Doc Character Analysis

I’d seen motorcars and coal trucks around town, read about them in books and magazines, but I never imagined I’d come this close to one, let alone ride in one. I stared at the shiny steel-winged lady perched on the nose of it.

Doc must’ve seen my bewilderment because he grinned and said it weren’t nothing more than a radiator ornament called “the flying lady.”

[…]

Then he opened the heavy door. “Time is wasting, Bluet. It’s just a horse with wheels,” he insisted. “A 1932 Plymouth automobile, is all. Get in. You’ll find it’s a comfortable sedan.”

I know’d what it was, but the leap from knowing to actually touching one seemed overwhelming. I looked at Doc and then back to the machine, and pulled out one of Pa’s handkerchiefs from my pocket to dab my brow.

It was a life I’d only read about in my books, and my hungry hands touched the glass, trying to touch the stories I’d read.

[…]

I fumbled with the crank, then finally opened the pane and breathed in smells of oil, gas, concrete, and other scents I couldn’t name, tasted the peculiar spirit of the place, listened to the unusual buzz, the city’s open hymnal.

The soot of the city, its oils and smoke and grit, filled my nose, burning, watering my eyes.

A motorcar hurried past us and honked, startling me. Another answered back, and still another and several more. Shouts, the pound of hammers, and music and loud greetings swirled from every direction. “There’s so many voices. How do folks stand it?” I pressed my palms to my ears, swiveling my head to follow it all.

“I’m sorry the nurses were rough with you, Bluet,” he said, “but it was important—very—and we’ll learn soon about your family’s blood and how we can fix it—fix you, my dear.”

I felt a spark of anger slip behind my eyes, prompting a headache. What I wanted most was to be okay as a Blue. I never understood why other people thought my color, any color, needed fixing.

[…]

Fix. Again, the chilling word caught in my throat, and I suddenly wished Mama had fixed my birth with some of her bitter herbs. Then I would’ve never had to suffer this horrid curse of the blueness. Still Doc said it would be wonderful, and I couldn’t help but wonder what my and Pa’s life would be like if we were fixed.

Winnie clasped her hands. “If only we could get more outreach programs up here. If only they could send a block of cheese with every book, a loaf of bread.” She tilted her head to the sky as if telling it to God.

I wished it too. Their hunger for books could teach them of a better life free of the hunger, but without food they’d never live long enough to have the strength to find it.

“Just one damn block of cheese,” Winnie scratched out in a whisper.

I thought of the cheese Doc promised. If I could bargain with him for more food, I could give it to the schoolchildren.

For a minute I envied her, wanted to send Junia home, unlace my heavy, tight shoes, and run free with her to escape Frazier, the doc and his medical tests, and everything damning to me—to hunt and fish in the woods like I’d done as a child. To be wilded. Have a wilded heart in this black-treed land full of wilded creatures. There were notches in these hills where a stranger wouldn’t tread, dared not venture—the needle-eyed coves and skinny blinds behind rocks, the strangling parts of the blackened-green hills—but Angeline and hillfolk here were wilded and not afraid. And I longed to lift bare feet onto ancient paths and be wilded once again.

“I feel the same as before, Doc.” But I turned back to the mirror and know’d I wasn’t, nor would ever be. I brushed my hand slowly over my face, poked my lips that had colored a pretty pink, my cheeks a soft rose. Normal. I peered again at the stranger looking back at me, then looked at Doc, questioning.

“Modern medicine,” he exclaimed.

“I’m a stranger.” I stared at my reflection.

“A right pretty stranger at that,” Doc commented. I gazed back to the glass and inspected closer.

Pretty. Could it be? My neck looked white, like linen that matched my hands. I raised a palm and lightly braced it at the base of my neck. A tear rolled off my cheek, then another and several more, splashing onto my white hand. I was white, and that pretty white stranger was me. Me.

But Pa weren’t listening to me or the doc, and a few minutes later, I flew out the door to relieve my stomach same as last night.

Finished, I crept back inside. Pa gawked at me, alarmed. “Daughter, are you hurt?”

Doc shook his head. “No. It’s temporary, Elijah. Like the drug.”

“Temporary? Then it’s a vanity, not a cure,” Pa snapped.

I winced.

“She should feel better directly. It’s just a little discomfort that’ll right itself, Bluet,” the doc said with sympathy in his voice.

“Prideful,” Pa grumbled. “Dangerous.”

“It’s a safe cure,” Doc insisted. “And Bluet’s strong.”

Pa scowled. “Belladonna cures ails too, and it’ll turn mean an’ slay the strongest.”

“Oh my,” she said. “So pretty, and the prettiest li’l daisy I’ve ever seen. Isn’t that right, Samuel?” She jiggled him up and down on her hip. The baby squealed with delight, poked a finger into his drooling mouth, and grinned at me. “Yessir, our Bluet’s a looker, and one the boys are gonna want to hook,” she told him teasingly. “And look at you, Samuel, already a’flirtin.’”

Harriett walked out of the ladies’ room.

“Uh-huh. One pretty lady,” Birdie said.

Harriett’s heel landed beside me. She leaned her head dangerously close to min. “A pig in lipstick is still a stinking pig,” she spat, her wet hiss spinning in the air as she swept past me to her desk.

I turned. Her red eyes bored into mine. And I held them, locked, and lifted my chin two-man tall, snatching back some of the humankind that had been stolen.

I’d seen motorcars and coal trucks around town, read about them in books and magazines, but I never imagined I’d come this close to one, let alone ride in one. I stared at the shiny steel-winged lady perched on the nose of it.

Doc must’ve seen my bewilderment because he grinned and said it weren’t nothing more than a radiator ornament called “the flying lady.”

[…]

Then he opened the heavy door. “Time is wasting, Bluet. It’s just a horse with wheels,” he insisted. “A 1932 Plymouth automobile, is all. Get in. You’ll find it’s a comfortable sedan.”

I know’d what it was, but the leap from knowing to actually touching one seemed overwhelming. I looked at Doc and then back to the machine, and pulled out one of Pa’s handkerchiefs from my pocket to dab my brow.

It was a life I’d only read about in my books, and my hungry hands touched the glass, trying to touch the stories I’d read.

[…]

I fumbled with the crank, then finally opened the pane and breathed in smells of oil, gas, concrete, and other scents I couldn’t name, tasted the peculiar spirit of the place, listened to the unusual buzz, the city’s open hymnal.

The soot of the city, its oils and smoke and grit, filled my nose, burning, watering my eyes.

A motorcar hurried past us and honked, startling me. Another answered back, and still another and several more. Shouts, the pound of hammers, and music and loud greetings swirled from every direction. “There’s so many voices. How do folks stand it?” I pressed my palms to my ears, swiveling my head to follow it all.

“I’m sorry the nurses were rough with you, Bluet,” he said, “but it was important—very—and we’ll learn soon about your family’s blood and how we can fix it—fix you, my dear.”

I felt a spark of anger slip behind my eyes, prompting a headache. What I wanted most was to be okay as a Blue. I never understood why other people thought my color, any color, needed fixing.

[…]

Fix. Again, the chilling word caught in my throat, and I suddenly wished Mama had fixed my birth with some of her bitter herbs. Then I would’ve never had to suffer this horrid curse of the blueness. Still Doc said it would be wonderful, and I couldn’t help but wonder what my and Pa’s life would be like if we were fixed.

Winnie clasped her hands. “If only we could get more outreach programs up here. If only they could send a block of cheese with every book, a loaf of bread.” She tilted her head to the sky as if telling it to God.

I wished it too. Their hunger for books could teach them of a better life free of the hunger, but without food they’d never live long enough to have the strength to find it.

“Just one damn block of cheese,” Winnie scratched out in a whisper.

I thought of the cheese Doc promised. If I could bargain with him for more food, I could give it to the schoolchildren.

For a minute I envied her, wanted to send Junia home, unlace my heavy, tight shoes, and run free with her to escape Frazier, the doc and his medical tests, and everything damning to me—to hunt and fish in the woods like I’d done as a child. To be wilded. Have a wilded heart in this black-treed land full of wilded creatures. There were notches in these hills where a stranger wouldn’t tread, dared not venture—the needle-eyed coves and skinny blinds behind rocks, the strangling parts of the blackened-green hills—but Angeline and hillfolk here were wilded and not afraid. And I longed to lift bare feet onto ancient paths and be wilded once again.

“I feel the same as before, Doc.” But I turned back to the mirror and know’d I wasn’t, nor would ever be. I brushed my hand slowly over my face, poked my lips that had colored a pretty pink, my cheeks a soft rose. Normal. I peered again at the stranger looking back at me, then looked at Doc, questioning.

“Modern medicine,” he exclaimed.

“I’m a stranger.” I stared at my reflection.

“A right pretty stranger at that,” Doc commented. I gazed back to the glass and inspected closer.

Pretty. Could it be? My neck looked white, like linen that matched my hands. I raised a palm and lightly braced it at the base of my neck. A tear rolled off my cheek, then another and several more, splashing onto my white hand. I was white, and that pretty white stranger was me. Me.

But Pa weren’t listening to me or the doc, and a few minutes later, I flew out the door to relieve my stomach same as last night.

Finished, I crept back inside. Pa gawked at me, alarmed. “Daughter, are you hurt?”

Doc shook his head. “No. It’s temporary, Elijah. Like the drug.”

“Temporary? Then it’s a vanity, not a cure,” Pa snapped.

I winced.

“She should feel better directly. It’s just a little discomfort that’ll right itself, Bluet,” the doc said with sympathy in his voice.

“Prideful,” Pa grumbled. “Dangerous.”

“It’s a safe cure,” Doc insisted. “And Bluet’s strong.”

Pa scowled. “Belladonna cures ails too, and it’ll turn mean an’ slay the strongest.”

“Oh my,” she said. “So pretty, and the prettiest li’l daisy I’ve ever seen. Isn’t that right, Samuel?” She jiggled him up and down on her hip. The baby squealed with delight, poked a finger into his drooling mouth, and grinned at me. “Yessir, our Bluet’s a looker, and one the boys are gonna want to hook,” she told him teasingly. “And look at you, Samuel, already a’flirtin.’”

Harriett walked out of the ladies’ room.

“Uh-huh. One pretty lady,” Birdie said.

Harriett’s heel landed beside me. She leaned her head dangerously close to min. “A pig in lipstick is still a stinking pig,” she spat, her wet hiss spinning in the air as she swept past me to her desk.

I turned. Her red eyes bored into mine. And I held them, locked, and lifted my chin two-man tall, snatching back some of the humankind that had been stolen.