Center of
Attention
Arnold, the guest of honor, arrived
late. His uniformed attendant, soft-soled shoes squeaking against the spotless
floor, guided him down the dimly-lit, anonymous hallway. A whiff of floor
polish and antiseptic greeted them as they rounded the corner to their
destination.
The door before them opened
automatically with an efficient mechanical whisper revealing a large room that
was, quite simply, dazzling. The white walls and spartan furnishings gleamed;
it was certainly cleaner – and neater - than anywhere he’d ever been invited
before, and blessedly cool on this mid July day. Blessedly because Arnold had
developed a rather unpleasant odor of late. But it wasn’t his fault. Just one
of those things that happens as a body ages.
The two proceeded into the room, and
there they were, his audience, all formally dressed for the occasion, even
sporting gloves and white jackets.
Arnold was not the least bit self-conscious
about what he wore, which was nothing.
Two men rushed forward to usher him
further into the room. Bright lights suddenly flooded his eyes. This was by far
the most attention Arnold had gotten in his whole life.
The crowd paused expectantly.
“Is everyone ready?” asked the
master of ceremony.
Instruments were raised.
“Today’s lesson is autopsy. Let’s
begin.”
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