Synopsis:
A man's visit to his chiropractor develops into much more.
Author's Note:
A commission I wrote for a client. I welcome any feedback you may have. Enjoy!
************************
DOCTOR JENNY'S HOME REMEDY
Section I.
The tires of a silver-blue Ford ground into gravel as it sputtered up a long driveway. Heavy rain fell like sheets of hail on the windshield, so cold and so dense that the driver could barely see ahead of himself. Greg Mullins, following his weekly routine, somehow managed to make it to the farmstead in one piece. Bad weather was unusual for his end of the county--even during the holiday winter--but one thing was for certain: Greg would not let anything stop him from receiving his weekly treatment, even as he sat shivering in his jeans and overcoat.
"Ugh..." He groaned. "Freakin' cold..."
This browned-haired man, no longer a youth, pulled a red umbrella from the passenger's seat and slowly stepped out of his car, boots splashing in a shallow puddle of water. He was warmly and comfortably dressed in blue jeans with an Armani topcoat and a green polo shirt underneath. And as he combed his brown hair in the rearview mirror and scanned the rainy, rural neighborhood behind him with his equally brown eyes, the man named Greg heaved a defeated sigh.
Another day, another year, he thought. Another year, another year of aches and pains. I'm most definitely not getting any younger.
Greg Mullins was in his late thirties now, well past the point of no return, and now in the latter stage of his life that stopped giving gifts and instead started taking them away. And with the stress and ailments of his own job, it was no wonder that Greg had little choice but to make weekly visits to his chiropractor.
Not that Greg minded.
The small, homely clinic, despite being run from a converted garage on a small hobby farm, was more than enough to suit his needs. And having been a regular patient for more than eight years, he did not intend to go anywhere else to have his joints cracked and his muscles massaged. As far as he was concerned, he would drive through a hurricane to get the care that he needed here.
As the heavy rain poured over a white, gable roof, spilling copiously over the potted rosemary and sunflowers on the porch, Greg was feeling unusually stiff. Wiping his boots on the floor mat which read "My Home Is Your Home", he quietly turned the squeaky, brass knob and walked in.
The reception room was just the same as usual. The walls were painted in neutral, pastel colors. Paintings of flower fields, clouds, and Golden Retrievers were hung high and low. A small statue of Jesus Christ himself sat on the shelf beside some Christmas stockings, candy canes, and strings of blinking, yellow lights. The floor was faux wood, but the hallway leading into the treatment rooms were lined with squares of plush, beige carpet. And a sweet incense that Greg could not quite place was burning; true to her word, Dr. Jenny would never burn the same candle twice.
"Hello Mr. Mullins! Welcome back!" A young brunette behind the desk greeted him warmly. "Keeping dry out there?"
"Trying to, Judy." Greg said, returning her smile alongside a rusty grunt. "Trying to."
"Here for your 4 o'clock, obviously?"
"Yes. Is Jenny in?"
"She's just finishing up with another patient. Have a seat. I'll take care of your papers for you."
"Thanks! Will do."
Greg took a seat just below the whirling ceiling fan. Striving to use his phone a little bit less these days, he took the opportunity to pull a copy of Time magazine off an adjacent coffee table, nonchalantly flipping through it. Images of advertisements, models, and political articles flashed rapidly through his vision. None of it registered as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The pain in his lower back was hitting him like glass shards. He leaned forward in an attempt to curb that pain, but to his chagrin it didn't ease one bit.
At that moment, a woman in form-fitting, blue scrubs entered the room. She shuffled in spritely, quickly nabbing a clipboard and glancing at Greg with her bright, grey eyes. Her long, auburn hair--graying at the roots--was worn in a charming ponytail, and her fair skin glowed immaculately in the light as she smiled sweetly.
Greg's heart skipped a beat. She was half the reason he was here.
"Well, well, well! Mr. Mullins! Good afternoon," she greeted warmly.
"H-hey, Doc," Greg replied with a pained smile.
"I half-expected you not to show up. Heard the storm is pretty bad."
"Wouldn't miss a chance to see you, Jen," Greg mused playfully. "Honestly, my back is killing me."
"I'll betcha. Give me a sec, okay? I'll be with you in a moment."
And with that, Dr. Jenny was gone again.
Greg had known Jenny for almost ten years. And despite knowing that she was a happily-married mother of four, Greg could not deny the blooming feelings he had for her as a single, unmarried man. At 5'9''--nearly the same height as himself--and a modest 140 pounds, Greg thought she was quite attractive for her age. The odd but alluring amalgamation of professionalism, faith, and flirtatiousness drew him to her like a moth to a flame. And over the last eight years, Greg had watched her not only expand her business, but become a mother to an increasing litter of children. Even now, he could still vividly remember his first visit when her first newborn slept quietly in a crib in the corner. A part of him felt like a surrogate father of sorts.
At last, a much older woman with a cane sauntered out from the hallway behind the curtain. Waving goodbye and wishing Judy the secretary a "Merry Christmas", the old woman opened the front door, pulled out an umbrella, and left.
"Greg! Come on over!" Jenny's face popped out from beyond the corner. "I'm ready for ya!"
Section II.
Greg was no stranger to this room.
The fluorescent lamps above flickered a champagne yellow, casting a dim but comforting pall of gold upon the walls. The curtains were closed, barely obscuring the silent deluge of rain just beyond it. A tall bookshelf of old medical textbooks, some perhaps dating back to Jenny's college days, sat in the corner undisturbed as it had for the past several years. Except now, Greg noticed, there was a copy of the Bible whose binding and label were lit by a small tealight. And by the door were a pair of potted ferns, providing a smidgeon of verdure in what would have been a mostly austere treatment room. In the center of it all was a pink massage table upon which Greg took a seat.
Jenny shut the door behind her, slipping on a new pair of clinical gloves.
"I'm not surprised your back is still in rough shape," she started. "You took the herbs I prescribed, didn't you?"
"I did," Greg replied. "But no dice."
"Mm, okay. No surprise there, if I'm being honest. Considering your line of work..."
"Yeah... can't do much about that."
"Well, all we gotta do is find your pressure points. A massage in your sensitive areas will do wonders!"
