Bodies

"Strengthen me with raisin cakes,
refresh me with apples,
for I am weak with love."
Song of Songs 2:5

Valentine's day approaches us with its familiar presence at Walgreens. The aisle is pink. I'll be there with some of you.

I keep a blanket folded in the backseat of my car to sleep when I need to. I tell you this to set the scene: me in the car at twilight. It smells like chicken in my car.

The radio is on. A woman speaks about her dying husband and I am paralyzed, cold, blanket over my legs. I could go in the house to greet my awaiting wife but I'm sitting in the car listening to the radio in the dark. It has become nighttime since the last paragraph.

The woman on the radio seems composed as she describes the difficulty of watching your spouse die. I can hear that she has nice teeth. Her husband is granted a statistical probability prior to each surgery. Depending upon this number, he stipulates that he would like to have a conversation with his wife and their children with certain things he would like to say to each. She intimates that there is a level of reluctance on her part in participating in these conversations. Understandable. I nod. I think she must talk about this a lot because she seems unshaken. I think he's not dead yet. I smile.

Just then, the host asks a question that sounded unplanned. He says, "Approximately 2 million people are listening to us right now. And your husband. What would you say to them? And him?" She audibly inhales. It was quiet for a second and in her pause I'm imagining her forming her thoughts. Silence on the radio seems longer than it really is. After her pause she says, "My husband is still the strongest man in any room."

My wife is now standing in the passenger window to my left. She must have heard my car pull up. She looks at me and smiles knowingly.