Number of lines: 30
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I swear Garcia was a crazy bitch; |
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A nurse who liked to test my character |
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By swinging me about in the Hoyer lift |
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With just enough abandon to scare me good, |
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Just carefully enough so she could say: |
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"Now what was all the yelling about? |
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I didn't hurt your feet. You're in the chair. |
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You polios are screamers, always were." |
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Exhausted by the terrors of the ride, |
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The turnings and the dips, I didn't say |
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A word in my defense. She'd push me down |
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To Occupational Therapy, where I'd type |
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My skinny novel, think about revenge. |
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Marlene, tall, red-headed nurse, told me |
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"Garcia likes the way you scream. It gives |
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Her an excuse to hate and show the ward |
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How skilled she is. The hollering you do |
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Relives to boringness of working here." |
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Perceiving this, I tried to keep myself |
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As silent as a Charlie Chaplin flick |
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As I went through my next Garcia lift. |
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It was a scary trip, as usual. |
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I felt an urge to make some sound, but sounds |
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That wouldn't make her mad, and so I said, |
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"Rutabagas! Rutabagas!" "What?" |
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She asked and laughed a bit. "You've finally flipped." |
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"What's the price of rutabagas now?" |
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"I don't know. I hate the nasty things." |
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I had deprived Garcia of her fun. |
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It was a small revenge. |
January, 1982