Rosehips

Jorga, my occasional acupuncturist, was staring into my ear this morning when he noticed something. He had already finished his business with the needles, paying special attention to the line extending up my arm to my shoulder, which I had injured last week, and was the reason for my visit. He twisted those needles one at a time, and when I winced and told him it hurt, he did it again.

"Are you having problems with your hips, too?" he asked my ear.

"No," I responded, but too quickly. Initially, a "hip problem" made me think of a joint problem, but the truth is, my hip is bruised as hell. I keep knocking the same spot, right where the bone protrudes a bit, and the result is layer upon layer of bruising -- a kaleidoscope of wounded yellows, blues, and gray-greens. At flat track practice last night, a newer skater wiped out in front of me, and I went down with her, crashing onto the concrete hip first, again. I jumped from the floor in a flurry of angry "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"s. The upper crust is of my kaleidoscope bruise is newly pink where the injury is fresh.

"Yes," I changed my answer. "I keep bruising my hip."

"Your left one?

"Yes."

"I can see that. It's here in your ear."

Then he taped some seeds in my ears and told me to buy Indian food because the tumeric would help my shoulder heal.

"I cook with tumeric all the time. I have it at home."

"You should go buy some Indian food now."

It was 9:30 a.m.

"O.K."