EPIPHANY BY MICHELLE CACHO-NEGRETE 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 140 PREVIEW
Chris kissed Bart and whispered, “See you soon.” She made her way back to his room. She sank into an easy chair and watched pigeons strut along the windowsill in the rain.
The banal elements of the hospital reminded her that somebody else had taken charge of her life with Bart, the bleached smell of the linen, the bitter medicinal odour of the air, the endless blood tests, the checking temperatures, the dispensing of pills.
The rain became a noisy torrent rattling the hospital windows and she felt nauseous. A gray veil of dingy light shrank the contours of the room making her feel claustrophobic. The table was piled high with boxes of candy and baskets of fruit, wrapped in cellophane. Bright flowers spewed from vases like vivid graffiti against the walls. Everywhere were cards hand-made by artist friends. The previous night, Bart had joked, “Preserve them, who knows how much they might be worth some day.”
She dozed, then Doc Logan was there, mask pulled down beneath his chin, blood dotting his surgical whites. He smiled, pulled the soft cloth cap off his head and said, “Success.”
She thought he expected her to hug and thank him while in fact she hoped to never see him again, but she was grateful. “Thank you, so very much,” she said, hugging him. He smiled, told her he’d see her in a week, hugged her back, and left.
Then cross-legged in Bart’s bed she ate half a box of chocolates, and called everyone they knew.
Bart was discharged with prescriptions for antibiotics, painkillers, instructions, and warnings that it would take him some months to feel like his old self.
“I’ll never be my old self,” he said in a solemn tone of voice. He said he was flooded with a new psychic energy, a new vision of his work, and a new, profound love and connection for the whole damned world.
The doctor, hand on Bart’s shoulder, said, “It’s often what I hear after cancer surgery. Survival’s euphoric. Enjoy it.”