(no subject)
A beautiful police man in the emergency ward, dark darkest hair shiny and perfectly translucent. Lost and bored and watching me as I cry and cry and cry. And, another man, a smart doctor with freckles under his eyes and truth on his lips, who tells me, with his eyes down... that my father is dying. My mother makes me angry and I yell and scream in pale blue. My estranged brother touches me all the time, it makes me feel like someone has stabbed me. I do not wish to be touched. My mother does not sleep in her bed anymore. My father laughs and tells jokes to the other patients, it will be ok, when I go back to work, he says. I used to wait for him to come home from work when I was young, so we could play guitar. Eventually, one day, I stopped waiting. My father is dying. He has lung cancer and brain cancer, and the neurosurgeon will not do anything more. It is too late, he tells us. My fathers eyes flicker to my face, I do not blink, I nod and thank him. There isn't much time, and it's time to go, I say. We will have his 60th birthday party as we planned. It will be the last one. My father is dying.
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