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didn’t dare look

published: 2014-09-12

I am always suspicious of events which parallel the clichés in books. It has you wondering whether life follows the story or the other way around.
A doctor who lives in my street came home with me one evening, there had been a festival in our neighbourhood. He was the tall and striking man, while I was the heartbroken blue-eyed woman. He had just the remedy, and indeed he did.
The next day, my son rolled around in bed with a fever and clutching his tummy.
I texted the doctor: “Is there a doctor in the street?” I added a smiley, underlining the cliché.
He entered in all his fresh niceness, utterly cool and composed. Om studying him I realized I must have read too many Danielle Steeles in my teens. Danielle Steele would make money off such scenes though, where I don’t. I suppose because my focus lies elsewhere. On the fact that despite his calm, his hand lightly trembled as he pushed my son’s tummy. And that he didn’t dare look at me, while my son didn’t dare look at him.

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