He canceled.
So Crosby canceled a quasidate with me tonight. Eh, which is just as well.
* * *
My sister came over a few hours ago. Her face was hollow as she walked in the door, and her voice was flat.
As soon as I saw her, I could tell something was wrong. I know that look ... and that tone. Some people fly into hysterics, or break down in tears at bad news. My sister simply goes ... blank. Like an android. A fact-spouting, slate-faced android.
"I need to talk to you," she told me. "About something serious."
"OK, sure," I said, following her to the living room as she sat down on the couch. "What happened?"
"Mark is in the hospital," she began.
I didn't want the soft sell. In fact, I knew something bad was coming, so I didn't really feel like I needed it.
"Is he dead?" I interjected.
A funny expression swept over her face, then vanished again. She was silent for a few moments, and her eyes began to rim a tiny bit.
"No. He overdosed on cocaine. He's in a coma."
* * *
A broken date seems pretty insignificant, when you consider I might be going to a funeral in a few days.
On the bright side, Mark shows some responsive reflexes. His eyelids are fluttering, for instance. However, he has yet to speak. There could be some brain damange. Additionally, his white blood count is over 20,000. Dad thinks there may be some sepsis going on; Mark had recently been holed up in a motel room on Amarillo Boulevard, shooting IV drugs with a dirty needle.
If the OD doesn't kill him, the infection may.
I don't know how to feel about any of this. I am staring at the eventuality that I always knew was coming. It doesn't scare me. It doesn't sadden me -- yet.
It just numbs me.
Maybe my sister and I are more alike than I previously realized. I just walked by a mirror not long ago, and saw a slate-faced android where my reflection belonged.
I'm going to try to get some sleep for now.
Even if my ability to dream tonight stays far at bay.
* * *
My sister came over a few hours ago. Her face was hollow as she walked in the door, and her voice was flat.
As soon as I saw her, I could tell something was wrong. I know that look ... and that tone. Some people fly into hysterics, or break down in tears at bad news. My sister simply goes ... blank. Like an android. A fact-spouting, slate-faced android.
"I need to talk to you," she told me. "About something serious."
"OK, sure," I said, following her to the living room as she sat down on the couch. "What happened?"
"Mark is in the hospital," she began.
I didn't want the soft sell. In fact, I knew something bad was coming, so I didn't really feel like I needed it.
"Is he dead?" I interjected.
A funny expression swept over her face, then vanished again. She was silent for a few moments, and her eyes began to rim a tiny bit.
"No. He overdosed on cocaine. He's in a coma."
* * *
A broken date seems pretty insignificant, when you consider I might be going to a funeral in a few days.
On the bright side, Mark shows some responsive reflexes. His eyelids are fluttering, for instance. However, he has yet to speak. There could be some brain damange. Additionally, his white blood count is over 20,000. Dad thinks there may be some sepsis going on; Mark had recently been holed up in a motel room on Amarillo Boulevard, shooting IV drugs with a dirty needle.
If the OD doesn't kill him, the infection may.
I don't know how to feel about any of this. I am staring at the eventuality that I always knew was coming. It doesn't scare me. It doesn't sadden me -- yet.
It just numbs me.
Maybe my sister and I are more alike than I previously realized. I just walked by a mirror not long ago, and saw a slate-faced android where my reflection belonged.
I'm going to try to get some sleep for now.
Even if my ability to dream tonight stays far at bay.