Thursday my company went on a 25 mile foot march. It was long. It was exhausting. It was painful. I might not have made it had it not been for Dr. Heitnutts. We were around mile 20. The blisters on my heels had opened up well before then and the pain had been deadening since then. However, my energy was running low. My legs, which up to that point had been fine, were starting to ache. My pace was slowing. I had not eaten since the afternoon before, and I was sweating water quicker than I could drink it. Many others were in the same situation. I knew that I could walk past the pain. The more I walked, the more it would just be ground away. But I was becoming sluggish. My energy was running very low and all I could think about was how tired I was. I had been up front the entire way but I had been gradually falling back. I was looking down most of the way. Our trail was covered with fist sized rocks and it was impossible to look straight ahead without stumbling or worse. After an hour of staring at the ground, putting one foot in front of the other, I had to look up. The background in my peripheral vision appeared to be moving forward, while the ground in front of me appeared to be going back. I felt like if I kept staring at the ground I would vomit or pass out. When I looked up, beside me was Dr. Heitnutts was beside me. He looked pale and worn. But his eyes were bright, and he seemed to be gaining strength with each step. I marveled at his new energy. Then I noticed the blood caked around his lips. He was chewing on something, and with each bite took a step equal to two of mine. He had food.
"Don't suppose you have any more?" I asked. I knew before I asked. He would not have more. More would be one more than what he would keep for himself, and such a thing could never exist. If he had 1,000 M&Ms, that would be the exact number he would have to have. If he found an extra on the floor, smashed and tangled with hair, then he'd need 1,001. But to my surprise he offered me his hand and said "Sure."
He curled his hand in a fist with just the pinky finger sticking out. He had been chewing on the ring finger. All that was left was a little nub that had been clotted by the dust kicked up by our march. I was speechless. I could not believe his compassion and generosity. I ate his little finger quickly. I couldn't control it. But I tried to savour it and revere it. It reminded me of eating chicken feet in China. It was mostly skin and bone with very little meat. But the act itself seemed to bolster me, and infuse me with some spiritual nutrition that would see me through the rest of the way. His finger nail got stuck between my teeth, but even that helped me. Worrying at it with my tongue kept my mind off the pain and the trail, and before I knew it were there. Finished.
So I take back some of the harsh things I've said about Dr. Heitnutts. He might not give you any fucking M&Ms, but he's still got 8 fingers to lend.
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