It Only Stings A Little

© 2004 Jeff Appleton
All rights reserved.

Erica waited for the doctor to unwrap the bandages. No matter how often this happened she was always nervous and sure that something would go wrong before it was all over. She heard him say "Ms. Munch," and she braced herself, ready to be uncovered. "We've got the lights turned down, but I still want you to keep your eyes closed for just a few moments. I know you're anxious to see the New You, but your eyes will need time to adjust. If you open them as soon as the gauze is off, it might be painful."

Erica Munch listened with disdain.

"Don't tell me to wait when I've been wrapped blind for two weeks," she said curtly. "I'm the one who's paid twenty-five thousand dollars, and I'll look when I damn well want to look."

She heard the doctor sigh. "Sheila," he said. "Will you please close the curtains?"

"Right away, Doctor Cherry," came the reply, and Erica heard the rustle of heavy curtains being drawn.

As the layers of gauze unwound, Erica snapped, "Exactly how much is left up there way? You must have wrapped me with half the gauze in Palm Springs."

"Patience, Ms. Munch," came the bored reply. Erica felt like reaching out and ripping the doctor's face off. The urge to have her face free was growing, and she knew that if she had to keep listening to his patronizing drone going on and on about how this was just the first step and how he would be done in just a moment, she just might lose control.

Part of her hoped he would keep up with his senseless babbling. She wouldn't feel so guilty when it was all over and done with.

"I don't want to wait one more second," she said. "I want these damn, stinking bandages off my head, and I want them off right now!"

When Erica had attended the DeBlauw's New Year's Eve party, and Duane DeBlauw, in a drunken stupor, had asked her if she'd filed for Social Security yet, the truth she been trying to avoid had finally settled home ... she was getting old. Actually, she wasn't just getting old, she was damn well on the downside of the hill and was picking up speed.

Part of her still didn't want to believe that the wrinkles on her face had reached such epic proportions. Deep down she knew she wouldn't have been able to go on living the lifestyle she loved with a face that was more old crone than movie starlet.

The doctor was pulling the tape from her neck and as it neared her hairline he said, "Ready now, Ms. Munch? This might sting just a little."

Erica had been in enough doctors' offices to know that 'sting just a little' usually meant 'hurt like hell.' More than one doctor had paid dearly for telling her 'this might sting just a little.' The corners of her mouth twitched upward in just the tiniest of smiles as she thought how this doctor would pay, and pay more dearly than the rest.

"I've been damned good and ready for the last half hour," she said, her voice hoarse from the three-pack and half-a-bottle-of-Cuervo daily habit of the last thirty years. "You have got to hurry up. My nose is itching like crazy."

She heard the doctor sigh and thought, he probably thinks I'm a fossil. Just an old, dried out fossil that should have stayed buried. Erica was sure the doctor had seen his share of bitchy old women who were trying to delay the inevitable, trying to hide from Father Time, and more often than not ending up looking like some strange cross between a suntan ad and a topographic map of the Grand Canyon.

Her nose was twitching like crazy and she knew she wouldn't be able to hold back much longer. "Could you please try to hurry every little chance you get?" she asked, her voice dripping with acid sarcasm.

"You got it," Doctor Cherry said, and gave the tape a hard jerk. The adhesive hung in the stubble that had regrown and pulled it out as efficiently as any five-hundred-dollar wax job. Damn, thought Erica. Guess I won't have to pay to have my neckline waxed.

She heard the doctor turn and tell the nurse, "Thank you, Sheila. That's all we'll be needing you for." Erica knew it would be over quickly and restrained her hands from flying to her face and tearing the bandages away. She could feel the wrappings pulsing and throbbing and hoped they were thick enough to prevent the doctor from seeing the movement.

As the door closed, the doctor turned back to her. "Here we go." He worked quickly, moving behind her to finish the procedure.

He probably thinks it's a good idea to give me some "time to myself," Erica thought. The part of her that was awakening laughed at this. Different doctors all had different methods, and in various incarnations she'd seen them all. Some liked to do the final unveiling face-to-face, looking into her eyes when they handed her the mirror. She respected, and maybe even admired that kind.

The other kind, the weak kind, liked to finish removing the wrappings from behind and hand the mirror to her over her shoulder. She thought of the behind-the-back doctors as cowards of a sort and always tried to make them pay for it in the end.

She'd pegged this one as a coward when he'd rejected her drunken advances at the Deblauw party. I knew he'd be giving it to me from behind, she thought.

As the gauze and pads were pulled away, Erica could sense the tension rolling off the doctor. It was almost like a fear scent, like old copper pennies and leaking dry cell batteries. Erica knew the doctor was bracing himself for the modern-day warcry of 'I'll sue your goddamn ass!' He was trying to prepare for what he thought was coming next.

Erica smiled as the bandages were peeled away. No way in hell was he going to be prepared for what she had to give him.

She felt, rather than saw, the light through her still lowered eyelids. She had planned on snapping them open the very instant they were freed from their gauze shackles, but a stab of pain, like a razor slicing through a newborn baby, caused her to hunch her shoulders forward and grimace as the pain arrowed into her brain.

"Everything okay Ms. Munch?" she heard the doctor ask from behind her.

"Yes. Yes, it's fine. My eyes are just a little sensitive," she said. "Is it safe to ... to touch?"

She heard the doctor rustling papers on the counter top behind her and then his bored reply. "Yes, Ms. Munch. It's perfectly safe. Just don't scratch, not even if it itches."

Erica listened to the shuffling of papers. Fill out the damn forms, doctor; just don't plan on spending that money anytime soon.

Her hands fluttered to her throat. Just wait till those bitches get a look at me now. Her hands slipped up to her face and traced the outline of her lips. The heavy smokers wrinkles that the doctor had assured her would be gone were still there. Her skin felt cold, shriveled and wrinkled, like hard-working hands that have been submerged in icy water for too long. She smiled, running her fingers around her mouth, thinking that it felt like fingering an alligator's asshole. Spend my money, you bastard, she thought as the doctor continued on with his paperwork, oblivious to his impending doom.

Moving upward over the wastelands of her face, she gently traced the outline of her nose. For years she had thought it too big. She remembered the bus ride in fifth grade when Christina O'Brien had turned her in her seat and loudly proclaimed to rest of the bus, "Erica's got a Roman nose. It's roamin' all over her face." Even at that age she had been self-conscious about her nose. The children's laughter had ignited a hate within her that had smoldered until finally bursting into flames. How unfortunate that she'll be losing her husband today. Yesterday a doctor's wife, today a widower. Erica's smile was growing wider by the second.

Robert Cherry was one of the most sought-after plastic surgeons in all of Southern California. His waiting list was lengthy and extensive. Erica had waited for nearly six months for an appointment, but the six months were insignificant when compared to the years of hate that had been growing in her. Alone with him now, the hate that had festered for so long was about to break free.

Erica remembered the conversation they'd had at their meeting. The computer-generated images of what her face would look like had fascinated her, and the decision had been made to trade her old model in on a completely new one.

This new model, according to the doctor, would "bring her facial planes as close as possible to that of the ancient Greek statuary." Evidently this was important, because the doctor had spent a full twenty minutes talking about standards of beauty and how the Greeks had "set the bar for all of the modern world."

Erica had let him think he'd done a wonderful job pitching the procedure and had made the appointment thinking, enjoy that sporty little convertible while you can doctor. Enjoy it while you can.

Her fingers traced down the bridge of her nose, liking the feel of the hot, pulsing skin beneath. Her lips pulled upward, and through the half smile, half sneer, she said, "Excuse me, doctor. Is there some type of drainage tube left in my nose?"

She knew Doctor Cherry was busy filling out the release forms and probably didn't even hear what she was saying. She could feel the heat climbing up her face, awakening her skin, and awakening something else. Something that had been asleep and growing for too long. Something that was now awake ... and hungry.

The bastard isn't even listening to me. He's probably too busy trying to figure out how to get me back in for another round. Goddamn shyster is worse than a used car dealer.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Munch. What was that?"

Erica could feel the blood rushing to her face. It was alive, awake, and ready to feed. She felt anticipation growing in her head and in her guts with every passing second. The first look. When he looks into my eyes and realizes. That's what makes it all worth it. Any second now he'll realize I'm a problem. He'll realize it, but he won't understand. Not until it's too late.

"I said, what is this goddamn thing doing in my nose, and when the hell will you be getting it out?" Erica made sure that this time the doctor would in no way mistake the tone of her voice. She was loud and aggressive. If that doesn't get his attention nothing will. She could feel her heart now, pulsing and thrumming, sending blood to every part of her body.

"I assure you, Ms. Munch," she heard the doctor say, "there has been no tube left in your nose." She heard the rustle of papers as he turned to look. Footsteps to the front of her, then a sharp little intake, just a small gasp. "Please cover your eyes, Ms. Munch." She could hear the strain in his voice. "I'm going to open the curtains and it may be bright for a moment or two." He turned and jerked the curtains back, letting sunlight flood into the room.

She heard his breath quicken, and then the rustle of his smock as he turned back to her. "Ms. Munch, please hold very still for just a moment. It does appear that the anesthesiologist has left a drain, or perhaps some type of breathing tube, in your nose. Please bear with me and I'll have it out in just a minute."

Erica could hear the doctor's voice quivering with stress. She was sure he'd never seen anything quite like this before. Oh no, he'd never pulled the bandages off and seen something ... organic ... hanging out of a patient's nostril. Never seen something like a mosquito's proboscis protruding from a patient's nose.

She heard him turn away, heard the scrape of an instrument drawer opening, and knew he would be holding a pair of forceps in his hand as he turned back to her. She could feel it now, feel it moving and squirming inside her nose, feel it waving back and forth like a tiny elephant's trunk scenting water. She felt his breath on her face and knew he was close.

Her eyelids snapped open like roll-up window coverings and her hands lashed out and wrapped around his head. The doctor instinctively pulled back as her nails sank deep into his scalp, penetrating all the way to the bony cap of his skull. Blood sprayed and a high-pitched wailing noise escaped from his mouth. His hands rose and batted feebly at the claws that were sunk into his head. He tried to pull back, but her grip tightened and pulled him down, closer to her mouth, closer to the grey, snakelike tentacle that was now flapping wildly.

"Don't worry, Doctor," she said. "It only stings a little."

Her face dove toward his neck and there was a brief, insectile sting as his jugular was punctured and the blood began to drain from his body. Erica Munch inhaled deeply, swallowing as the lifeblood flowed from his body to hers.

The struggle was brief, and when over, she slowly stood and sniffed. The appendage retracted into her nose, a nose that was now the perfect reflection of ancient Greek beauty, set into a face that was as smooth and flawless as any work of Michelangelo. She brushed her hair back out of her eyes, and as she stepped over the body and opened the door to the outside, she turned and whispered "Thank you so much, Doctor. I just love my new face."

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