Удушье (Choke)

The next visit, I have two.

Every visit there's less and less of her under the blanket.

In another way, there's less and less of Victor Mancini sitting in the chair next to her bed.

The next day, I'm myself again, and it's only a few minutes be­fore my mom rings for the nurse to escort me back to the lobby. We sit not talking until I pick up my coat, then she says, 'Victor?'

She says, 'I need to tell you something.'

She's rolling a ball of lint between her fingers, rolling it smaller and tighter, and when she finally looks up at me, she says, 'Fred Hastings was here. You remember Fred, don't you?'

Yeah, I remember.

These days, he has a wife and two perfect children. It was such a pleasure, my mom says, to see life work out for such a good person.

'I told him to buy land,' my mom says, 'they're not making it anymore.'

I ask her who she means by 'they,' and she presses the nurse button again.

On my way out, I find Dr. Marshall waiting in the hallway. She's standing just outside my mom's door, leafing through notes on her clipboard, and she looks up at me, her eyes beady behind her thick glasses. Her one hand is clicking and unclicking a ball­point pen, fast.

'Mr. Mancini?' she says. She folds her glasses and puts them in the chest pocket of her lab coat and says, 'It's important that we discuss your mother's case.'

The stomach tube.

'You asked about other options,' she says.

From the nurse's station down the hallway, three staffers watch us, their heads tilted together. One named Dina calls, 'Do we need to chaperon the two of you?'

And Dr. Marshall says, 'Mind your own business, please.'

To me, she whispers, 'These small operations, the staff acts as if they're still in high school.'

Dina, I've had.

See also: Clare, RN.

See also: Pearl, CNA.

The magic of sex is it's acquisition without the burden of pos­sessions. No matter how many women you take home, there's never a storage problem.

To Dr. Marshall, her ears and nervous hands, I say, 'I don't want her force-fed.'

The nurses still watching, Dr. Marshall cups a hand behind my arm and walks me farther away from them, saying, 'I've been talking to your mother. She's quite a woman. Her political ac­tions. All her demonstrations. You must love her very much.'

And I say, 'Well, I wouldn't go as far as that.'

We stop, and Dr. Marshall whispers something so I have to step closer to hear. Too close. The nurses still watching. And breathing against my chest, she says, 'What if we could com­pletely restore your mother's mind?' Clicking and unclicking her pen, she says, 'What if we could make her the intelligent, strong, vibrant woman she used to be?'

My mother, the way she used to be.

'It may be possible,' says Dr. Marshall.

And not thinking how it sounds, I say, 'God forbid.'