“Death doesn’t have to be the only answer,” Will says.
Walking forward along the row, I check the bottles of nitric acid. Plenty.
“What is faith but blind hope?” Dr. Mendelson asks.
The prickling spreads down my shoulders. I focus on my steps, nice and easy, one foot in front of the other. Check the list. Sulfuric acid. Fine.
A distant faint grating of metal on metal. Just a cart passing in the hall, I reason with myself.
Potassium cyanide.
Unless . . .
I jump.
The burning sensation creeps down my back, and I set down the clipboard on the shelf. My entire body is aflame, and I claw at my shoulders and the sides of my head. My ears begin to pound with the noise of grinding iron.
It was her choice.
Take it.
It’s right in front of you.
Take it.
I reach forward and take the potassium cyanide bottle. The silence descends so abruptly that I turn around in shock. When you live with noise all the time, the quiet can be disturbing. I grip the bottle tightly and shove it into my jeans pocket. Whipping off my lab coat and balling it up, I rush out the inventory room and into the interns’ assignment room. I grab my backpack off the hooks and shove my lab coat on a shelf. I head to the elevators. Another intern rounds the corner and I wave.
“Can you tell Dr. Diaz I went for my dinner break?” I call. The elevator doors open and I step inside without hearing the answer. The doors close behind me.
The prickling is completely gone by the time I walk through the lobby and push open the glass doors to leave Genentium. Outside, it has become night. For once, I feel a warmth in the air. The lights from the diner beckon me and I remember the night I had to read Stephanie’s name tag as though meeting her for the first time. I close my eyes on the memory. Dad and I had practically lived at the diner; Stephanie like a wife and mother, laughing at all our stupid lab jokes.
What do chemists use to make guacamole?
Avogadros.
I grip the bottle in my pocket, the grooved ridges of the top filling me with immeasurable relief, and a weightlessness buoys my body. The train cannot reach me now. The rumble of cars passing along the streets, the faint buzz of tungsten streetlamps, the voices of a couple talking as they walk by me, I can hear all of it. The world opens before my eyes. A ravenous hunger descends along with a feeling of joy with each pang. I know exactly who I am.
I push open the door to the diner and spot Stephanie at the far end of the counter. I wave to her and take my usual seat by the cash register.
“Hey, sweetheart.” Stephanie walks over. “It’s good to see you back.”
“Hey, Steph. I’m sorry about the other night. I must have given you a scare.”
Stephanie leans her elbows on the counter and hunches toward me. She whispers, “Gracie, I have never seen you look that way. Even right after your daddy died, you still had that spirit inside you. But the other night, I thought I was seeing your lost ghost walk in.”
“I’m better,” I say.
Stephanie leans in closer and meets my eyes. “I can see that.” She straightens up and winks. “Will seems like a nice guy.”
Immediately, a blush blooms on my cheeks and I wish I had my summer tan to hide my reaction. Stephanie grins, seeing my reaction.
“You want your usual?”
I nod.
Stephanie pushes open the swinging door to the kitchen and steps inside. A cloud of steam rises up from a pot on the stove. The soft white billow shifts and moves like a phantom before the door swings closed. I reach down into the pocket of my jeans and grip the bottle for relief. I grab a nearby newspaper and quickly scan the headlines to keep my mind preoccupied.
Stephanie returns after a few minutes and slides a plate loaded with mashed potatoes and meat loaf in front of me before moving over to a group ready to order. I sit up straighter on my stool and breathe in deeply the familiar aromas. It’s been a long time since I’ve had real food. I cut into the tender meat with my fork and place it in my mouth. As I chew, a wave of nausea makes it hard to swallow. It must be from eating all the canned food. My body probably can’t tolerate anything else. I grip the side of my plate and try a scoop of mashed potatoes. My stomach heaves. I stand up quickly and rush to the bathroom. After splashing water on my face, I stare at my clammy reflection in the mirror and will myself to keep it together. My mouth pools with saliva, and I clench my jaw hard against the rising bile, but it’s too late. I turn around and vomit.
Summer
The sudden lurch of your stomach as though you have jumped from a cliff will awaken you. Your breath quickens as you sit up from your dreams, which will follow you into your waking world, the shrieks, the moaning and keening like a torture chamber of suffering. You will gaze around your room, knuckles to teeth, searching for the source, somebody in great pain.
The air will thicken with the reverberations. Every molecule ripe with anguish. You will feel as though your ears are bleeding from the cries, your throat scraped raw from the screams, your skin ripped open from the clawing.
You will crawl to the floor and hide under the bed, curling into a ball, your hands covering your ears, rocking back and forth, keeping time as you wait for
