to keep calm so I can finish this as quickly as possible." Before I can reply with anything, his hands are replaced by another – the soft cream is familiar; the dark hair creeps up from the wrists to pale biceps. I swallow the excess spit in my mouth and allow myself to be steadied in the tub. I look up and then suppress an awkward grin and ask Isaac, "Why is your shirt off?"

He flashes me a small, crooked smirk, and whispers, "I can't do this while wearing designer."