plastic melting on the hot dashboard of the world

He watches her fill up the mason jar with water from the sink. Back out west the tap water tasted like dirt but out here the well is always fresh, crystalline and ice cold. He starts pushing his chair back from the table just as she holds up her hand to stop him from getting up. She wipes a few drops from the rim of the jar and lowers from her mouth.

“We need to talk about a couple of things.” Her eyes dart around the room and look everywhere but at him. The knot forms slowly in a small spot somewhere close to the lower part of his abdomen. His intestine wraps around itself in more twisted and convoluted shapes than nature’s original design. The room seems larger now making him feel miniscule and brittle, like something easily broken or thrown away.

“Okay. What?” The words originated from somewhere in his vicinity. He didn’t feel his lips move, but that wasn’t too out of the ordinary these days.

She takes the seat catty-corner from him and rests her elbows on the table. “I got a call from the doctor today.” She offers the jar for him to have a sip he shakes his head no.

“And…?”

“Well, first of all we have to reschedule your transfusion. It got set up on the same day we have IEP’s for the kids, dentist appointments for both of us and we have a meeting with the social worker too.”

He rubs his hands over the stubble on top of his head. “Okay. So we’re going to be exhausted when that’s all over.” She smiles and nods weakly.

“Yeah.” Her fingers drum on the table absentmindedly. He knows there’s something else going on. Otherwise she would be making jokes or complaining about how nuts everything is going to be on that day.

He holds open his hands and raises his eyebrows. “What else did he say?”

Her eyes thicken with moisture not able to look him in the face. “You have…” He let’s her take her time. By now it’s obvious that it’s something bad, so there doesn’t seem to be much need to rush her and make things worse. “He said that you tested positive for the antibody.”

He breathes in. He breathes out. He blinks. He breathes in. He breathes out. He blinks. He swallows. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t think much of anything. He tries to see if he can hear his brain telling his lungs to perform their instinctive duties. He tells his eyes not to blink. They blink anyway. He scratches at a bug bite on his right ring finger that he got sometime yesterday. He breathes in. He breathes out. He blinks. He swallows.

“I’m sorry honey.” She reaches over and touches his hand. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Sure.” He breathes in. He breathes out. “I wish I could say something other than ‘what else is new?’ You know?” He smiles.

“He said that there is no record of anyone having a reaction within the first year of treatment.”

“Yeah. I know.” He breathes in.

“There’s still other things we can try.”

“Sure.” He breathes out.

“We could try chemotherapy.” She stares down at the table. “But because you have the antibody, you could still get PML.”

“I know. I’ve already done the research.”

“Oh. I didn’t know that.”

He breathes in.

He breathes out.

He doesn’t blink.

He thinks words. Jumbled words. He breathes in. He breathes out. He doesn’t blink. He thinks thoughts that make no sense to him. He starts to wonder if he can think in languages he doesn’t speak.

Fake it.

He breathes in.

Fake it.

He breathes out.

Fake it.

He does not blink.

Fake it.
‘til you make it.

“How are you?” She asks him again.

“I’m okay. Really.” He looks at her. “How are you?”

Her eyes are still swollen. No tears have emptied out on to her face yet. She is trying really fucking hard to be strong for him.

“I could always go back on something I’ve tried before.” He stretches his neck back and cracks his knuckles. “Maybe even look into some alternative treatments. Right?”

“Well, there are no reports of any reactions in the first year. So let’s get to that point and decide from there.”

“Right.” He breathes in. “I’ve had the infusion twice. That gives me ten more until then.” He breathes out. He does not blink.

“Actually…” She perks up, “just because you tested positive doesn’t mean that you’ll have the reaction.” He raises his eyebrows at her. Her voice gets very quiet now. “But you always have every reaction possible.”

He breathes in.

He breathes out.

He swallows dry.

“This was my last shot.” Her cheek is wet. The back of her hand is wet.

She says a lot of things. He listens with the part of his brain that can still follow her voice. He breathes in. He breathes out. She is still saying things. He listens for words that he recognizes. He listens for something that might elicit a response or an emotion. He breathes in. He is hollow. He is plastic melting on the hot dashboard of the world. He breathes out.

He smiles. He fakes it. The evening continues. He calls his parents. Tells them nothing. He kisses the kids goodnight. He breathes in. He breathes out. He fakes it. He turns on the television. He watches other people’s lives. He breathes in. He breathes out. He fakes it. He is hollow.

He turns on the computer. He checks his email. He looks at his social networking updates. He fakes it. He breathes in. He breathes out.

He tries to think about it. He breathes in. He doesn’t want to think about it. He breathes out. He fakes it. He understands the words his mind is saying now. He breathes in. He breathes out.

He breathes in.

He breathes out.

He fakes it.

He blinks.

a.m.k.
05.10.11

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