Bad News

Posted on June 4, 2009

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IN THE ER WE SIT AND LISTEN to nurses chat about their boyfriends and their dogs and you lean up and say “that man’s got a snake in his throat,” which I think is cryptic so I hold your hand tightly and pray you aren’t going delirious from all the blood; though maybe it’s the man’s yellowed beard that’s freaking us out or maybe it’s the meth addict banging her hands on the bathroom door, screaming for some help, her fingernails are scratching the tiles now. The woman next to us is bleeding from her nose and the doctor says she has a rare disease and she smiles and her husband smiles and they look at us and smile and I can’t figure out why, except maybe they have lived a long life and they are looking at us and happily praying that our disease is common, treatable. And your disease is common, but it is not treatable and it is dirty and quick and it makes the best parts of you hide inside of the deepest parts of you. Your disease is going to kill you and it is going to kill me too, at least the “me” that you know, the me that wants to kiss you even in the most public places and the me that wants to stay inside long after we’re finished. Everything around us blurs the way reality loves to blur itself when intensity comes and I am lucky I get to look at you and your eyes (which are really truthful and happy) and the doctors are nowhere around to give us the bad news.

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Posted in: June 2009