She lay on her back, wrapped tightly in my poncho liner, to my left, asleep. The book I was reading made a tent on my lap. I wasn't reading it. I was pretending. No information was being taken in, I was simply scanning the same line over and over. Checking my watch I saw that I'd have to wake her soon for another pain killer. I gently got off the bed, setting my book down. The sunlight coming through the blinds was warm.
In the small kitchen I crushed the pill into a grainy white power with the back of a spoon. Because of her religious beliefs she was opposed to taking anything. No aspirin, no doctors, no perception pain killers. I didn't care. She was going to take this, mixed in a light tea. I tried not to think, just listen to the rush of traffic outside and the chalky crunch under the spoon. The microwave hummed behind me.
"They call her name at 7:30
I pace around the parking lot
Then I walk down to buy her flowers
And sell some gifts that I got
Can't you see
It's not me you're dying for
Now she's feeling more alone
Than she ever has before"
This song comes out of fold space, exploding into my head with a blinding flash of light.
... And I'm on the floor...
... And I'm sobbing...
"I'm sorry. So, so, so sorry... "
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