Dancing-with-Baptists-Createspace-Final--A4

DANCING WITH BAPTISTS
CHAPTER8
Just Outside Deming, New Mexico
April 3, 1968
The old cactus-killer slumped over onto Greg while Greg was trying to steer the damaged car.
Greg shoved him off his shoulder, leaving the old guy’s head wound sunbathing under the hot New
Mexico sky.
Greg pulled into Deming aboard the smoking, limping Mercury. He drove up in front of an
old, twostory, wooden hospital. Greg walked through a door marked “Emergency.”
A young fellow with a stethoscope draped around his neck was sucking on a corndog. The
young man in white scrubs with a small mustard stain felt the need to explain his eating choice.
“All I can find soft enough to try to eat. Wisdom teeth pulled. Hurts like- oww.”
“You the doc here?” Greg asked.
“What’d you need?” slightly swollen beard-jaw asked.
“Got this old guy out in the car…” The doctor opened the screen door to get a better look.
“That’s Mac Parker’s car. What’s he done now?”
Greg helped the young doctor get Mac Parker onto the examining table. “This is a pretty good
job you did on the shoulder here. You a doctor?”
“No.”
The Doc scanned Greg’s odd mix of a khaki uniform shirt and white pants and said, “Oh,
medic. Sorry, I should have noticed. I haven’t gone in yet. Supposed to go in for six months during my
surgery residency. I’ll be a 2nd Lieutenant. Hoping Johnson or the next president ends it before I have
to go. Hate to shave the beard. The ladies love it.”
“Where can I catch a bus to Las Cruces around here?” Greg asked.
“Just out the door and over to the Cactus Cafe. Did you just find old Mac after he crashed?”
“Cactus Cafe?” Greg confirmed.
“Tell Lutrena I said fix you up. The hospital will pay for it.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. Maybe I’ll see you around the O.R. or mess hall or somewhere.”
“You won’t see me,” Greg responded going out the door he entered.
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