She Who Waters

Dr. Tara Stone looked out her window and winced. Why was she walking her dog here? Where was her car? Couldn’t the woman have called? Dr. Stone’s office closed in five minutes.

Mazi Peters’ car broke down, she said. She was Dr. Stone’s last client for the day—and she was 1 hour late.

“It’s fine,” Dr. Stone lied, and felt like a growing dog muzzled with professionalism.

Dr. Stone, for all her success in school and business, needed training in having mercy. With pets, she was more patient.

“I need to board him. I was going to—I just need to board him now,” Mazi said.

“You scheduled a checkup and flea treatment,” Dr. Stone said.

“Just please board him. Thank you,” Mazi said.

Boarding Cosmo was easier for Dr. Stone’s schedule anyway. It was Friday afternoon.

Dr. Stone reached for Cosmo’s leash and looked up and saw what she already knew: Mazi needed more care than her dog with her bloodshot eyes, unkept hair and obvious distress.

Then again, she just walked a mile. Of course the woman's hair would be messy, Dr. Stone thought glibly.

Dr. Stone ran her hand over her own hair to make sure her ponytail was still tidy. She had pulled herself together, but she almost hadn’t. Seeing others who hadn’t—or were in the process of getting right—stirred a quiet storm inside and maybe a little nausea.

Her night had lasted years. She stayed awake 5 days—more than once. She threw away her medicine before facing squirrely days of detox without any doctor’s help. Her drive home and shame of failure were unforgettable. Remembering the faces of classmates whom she saw when she was downtown made her stomach hurt worse. Again, she stepped ahead mentally—and hit the heel of her hand on the metal examination table. It jolted her to the present.

“Are you OK?” Mazi asked.

“Yes,” Dr. Stone lied again. “I’m thinking of—where is Cosmo’s food?”

Mazi left it in her car, about a mile away.

“Could you drive me to it?” Mazi asked.

Amy, the vet tech, said she didn’t mind driving Mazi, but Dr. Stone knew she needed to.

Dr. Stone had gotten help and distinguished herself. But what had she done with tenderness? What day was it, in all her success of driving home to an empty house and eating alone, that she dismissed her silent oath to help women like herself if she ever stepped out of despair? But now, did she now have enough wellness to share?

“I graduated near the top of my class for veterinary medicine—but I’ve also struggled and failed miserably. You’re a beautiful woman, but you look beat up. Are you OK?” Dr. Stone asked, opening her breadth of experience so Mazi could find a place to relate.

 “I’m not OK,” Mazi laughed. “But now Cosmo will be.”

Crap. Did this woman plan on doing something really stupid? wondered Dr. Stone, poising herself for an even longer evening than she wanted. She was certainly no psychiatrist, but maybe she’d call the police after she got back from getting Cosmo’s dogfood.

Poor Mazi. Dr. Stone cranked her car and glanced again at her passenger. She smelled like cigarettes and had a blue bear tattooed with the name “Joey” in cursive underneath it on her neck. Dr. Stone wondered if Mazi had lost a son. 

“Is instrumental music OK?” Dr. Stone asked, hand on the volume knob.

“Sure,” Mazi replied, soon looking at her phone.

Dr. Stone exhaled and welcomed the swelling highs and deep lows of Bach’s prelude that played. She hoped it would be a great backdrop for Mazi to relax and finally feel her emotions. Maybe it had been a while since someone had given Mazi space to open up. Dr. Stone wanted to try to be that person for her. She herself had found a therapist to be there for her.

But Mazi stayed on her phone and the ride was mostly silent between them.

Dr. Stone felt the deep cello’s pull in the song and strove emotionally to think of things she’s thankful for instead of the memories that surfaced— the $1025 ambulance ride, the young men she never met from some church boxing and moving her stuff, the—“Here we are,” Mazi said, pointing to her blue hatchback on the side of the road.

Dr. Stone again smoothed her ponytail, and the women lifted Cosmo’s food into Dr. Stone’s backseat.

“But what about your car on the side of the road?” Dr. Stone asked. 

“My brother, when he gets off work, will help me,” Mazi said.

As they drove back to Dr. Stone’s office, Mazi laughed while looking at her phone, and flashed a picture of a muscular man to Dr. Stone.

“Wow. He’s—very fit,” Dr. Stone said.

“He’s also very edited. This is really him,” she said, showing Dr. Stone a couch potato literally sitting on a sofa eating a bag of chips.

Dr. Stone laughed and thought about her dad’s jokes back home and felt glad that Mazi’s brother was there for her.

Then Mazi gasped, pointing to a purple and pink sky outside Dr. Stone’s window: “Look!”

Dr. Stone held the wheel straight and turned her head. It was a beautiful sunset. Not worth a wreck, but still beautiful.

“You scared me,” Dr. Stone said.

“Here. For your nerves,” said Mazi, offering Dr. Stone a little candy bar. “From my son’s Halloween stash.”

“No thank you. I’m trying not to eat—”

 “Take it,” Mazi said.

Dr. Stone put the candy on her dash. They reached Dr. Stone’s office and together brought in the food.

“So just boarding for now?” Dr. Stone asked.

 “Yes,” Mazi said. “I have a church retreat this weekend.”

 “A church retreat?” asked Dr. Stone, happy to hear Mazi had plans beyond that night.

 “Yes,” Mazi said. “I need it.”

Mazi hugged Dr. Stone, kissed Cosmo goodbye and paid.

Dr. Stone smiled and ate the candy bar. She felt her shoulders drop and exhaled deeply.