A to Z of You and Me by James Hannah Page A

they your favorite shoes?”
    Foot nods.
    â€œAnd what about you?” she asks the other foot. “Have you been wearing Hi-Tec Silver Shadows?”
    The other foot nods too.
    â€œOf course you have. It’d be silly to wear something else, wouldn’t it? Then you’d be in odd shoes. Did you like wearing your Hi-Tec Silver Shadows?”
    The left foot nods yes, and the right foot shakes no.
    â€œEr…”
    I say, “They like them, but one rubbed a bit.”
    She leans in to my feet. “Who’s that?” she whispers, gesturing up toward my head.
    Both feet shrug.
    â€¢ • •
    â€œDo you have tingly feet at all?”
    Dr. Rhys.
    â€œDo you have tingly feet?”
    â€œMmm…sometimes? Maybe?”
    â€œYes, you see, that’s not normal. With diabetes that could indicate the onset of nerve damage. Which can mean you get sores that don’t heal and become infected, and then we might have to amputate. I’ve got four people in this district who have a cupboard full of useless left shoes as we speak.”
    â€¢ • •
    This is it. This is good.
    I’m walking. I’ve left my bed and I’m walking down the corridor and it was my idea.
    I’m so rubbish at having the idea myself. I have to imagine what you would say to me. What would you say? You’d say:
    Imagine yourself there. Then you’ll recognize it when you get there.
    I’m walking, I’m walking.
    I’m doing something with my life.
    And it’s good. Good to keep the feet moving.
    Got my blanket on my back, your arms around me.
    It’s nice. Take it slowly.
    One foot in front of the other.
    Push, slip my way through the fire doors. They chunk shut behind me.
    It gets the circulation going. Gets the brain going. Gets the thoughts, the ideas going. It’s good; it’s positive. Something as simple as things to look at, new things to take in. Makes you look more kindly on the world.
    Wish I’d done it earlier.
    The coffee machine, there it is. The Café Matic 2. There’s a big stack of mugs beside it. All different. The staff brings them in. I Love London. Phantom of the Opera. A Room of One’s Own… Virginia Woolf.
    Steady, now. It’s nice to go at a glacial pace. Keep near the wall.
    I glance in on the room to my left. There’s an old lady on the bed. A younger woman looks up at me from the visitors’ chair, and I’m gone.
    Around the corner now. Bulletin board up on the right, pinned every inch over with flyers and leaflets. The papers at the bottom lift and flutter in the convection of the heater beneath.
    Convection current. Another concept Mr. Miller taught us in science. Will I never be rid of that man’s influence?
    St. Leonard’s Church Fete — £430 raised for the hospice. Not a bad sum. Or is it? It’s hard to tell. Huge thanks to all. Yeah, thanks.
    Palliative Care in the Home. We all want to be where we feel most comfortable. Familiar surroundings. Not my home. With family and friends . Not my family. Or my friends.
    Cancer, Sex, and Sexuality. Everyone is different. There is no such thing as a normal sex life. You may still have needs and desires even if you are very ill.
    Massage. Karen Eklund. Swedish masseuse. Twice weekly sessions in the Baurice Hartson room. Sessions last approx. 50 mins. Write your name below for a consultation. No pen provided.
    Reflexology, Bowen Therapy, and Reiki. Heal yourself.
    Time to move on.
    Laughter now colors in the corridor from the room at the far end. Audience laughter. And a voice. Familiar voice. By the time the sounds travel down the corridor to me, the words gather shimmer from the walls and the floor, so they are buried amidst the avalanche of sound, of gloss paint and vinyl. They talk of the corridor. They talk to me of pastel wallpaper and detergent. Shiny floor. Easy to clean. Health-inspector fresh.
    I squeak along the corridor toward the sound,