Wrinkles

The beginning of a short story that I just began today. I am thinking to have this main character narrating several short stories about her patients.

10:08 am, Monday January 15th. 

  

The first thing that I noticed about her was the map of wrinkles on her face. The visible marks of her past. Sadness, tears, joy, and laughter. A face bearing the signs of a full life- years almost wiped away in a matter of hours. A true miracle of modern science. I read those wrinkles as others might read a book, but without the benefit of a sequence. I cobbled out the vague elements of the plot as though someone had thrown the unnumbered pages of a manuscript into the air and I read each page without knowing the order. 

 

Working my way from the creases of worry etched in the forehead down to the very last laugh line carved into the corners of the mouth, I followed the path of her life through her face. Before starting each session, I made a point to try and memorize these details. The tangible details that people sought so hard to eliminate with the fell swoop of a scalpel. Some photos would remain of this woman’s face. Undoubtedly she would try to bury them in her subconscious and banish cherished photos to the back of a storage closet or attic. Her past covered by a layer of dust and old clothing, lingering undiscovered. 

 

It’s my job to evaluate the elective surgery patients. Usually there were more reasons than one might imagine for the need for a bigger pair of tits or penile extension. When I first got into the business, it was a field no one thought had any future. The sub-field is too specific. You won’t get many calls. Ten years later and I am in a cushy office in downtown L.A. Requests for my services pour in each day. I reject more patients than I can take on and wind up referring patients to colleagues. Psychiatrists fresh from their training, entering into the growing discipline. 

 

Most patients come to me after they’ve been rejected by the plastic surgeon for one reason or another. They couldn’t convince the doctor of their emotional health. They start weeping in the consultation room. Angrily lash out when the doctor starts working with them on areas they asked him to fix. Any number of problems come out in that first stage. 

 

I evaluated the woman that had stepped into my office. She nervously touched a hand to a necklace as she swallowed visibly. She was nervous on her first visit. Maybe she was hoping that I would help her assure the doctor of her mental stability. Then she could go on with her surgery and fix all of her underlying problems with a quick outpatient procedure and a few thousand dollars. So much simpler than years of therapy, much cheaper too.

Author's Note

This is a first rough draft which I wrote in about 45 minutes. I'd like to gauge a reaction to this story so any constructive criticism would be helpful.

Reviews

[M.E.Lyle]

I don't think I have any constructive criticism for you here. It stands pretty well on it's own with no changes. It's odd how, as we age, we look in the mirror and see a stranger glaring back at us. My cosmetic surgery is to turn away and pretend it's not me.

[Arabdha]

whoa!! i felt like i was going through the first page of a jeffrey archer novel..it has come out really good so far..you write like a pro..pls keep going..