own outbursts did I have to quiet? How long would I know to quiet them?
I heard the vacuum cleaner running upstairs. I felt like I was listening to the buzz inside my head. I felt I was at Crane Lake with my children in water wings that were slowly losing air.
I knew I would last a while longer. Maybe even through the wedding. I could live many years. The medicine I was taking seemed to help. I was physically healthy, but inside my head, I was full of holes. No, it wasn’t holes. It was clutter. Little filings that stuck to open circuits, clogging them. My face was as it always was. It was my brain that would deteriorate, no, was deteriorating. There would be lesions, open spaces. I thought of the doctor’s words. How long would Solome have to live with my body after my mind had gone? No, it was going to be harder than that.
The day would come I would call out for death, and it would not come.
What was this disease? Where did it come from? How did I get it? How fast would it come? What was ahead? How could a man forget how to sit down? Would I eventually stand at my chair and not know to bend my legs and sit? Would Solome push me behind the knees to let me know to bend my legs? It hadn’t happened yet. Why was I rushing ahead? No, it was not here yet. But it would come. I would lose words, the basis of our relationship.
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