Going to Memphis with Diamonds on The Soles of Her Shoes
Short story inspired by Paul Simon and Simon and Garfunkel
There’s this boy in a bubble and a baby with a baboon heart in Memphis, Tennessee. The boy is my cousin, Tom, and the baby is on observation for workers in the medical profession. My aunt Linda pulled some strings and got a slot for me to see this miracle baby — right after I visit Graceland.
My son Julio is down at the schoolyard and I’ve got to go pick him up before he finds trouble or trouble finds him. All I want these days is the sounds of silence.
Instead, I get a cacophony of joker interns under my tutelage saying, “Hey doc, you can call me Al.” What the hell is that about anyway? Some kind of inside joke?
I say, you can’t call me by my given name, Cecilia. You can call me Dr. Watzer. Got it? And, then I glare them down. Cocky men don’t do it for me.
Thankfully, my trip to Memphis is scheduled in January. Instead of the hot humid summers the city is known for I’ll be visiting during its perfectly hazy shade of winter.
In Memphis, I meet Aunt Linda at the park and we sit down on opposite ends of a green bench. I look at the both of us and feel like we’re bookends, so I say, “Hey, Aunt Linda, scooch in and give me a…
