She looked down at Cujo. “Is he okay?”
“Well, he’s still holding onto the immobilizer, so NO, I would say that is not okay.”
She gave him a pat on his head.
“And I watched a terrible, I mean truly awful, movie last night and . . . can’t you make it come out faster? Isn’t there something you can do to speed up this process?”
“It’s better to let these things take their course naturally,” she said. “I could give him a laxative, but then he might really go . . . everywhere.”
I cringed. That didn’t sound like a good idea. “Can’t you squeeze it out of him?” I asked, looking down at his long body and wondering whether I could wring it out like a wet cloth.
“No,” she chuckled. “You can’t squeeze it out. How would you like it if I came over to your house and tried to squeeze you ou—Oooowwweee!” Samirah winced and reached for her belly.
“Are you okay?” I pointed at her belly. “One’s not about to come out, is it?”
She forced a smile, shook her head and held her breath for a moment as if she was in pain. “I hope not. They aren’t due for another month.”
“Oh.” I looked at her stomach, unable to imagine how much bigger it would be in another month.
“She just likes to kick me in the ribs from time to time, remind me that she’s still here.” She pressed her hand to her stomach and looked down. “And he likes to push on my bladder at the most inopportune times.” She moved her hand to the bottom of her belly now.
She waited for a while, staring down at her belly. “Okay, they’ve settled. Bring him to the back and I’ll examine him anyway.” She waddled down the passage, as if she had a watermelon between her thighs. God, I couldn’t imagine four more weeks of that.
Samirah examined Cujo and again gave me the all-clear to take him home and “wait.”
“I’m sick of waiting,” I said. “There is literally nothing to do here. I don’t know how you people survive without your phones. And I’m certainly not in the mood to watch another movie. I’m sure that guy at the video store gave me that on purpose, knowing how horrendous it was!”
“Perhaps you should try doing nothing,” Samirah offered.
“Nothing?”
She nodded. “Absolutely nothing.”
“That’s impossible,” I said, trying to think of how one is able to do nothing at all.
She shook her head. “It’s very possible. A few of us get together and do some guided meditation. It’s very therapeutic. You should come. It’s today at three.”
I shook my head. “I’ve already tried to have a spiritual experience once. It didn’t work. I almost got bitten by a snake. I think my days of trying to be spiritual are over.”
She looked at me strangely again. “Aaaaahhhhh,” she mumbled in a long, slow, deep voice.
“Aaaaahhh what?”
“It’s just interesting,” she said.
“What is?”
“Interesting that you saw a snake while trying to have a spiritual experience.”
“Why?”
“Well, in some cultures snakes are a symbol of transformation. They teach us how important it is to shed what we no longer need. If a snake doesn’t shed, it dies.”
“Uh . . .” I looked at her blankly; her green eyes were locked onto me like laser beams.
“So, if you think about it,” she continued, “the snake tells us to let go of the things that restrict us, in order to grow. What are the things you need to let go of?”
I stared at her for a while, not sure how to respond. “Yeah, but they also bite,” I said.
