Winnie the Pooh (draft 1)

A pile of gray leaves rustled quietly at the foot of a warped tree in the Hundred Acre Woods. A small finger branch on a mid-level arm of the tree scraped gently against one of the glass windows emerging from the knots of the old oak. Amidst this demonstration of nature, a phone rang quickly and sharply. Once, twice, three times, and then it clicked.

Hello Mr. Pooh, we are calling to remind you to contact our office and schedule a visit—

There was a loud crash, and a potted plant fell off one of the windowsills of the tree house as Winnie the Pooh emerged from his bedroom frazzled and with one arm out of his ketchup-red shirt, the attached paw stuck conveniently in a honey jar the size of a flower vase.

“Oh bother,” Pooh exclaimed as he rushed over the empty honey pots and discarded sugar packets toward the phone. “Bother, bother bother.”

Just as Pooh untangled himself from a an old nightcap—who made the damn things so long anyhow—the answering machine clicked once again and was silent.

“Mother—” he began as a bird chirped, “—bother.” he finished reluctantly. Slamming the honey jar off of his paw and stepping over the mess, Pooh wiped his nose and picked up the phone. He quickly hit redial, hoping to God that the line wasn’t busy yet. Having only one general practitioner in the Hundred Acre Woods was good in theory, but the current exponential growth of the Woods population made remedial tasks such as scheduling an appointment achingly tedious. The last time Pooh had been to the doctor he had sat in the waiting room for close to two hours, and all for a bellyache that went away with a glass of water and a second jar of honey.

To his dismay, the phone provided the busy signal after only one ring. Pooh sighed in frustration, cursing the inconvenience of a call-only scheduling system and staring at the ceiling. As he hung up and began to hit redial, his eyes swirled around the room and landed on the broken honeypot in the corner by the small wooden chair. A syrupy glaze shone on the dirt floor, and Pooh felt the familiar pang in his stomach. He hit redial, and then was pulled as if in a dream to the honey on the floor. Slurping it up like a dog out of a water bowl, Pooh smiled for the smallest instant, then stood up, running a paw through his fur. This whole thing was the problem, anyway, and yet the extreme back up of the doctor’s office had not yet scheduled a visit to provide him with his insulin pump.

Telling me to just cool it with the honey, Pooh thought to himself bitterly. As if they don’t know who I am. As if they don’t know my relationship with honey isn’t worth less attention than Eeyore’s depression.

Sighing and beginning to pick up the pieces of yet another broken honey jar from the floor, Pooh suddenly heard a muffled “hello?” from the phone, and he rushed over the mess to pick it up.

“Hi, yes, this is Winnie the Pooh, I just got a reminder call to schedule my insulin appointment at Acre Medical? I just missed the phone call, and I was wondering if I could schedule that appointment right now.”

“Oh, hello Mr. Pooh, good to hear back from you. We don’t have any available appointments this week, but we have a few coming up in the following week, does that work for you?”

Pooh felt an ache in his stomach as he murmured his approval. “Yes, that’s fine, what appointments do you have?”

“I have one for Thursday October 16^th, at 11:00am, how does that sound?”

Pooh considered this for a moment. Thursdays were the days he visited Christopher Robin in the care facility, but he supposed he could be a few minutes late for that. In his current state, Christopher probably wouldn’t remember what day it was, let alone what time.

“Mr. Bear? Does that wor—”

Pooh shook his head and interrupted hastily. “Yes, yes that’s fine. I’ll be there. Thanks so much.”

“Okay Mr. Bear, I’m putting you down for Thursday October 16^th at 11:00am. We recommend that you arrive at least fifteen minutes early to your appointment and remember to drink plenty of fluids before you arrive. Have a wonderful evening, and we look forward to seeing you!”

“Thanks, you too.”

Pooh hung up the phone and sighed once again. He stared dejectedly at the broken pieces of honey jar scattered all over the floor, the sugar packets (a ridiculous habit he picked up when the local honey producers took the added sweeteners out of their honey) and the piles of slimy, dirty clothes. He suddenly noticed the broken flowerpot, and leaned against the wall next to the phone, sliding down until he was looking at the tops of his feet. “This isn’t how it was supposed to be,” he said quietly. “Nothing was supposed to end like this.”

Hearing a blustering wind howl outside and rustle the leaves, Pooh leaned over and peeked out the window. Rabbit, clutching a basket of the year’s last carrot harvest, was walking briskly behind Roo, who hopped with purpose unknown to Pooh in his middle age. He has somewhere to be, I guess. Pooh considered sadly. Another date at the piercing parlor, maybe, to rebel against his mother’s newest relationship, but somewhere to go nonetheless.

Sitting quietly at the window and feeling sorry for himself, Pooh suddenly realized he had somewhere to go as well. He brightened at the realization that he had finished his last jar of honey, and needed to obtain some more before the evening set in. He had almost two full weeks until his date with diabetes at the doctor’s office, and damned if he wasn’t going to make the most of it.

Blinking several times and burping quickly to provide room in his stomach for the newest addition, Pooh put his arm through his shirtsleeve and strolled quickly out the front door. The light was startling at first, but as his bare paws crunched among the leaves, Pooh began to relish in the sunshine. It was a new day, a fresh, clean, autumn day, and a perfect day to feed his addiction.