I don't know what to say anymore.
All I can tell you is this.
I feel things.
All over.
I feel things.
Friday, August 29, 2008
She is sleeping. Dr. Macafee watches. Noodle arrives at the hospital.
She was resting now. Hours earlier, she'd struggled again against the heart monitor and the IV. She kept telling them she wanted to go home, was tired of being in the hospital. She kept insisting that it was time for her to leave.
Dr. Macafee kept adding days to the chart. This evening, he sits at her bedside calculating how long it may take for the wound in her chest to heal. He'd have released her far earlier for rehabilitation had she not gotten an infection. Hospitals, you'd think they were sanitary. She was better now, resting, her fever back to a startling low 95 degrees. Apparently she ran colder than most.
"I don't know why you keep doing this," he muttered as he checked the rest of her vitals. "If you'd just sleep a little more, eat like we asked, you could go home any day now."
But she was defiant. She refused to eat the amount of food he prescribed and insisted she didn't want reconstructive surgery for the bullet wounds. She asked only that he fix her face. When she went down in the cafeteria that day, apparently the shock to her body forced her forward, her face thwacking the sharp edge of a table. The ragged edge of the old table ripped shreds down the left side of her face and the impact on the floor broke her nose.
He didn't know why she wouldn't let him fix her chest. The two bullets that tore through her heart tissue had been removed, but the exit wounds blew large holes through the front of her chest. The scarring could be helped, he thought.
Sighing, he sat down again, glanced out the window at the setting sun and then turned his face to her. She really was a lovely creature and quite puzzling too. He couldn't explain his fascination with this patient.
Meanwhile....minutes later.....
Noodle walked slowly toward the hospital emergency door. In his left hand, a letter. In the right, a single yellow tulip.
In his mind, one phrase,
"There is always hope."
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Sensation #7 - Fury
It doesn't happen all that often, but when it does it feels a lot like someplace between a 101 degree humid day and 30 below zero all at once. It's as if someone dipped your gut in boiling water and then sank it into an ice bath. Yeah, that's what it's like.
And when the heat roars through it feels like unrequited violence - a slap that can be felt but never offered the face that earned it. And then the numbing part that wets over the hurt, well it's just as scary. It's enough to turn an ordinary person into a raging lunatic.
Nothing hurts more than betrayal except betrayal over a falsehood.
And it feels someplace like hell or Indiana.
And when the heat roars through it feels like unrequited violence - a slap that can be felt but never offered the face that earned it. And then the numbing part that wets over the hurt, well it's just as scary. It's enough to turn an ordinary person into a raging lunatic.
Nothing hurts more than betrayal except betrayal over a falsehood.
And it feels someplace like hell or Indiana.
Noodle's new girlfriend looks like her only different
"You want the last tuna roll," she asked, eyeballing him across the table.
He watched as she clicked her chopsticks and then rubbed one along her bare arm. The tattoo was no longer startling even next to the blanched utensil.
"Huh? Umm, no, no thanks," he replied. He glanced around the dining room at Lin Seng's and wondered just how much time had really passed. How long had he been out of it or how long had he been too invested in reality, he wasn't really sure.
"You okay?" she asked him, between chews.
"Yeah."
"I mean, you haven't said much at all and this is your favorite place. You seem distracted."
Noodle looked down. He had no idea why he'd done this. He wasn't ready, didn't know this person either, anymore than he ever knew anyone else before. And damnit if she wasn't just an edgier copy of the one before her.
"It's nothing," he began, twisting his napkin. "I mean, I've had a rough week, man. You know? I'm all, well you know how I can be sometimes."
Rough wasn't exactly it. He'd found out too much reading the paper. She was alive and in a slow, painful recovery. Guilt was eating him and now....well, he didn't know just what now. All he knew is that he couldn't turn whatever the gut check was, off.
"You know you can tell me," she interjected, breaking his silent pondering.
"Huh?"
"Damnit," she started, "This is the problem. Right here. This." She dropped her chopstick on the table. "If I wanted to be ignored and treated like everyday waste, I'd have stayed with him."
"I'm sorry okay? We good?"
"No, we're not good."
"Maybe we should split then," Noodle commented absently, realizing just then that he meant it.
"What the fuck?" she spat back, glaring, her eyes then brimming with tears.
Damn, not again. This is how the shit always started. He always got to this place where there was weeping, anger, and his slow skulk out to his car, alone.
"I can't do it," he said. "I'm sorry."
"Fine," she said quietly. "But I'm never gonna be her. Don't think I don't know."
He watched as she left the restaurant, her wet chopstick at an angle against the last of the tuna roll. He decided he was hungry afterall.
He watched as she clicked her chopsticks and then rubbed one along her bare arm. The tattoo was no longer startling even next to the blanched utensil.
"Huh? Umm, no, no thanks," he replied. He glanced around the dining room at Lin Seng's and wondered just how much time had really passed. How long had he been out of it or how long had he been too invested in reality, he wasn't really sure.
"You okay?" she asked him, between chews.
"Yeah."
"I mean, you haven't said much at all and this is your favorite place. You seem distracted."
Noodle looked down. He had no idea why he'd done this. He wasn't ready, didn't know this person either, anymore than he ever knew anyone else before. And damnit if she wasn't just an edgier copy of the one before her.
"It's nothing," he began, twisting his napkin. "I mean, I've had a rough week, man. You know? I'm all, well you know how I can be sometimes."
Rough wasn't exactly it. He'd found out too much reading the paper. She was alive and in a slow, painful recovery. Guilt was eating him and now....well, he didn't know just what now. All he knew is that he couldn't turn whatever the gut check was, off.
"You know you can tell me," she interjected, breaking his silent pondering.
"Huh?"
"Damnit," she started, "This is the problem. Right here. This." She dropped her chopstick on the table. "If I wanted to be ignored and treated like everyday waste, I'd have stayed with him."
"I'm sorry okay? We good?"
"No, we're not good."
"Maybe we should split then," Noodle commented absently, realizing just then that he meant it.
"What the fuck?" she spat back, glaring, her eyes then brimming with tears.
Damn, not again. This is how the shit always started. He always got to this place where there was weeping, anger, and his slow skulk out to his car, alone.
"I can't do it," he said. "I'm sorry."
"Fine," she said quietly. "But I'm never gonna be her. Don't think I don't know."
He watched as she left the restaurant, her wet chopstick at an angle against the last of the tuna roll. He decided he was hungry afterall.
Unusual Circumstance #1 - What he thought about
This really is ridiculous, he thought every time her memory came to mind. His brain turned over her image and the spontaneity of her personality a little too often for his comfort. Sitting on the back patio, book splayed open on the ground next to him, he closed his eyes and tried again to figure out why he gave a damn.
Afterall, he doesn't know her. All he knows is what she tells him in her letters and they both know that's edited bullshit she makes up. He knows because he edits too. In this world, you don't just say what you mean, right? Eventually, she's going to corner him into telling her the truth and perhaps that's what keeps his mind going around.
Besides, Candace is a good woman. She writes too and has good intentions. She calls a little too often, but that's okay. She's interested. However, he couldn't commit to Candace despite her outspoken commitment to him. He had to figure out why that was too.
There's nothing wrong with Candace save the fact that she's.....she's....well, pretty ordinary. She was typical Midwest, homegrown, Bible belt normal. Maybe that was what was plaguing him and not this woman he met only briefly at a stupid cocktail hour party months ago.
He didn't really know much at this point other than her letters were starting to become a reliable and expressly meaningful part of his everyday existence. Perhaps what he wondered was what she thought too?
Afterall, he doesn't know her. All he knows is what she tells him in her letters and they both know that's edited bullshit she makes up. He knows because he edits too. In this world, you don't just say what you mean, right? Eventually, she's going to corner him into telling her the truth and perhaps that's what keeps his mind going around.
Besides, Candace is a good woman. She writes too and has good intentions. She calls a little too often, but that's okay. She's interested. However, he couldn't commit to Candace despite her outspoken commitment to him. He had to figure out why that was too.
There's nothing wrong with Candace save the fact that she's.....she's....well, pretty ordinary. She was typical Midwest, homegrown, Bible belt normal. Maybe that was what was plaguing him and not this woman he met only briefly at a stupid cocktail hour party months ago.
He didn't really know much at this point other than her letters were starting to become a reliable and expressly meaningful part of his everyday existence. Perhaps what he wondered was what she thought too?
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