The Moment We Were in India

The dull routine or preparing to go to work races in my mind, preventing me from getting the mere (and yet maximum possible) 27 minutes of rest I’d hoped to get before actually having to prepare to go to work. “I hate working the nightshift,” I mumble. Across the room, the dog stirs with a restlessness I conjecture to symbolize the solidarity only an animal deemed ‘human’s best friend’ can muster. The ring of my phone sends me into a combative state, this time armed with an anti-cellphone company artillery aimed at every tower within a 100 mile radius of my current position. The speck of idealism still circulating in my bloodstream remains hopeful that our patient census is low and I’ll be called off, despite the fact that the number is unrecognizable. I answer. Neither inclined nor interested in the pleasantries, I hear Allan’s voice, “I have to come back here. To India. And you have to come with me.” With a very intentional and grossly lengthened exhalation, I release a carbon dioxide laced with equal parts exhaustion and exhilaration. And as if my body knew my path before my mind could object or clarify, frighten away or cause hesitance, I just say, “okay.”
And so, we came to be in India. nmt.