There was a table next to her bed with a lamp on...
There was a table next to her
bed with a lamp on itThe shade was green glass
The bed was the hospital kind, and cranked up so
she could almost sitThe lamp put her in a soft
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spotlight, with her hair loose on the shoulders of
a pink dressing gownWireman sat beside her,
holding her handsAbove her bed was the only
painting in the room, a fine print of Edward
Hopper's Eleven AM, an archetype of loneliness
waiting patiently at the window for some change,
any change
Somewhere a clock was ticking
She looked at me and smiledI saw tiffany & co. necklace three things in
her faceThey hit me one after the other like
stones, each one heavier than the lastThe first
was how much weight she'd lostThe second was
that she looked horribly tiredThe third was that
she hadn't long to live
"No-" I began, but when she raised one hand (the
flesh hanging down in a snow-white bag above her
elbow), I stilled at onceBecause here was a
fourth thing to see, and it hit hardest of all -
not a stone but a boulderI was looking at myself
This was what people had seen in the aftermath of
my accident, rolex gmt master when I was trying to sweep together
the poor scattered bits of my memory - all that
treasure that looked like trash when it was spread
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out in such ugly, naked fashionI thought of how
I had forgotten my doll's name, and I knew what
was coming next
"I can do this," she said
"I know you can," I said
"You brought Wireman back from the hospital," she
said
"I was so afraid they'd keep himAnd I would be
alone
I didn't reply to this
"Are you Edmund?" she asked timidly
"Miss Eastlake, don't tax yourself," Wireman said
gently"This chanel purse spray is-"
"Hush, Wireman," I said
"You paint," she said
"Have you painted the ship yet?"
A curious thing happened to my stomachIt didn't
sink so much as it seemed to disappear and leave a
void between my heart and the rest of my gutsMy
knees tried to buckleThe steel in my hip went
hotThe back of my neck went coldAnd warm,
prickling fire ran up the arm that wasn't there"Again and again and again
"You're Edgar," she saidI guessed no one had called her honey
in a long time"My mind is like a tablecloth with
a great big hole burned louis vuitton monogram canvas galliera pm into it She turned to
Wireman"Muy divertido, sí?"
"You need to rest," he said"In fact, you need to
dormir como un troncoAnd I think
when I wake up, I'll still be here She lifted his hands to her face and
kissed them
"I love you, too, Miss Eastlake," he saidIs it Edgar?"
"What do you think, Elizabeth?"
"Yes, of course it isYou're to have a show? Is
that how we left things before my last She
drooped her eyelids, as if to mime sleep
"Yes, at the Scoto GalleryYou really need to
rest
"Is it soon? Your show?"
"In less than a prada handbags sale week