I was waiting in my pain doctors office when a beautiful girl sat next to me. She didn’t appear crippled.
Large brown eyes, skin that made Herr appear to have a slight tan, wavy dark hair falling to the middle of her back. Her figure was slender but had some curves in the right —
“Are you thinking weird thoughts about me?” she whispered, leaning in towards me as if we were going to have a private conversation. “I’m Maria,” she added. “And I’m not. Not, um, crippled.”
Bonita popped into my head.
“We want you to write about us.”
I looked at her.
“It’s been years,” she continued. “You’ve got our family tree, births, deaths, even a map of the apartment I grew up in.”
I stared. Yes, I had a story in my head about a Maria and her family, but this was nuts.
Before I could do it, she reached over and pinched me. Hard. “See?” She smiled prettily. “I’m not a figment of your imagination.”
I rubbed the red mark. “Obviously not,” I muttered under my breath.
“Look, we’ve waited a long time. We haven’t read all of your notes — we don’t need the future,” she said, probably thinking of her maternal aunt who made a living telling people their future
. “But you need to get started or we’ll go to another writer.”
“You can do that?” I asked.
“Of course! Well, maybe. Ok, maybe not,” she pouted.
“I’m getting to you,” I said.
She brightened. “Really? That’s great!”
“But it’s going to take some time,” I said.
She tried to hide her anger. “Look, all we ask is a post about each of us,” she gritted out thru her teeth.
“Each of you! There are over thirty main characters,” I laughed.
“Thirty? Where’d — How can there be so many main characters?” I’d apparently caught her off guard.
“Ok, maybe they’re not all main. A lot are minor.”
“Better get to work then,” and she pinched my arm again for good measure.
That’s not the real Maria. I’ll write about her tomorrow and you’ll see. She’s so sweet — normally — that she can cause cavities.