Page 36 of If All Else Sails
Emboldened, I take a step forward, swinging the stick ina wide arc the other way, narrowly missing Wyatt’s headlight.Oops.
“Go on, now! Shoo!”
I take a bigger step closer this time and lift the stick above my head to avoid hitting the car or the pigs, who are now nearer than I really want them to be, considering their size. Each of these pigs probably weighs at least what Wyatt does. Maybe even double his weight. In my best nonprofessional pig-judging estimation.
And suddenly, my proximity to the oversize beasts doesn’t seem like such a good idea. If they stampede, I’ll be trampled.
One of the smaller pigs toward the back squeals and tears off into the woods beside the road.
“There we go! The little squealer has the right idea,” I say, lifting the stick for another swing. “Now, if all of you would kindly just—”
Three things happen at once. So quickly my brain seems to slide through molasses to process each one.
First, Wyatt shouts, “Josie!Move!”
Second, the pigs stampede. Not toward the woods like the first one. Towardme.
And third, I fling the hockey stick and leap onto the hood of the Bronco.
It’s all over in seconds that somehow feel like they’ve taken years off my life. The sounds of squealing and a running herd of pigs fade. Leaving me curled in the fetal position on the hot hood of the car, listening to the sound of my panting breaths.
“You okay there, pig wrangler?”
The concern Wyatt had while shouting his warning has shifted into barely contained amusement.
I lift my head and glare through the windshield. Wyatt’ssmiling again. He really needs to stop doing that. Especially when it’s at my expense.
“I’m just fine and dandy,” I mutter, peeling myself off the hood. Which is considerably more difficult and painful than jumping on. I am oddly exhausted. My muscles aren’t used to fast-twitch responses or having to hurl my body weight up on a vehicle.
I’m also pretty certain some of my skin is burned onto the hot metal of the hood permanently.
“‘Fine and dandy’? Where did you learn to talk?” he asks. “A 1950s time capsule?”
I’d like to tell Wyatt exactly where he can put a 1950s time capsule, but apparently his hockey stick is too expensive to leave in the woods where I flung it. So instead, I spend the next five minutes looking for it in the surprisingly dense undergrowth.
Which is how, when we arrive at the hospital, we arebothadmitted; Wyatt for his fever, and me for a particularly alarming case of poison oak that made my whole body swell up.
Chapter9
The Human Equivalent of a Stress Ball
Josie
“So, you’ve never had a reaction like this before?” the doctor asks, lifting my arm by the wrist and shaking it.
“Take a picture; it’ll last longer,” I mutter through swollen lips.
Given the way Dr. Charlie’s eyes light up, he must not realize I’m joking. I’m pretty sure if it didn’t violate a million HIPAA laws, he would have already taken a video.
And I get it.
The way my arm—now filled with a layer of fluid—jiggles long after he stops shaking it is an awesome sight. Not awesome in the popular usage of the word but the biblical sense.
Awesomelike a plague of locusts.
Not exactly eager to become a viral video or, worse,a meme that might have a longer shelf life, I hold up a swollen hand. “Kidding. No flash photography, please.”
Dr. Charlie’s face falls, and he gives my arm another small shake, like he can’t help himself. Truly, my body’s reaction to poison oak is one of the most disgusting, and therefore fascinating, things I’ve seen. You’d think an ER doctor would have examined much worse, but Dr. Charlie has spent far longer than necessary with me. I should consider charging him for admission at this point.
