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July 04, 2005

Split Ends - dead engine

I was in astrology maybe I should not say, maybe I was in astronometrics and I was there and life goes on but I'm doing fine. I started to move my hands, my arms, and now I can sit up and breathe on my own. There is this odd device that they screw into the hole in my neck that is like a voice-box and allows me to talk a bit at a time.

Tan comes in and visits every day she can, when she's not out of town. She is only allowed to visit for an hour at each time. I feel an incredible sort of love for her. The hospital has become some weird peaceful second home to her. She said that the salad bar in the hospital is not bad... and sometimes at the counter the cook puts a plate of the leftover ends of sweet breads for passers-by to sample. Tan tries to entertain me by reading some of her favorite short stories really loud. Her hair is growing. She looks beautiful. This time she brought the recording of a new band she's promoting, to play for me on a disc-man and some huge headphones. There's a new song and a set of cover songs that she know I would love. She hello, we stare at each other for a while, and fall in love a little bit more, and play the songs and she weeps and I and then the time is over and a phone is ringing.

I've watched the hill get covered in snow a few times since I’ve been in here. There's this stark yellow carpet and the rehab stuff, piles that are accumulating on the floor and I wonder if they'll maybe go away magically.

Why did I not learn how to build bridges? Cometh, be afraid! My small-minded fantasies are driving up with a schedule that I don't even believe in. Zipping through the ward I have an angle into my life I never had before. Bed is near.

Frank brought out this large notebook and started to write, and gave me a nice marker and I got to draw on the other side, so I made some sketches and another picture which was a sort of globe with flowers sprouting out of it stretching to some unknowns. Frank admired them. I think he was very cold and a little bored. But I know these bulgy smooth hands, his wide veins crawling on a deep cover.

The twins returned to summer school as usual. Tan's left eye was swollen in the morning. Daddy told Tan to shed some tears to flush her tear ducts. She said Red hit her and made her cry in the afternoon. Tan said thanks to Red for hitting her. When daddy came home from work, the twins wanted to pick the plums from the tree in the front yard. The twins rode on daddy's shoulders to reach for the low hanging fruits. They picked about a dozen plums. The twins ate all of them after dinner. The twins asked when our neighbor would be home because they want to look for the frisbee in his backyard. Daddy suggested to them to write a letter and leave a phone number so that he could call back. The twins were enthusiastic. After daddy offered several hints, they finished their own sentences. They took turns to write one line each. They have written short notes to their friends before. But this one was their first letter with a purpose.

Doctor Dell came in in the morning. He checked me and said everything looked normal and that the most recent MRI showed no changes. He checked my legs for sensations with a paper-clip. He went up and down each leg poking me with the open end to see if I could feel anything and said something about swirling. I told him of itching and he promised to up my daily Exium to 300 mg. I also told him that last night I thought I saw him getting on his car and resting on the dashboard and that I could see him sneering and could not tell if he was sleeping at all or not. He scratched his nose and laughed and said that must have been Juan. I tried to laugh but ended up with a cough or a dry hacking sound from the Machine. He had me sit up and left, shaking my pinky as he usually does. I spent the rest of the day watching the cars moving in and out of the parking lot. Too fast a shadow against the glow of the unfinished Haven Dome at a distance and it's all right, only please come here cowboy, would ya?

Stevo came in today and he's winding me round the bends on my speed-chair all through the Center's neighborhood. He brought over a catalog of expensive Clarins beauty products. I laugh at Stevo pointing to what I want for my birthday. I will be 36 in two days. I haven't worn makeup in ages. He wears a blue t-shirt with a crescent moon and a star. After a few minutes, he coos about how good the botanically rich neighbors smell. "They relax me" I say. We're going to visit the Art Gallery, two blocks down from Dell's rehab place. Stev doesn't spend time in art galleries and museums. In fact, when asked which artists he admires, he stares blankly, shakes head and can't name a single one.

The place is tiny and incredibly packed with pop replicas, meteoric paintings, two large Bodell's and a generous assortment of Jessica Park's Pop Architectural. The bulky pale sales guy points at the latter right over my wheeled-movers with an hysterical "It's idiosyncratic and people love them" and continues "In fact, Park's sell as fast as she can make them. Many are snapped up by real estate moguls and Wall Street businesses. She works on commission, with a one-year backlog".

One of these paintings is a night scene, focusing on a black carriage-style lamp, filled with radiant multicolored light. Park apparently loves anything pertaining to the sky, be it clouds or shooting stars. Looking at the painting, it's easy to see that repetitive semicircular enchants her too.

It's summer afternoon, Stevo is eager to talk about food and I have a promise hanging to be back on time for my meds. Stev's phone rings and it's Tan calling from Winnipeg where she's touring her new band and a collateral circus of lawyers and falling equipment for the night show. "Is she there now?", "No, I just lost her", then I take it and kiss her through the mike and hail again. She's fine. "I have to go, we all have one big old lawyer-like party on the phone while the fate of my delicate little band and stupid songs for the next, oh, ten years or so, is decided" "Ehi, kid, be nice, take care, I'll be there for the party". Yeah, why not? Ehi, Steve, we're going to have a party right? When I'm older? He nods vigorously with his big red neck and shuts his eyes.

We're heading back, the tacos in a wrap, and as he rolls me back in kindly and quietly through the sliding doors the sun draws split ends on the verge.

© Fortunato Caragliano

Posted by lck at July 4, 2005 09:31 PM