“Scalpel.”
Layla handed Freda a retractable utility knife.
“Wait,” the ten-year-old set the knife on the floor. “Razor.”
Layla grabbed the small blade from the washcloth on the floor. She handed it to Freda, who gently placed its blade to her teddy bear's chest. Slowly, she shaved a piece of fur one inch by two inches wide from the stuffed bear’s chest to its belly. Layla watched, impressed by her friend's precision eye. Confident she had cleared the bear's chest of excess hair, Freda placed the razor on the floor and picked up the retractable blade knife.
With a steady hand, she placed the knife to the teddy bear's chest and sliced an incision. When she finished, she returned the knife to the washcloth.
Snapping her surgical gloves, Freda inserted her index finger on each side of the incision. Then she pulled, exposing the teddy bear's insides. With no expression, Freda exposed the white cotton beneath the teddy bear’s fur.
“What now?” asked Layla.
Freda said nothing. Prodding the bear's chest with her finger, she slid the cotton to the side. A purple pulsating organ appeared beneath the outer exterior of the bear's inner parts. Freda exhaled. Layla smiled.
“There it is,” she said.
Freda turned her head away and lifted her surgical mask. She coughed. Then she returned her mask firmly over her nose and mouth, turned to the bear again. Taking the knife in her left hand, she pulled the bear's skin with her right index finger.
“Finger,” Freda ordered.
Layla stuck her finger into the incision next to Freda's. Their gloves rubbed against each other as Freda removed her finger. She repositioned herself on the other side of the teddy bear's head and pulled its cloth skin until its heart was fully exposed. Its chest spread between rib cages, the cotton underskin fell out of the way thanks to Layla's quick thinking and expert assistance. Freda inserted the knife and cut a vein. Layla handed her a clamp.
Freda set the knife on the bear's belly, taking the clamp between a finger and thumb. She snapped it onto the bear's cut vein. They repeated the procedure until all veins and arteries were cut and clamped. Then Freda removed the bear's heart and handed it to Layla.
“Heart,” Freda commanded. No expression, no emotion. Pure science.
Layla maneuvered her hand to the washcloth, retrieved a chicken heart, and replaced it with the bear's own organ. She smiled. Holding the heart between her thumb and forefinger like a valuable jewel, she handed it to Freda.
Freda took it. The girls gazed at each other with satisfaction. Freda poked her index finger into the bear's chest again, pulled the skin back, and pushed the cotton out of her way. She set the heart in place, matched arteries and veins to valves. She took her time to ensure every measure of success with clock-like precision. Like a surgeon.
“Suture.”
Layla handed Freda a needle with stitches, followed by a pair of tweezers. She watched as Freda sewed the heart's valves to their corresponding veins and arteries, then tested them for circulation. The surgeon looked up, nodded. Layla removed her finger from the bear's chest, and Freda stitched it shut.
Another success. They cleaned their tools with the same care as their more critical, more substantive work, threw their masks in the trash, and moseyed downstairs for dinner.
Allen Taylor is working on the first part of a trilogy called The Merkabah Chronicles. Subscribe to this newsletter to stay abreast of its progress.
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First published at Substack. Image by Whisk.
