and you know it. What’s going on?”
There was a purple smudge, or bruise, beneath her left eye. “Rough day,” she told him.
“Where were you?”
“I told you, thinking.”
“About what?” he asked, but she didn’t say. After a moment, he pointed the remote at the television, Jay Leno made a joke, and from the corner of his eye he watched her walk away and go upstairs.
Shortly after Conan O’Brian he fell asleep on the couch, drifted away, falling deeper into the world that had yet to find him in daylight.
* * * * *
In the belly of the island, he sees a clearing. Bark and leaves separate him from it. Then he’s there. Rock monoliths and stones—some skyward and some jagged and some streaked with mud like bloody teeth—sprout from the earth like the vertebrae of a great, buried beast. On a grassy peak, a man is silhouetted by the red dawn.
* * * * *
Robert weighed himself first thing Friday morning. He was one hundred fifty-two pounds. This reminded him of Billy Halleck from Stephen King’s Thinner and the chapter headings that gave Billy’s quickly diminishing weight.
He tried to shake it off, but on the drive to campus he noticed he was squinting to read the road signs. His eyes ached. He wondered if his problems might not be stress-related.
By the time he entered the teacher’s parking lot the world was blurry. His situation was not improved by blinking, nor by his attempt to clean sleep from his eyes. Fearful that he might hit another car, he parked in the back.
During his stroll to the English Department he made out a figure sitting Indian-style in the courtyard, a man that might have been staring right at him. He neared the railing that overlooked the courtyard, pretended to look out over the campus. The man was clad in a tattered pair of jeans, a T-shirt sporting Rob Zombie and a Confederate flag bandana. He wore a long, gray beard. He’d never seen a person on campus who appeared so obviously out of place, but to his left students circled the courtyard on sidewalks. None of them appeared to notice him. He shook his head, hoping his eyes would clear so he could get a better look. It didn’t improve, so he moved on, figuring there was nothing to do. What if the guy was just a student dressed out for drama club?
Still, the man remained in his thoughts all day.
* * * * *
Saturday morning Matt phoned. They agreed to meet at Mel’s Diner around noon. When Robert arrived the breakfast crowd had thinned and he was shown to the back. Approaching Matt, his knees shook and he rubbed his palms across his trousers. He felt weak, thin and altogether unmanly. Matt looked up, tried a commiserating smile while Robert slid into the booth. The waitress came and both men ordered coffee, then Robert took a deep breath and fisted his hands, pumping them like a heart. Gradually, he stopped shaking. Matt kept glancing around the restaurant, his eyes shifting to and from him. Robert took a full-chested breath as he nervously picked apart a napkin. “Matt,” he said. “Lay it out.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Cut the shit. How sick am I?” His eyes were clouded. He blinked madly. He clenched his fists. He wasn’t going any fucking place. Not yet.
“Very,” said Matt, staring at the table top. He drew in a deep breath. His cheeks puffed, then he blew it out and continued. “In fact, I can’t believe you’re sitting across from me, still breathing. I can’t believe you haven’t lost thirty pounds, haven’t suffered massive night sweats and incredible pain. Your appearance isn’t doesn’t remotely correspond with what’s going on inside you.”
Robert slumped back, looked out the window, found an obese woman wobbling back to her Benz. “I have cancer,” he said.
“It must have started in your prostate, then metastasized like crazy. I’ve never seen anything like your test results and we’re not even done with all of them. I haven’t seen this much tissue and organ damage in corpses.
There was a purple smudge, or bruise, beneath her left eye. “Rough day,” she told him.
“Where were you?”
“I told you, thinking.”
“About what?” he asked, but she didn’t say. After a moment, he pointed the remote at the television, Jay Leno made a joke, and from the corner of his eye he watched her walk away and go upstairs.
Shortly after Conan O’Brian he fell asleep on the couch, drifted away, falling deeper into the world that had yet to find him in daylight.
* * * * *
In the belly of the island, he sees a clearing. Bark and leaves separate him from it. Then he’s there. Rock monoliths and stones—some skyward and some jagged and some streaked with mud like bloody teeth—sprout from the earth like the vertebrae of a great, buried beast. On a grassy peak, a man is silhouetted by the red dawn.
* * * * *
Robert weighed himself first thing Friday morning. He was one hundred fifty-two pounds. This reminded him of Billy Halleck from Stephen King’s Thinner and the chapter headings that gave Billy’s quickly diminishing weight.
He tried to shake it off, but on the drive to campus he noticed he was squinting to read the road signs. His eyes ached. He wondered if his problems might not be stress-related.
By the time he entered the teacher’s parking lot the world was blurry. His situation was not improved by blinking, nor by his attempt to clean sleep from his eyes. Fearful that he might hit another car, he parked in the back.
During his stroll to the English Department he made out a figure sitting Indian-style in the courtyard, a man that might have been staring right at him. He neared the railing that overlooked the courtyard, pretended to look out over the campus. The man was clad in a tattered pair of jeans, a T-shirt sporting Rob Zombie and a Confederate flag bandana. He wore a long, gray beard. He’d never seen a person on campus who appeared so obviously out of place, but to his left students circled the courtyard on sidewalks. None of them appeared to notice him. He shook his head, hoping his eyes would clear so he could get a better look. It didn’t improve, so he moved on, figuring there was nothing to do. What if the guy was just a student dressed out for drama club?
Still, the man remained in his thoughts all day.
* * * * *
Saturday morning Matt phoned. They agreed to meet at Mel’s Diner around noon. When Robert arrived the breakfast crowd had thinned and he was shown to the back. Approaching Matt, his knees shook and he rubbed his palms across his trousers. He felt weak, thin and altogether unmanly. Matt looked up, tried a commiserating smile while Robert slid into the booth. The waitress came and both men ordered coffee, then Robert took a deep breath and fisted his hands, pumping them like a heart. Gradually, he stopped shaking. Matt kept glancing around the restaurant, his eyes shifting to and from him. Robert took a full-chested breath as he nervously picked apart a napkin. “Matt,” he said. “Lay it out.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Cut the shit. How sick am I?” His eyes were clouded. He blinked madly. He clenched his fists. He wasn’t going any fucking place. Not yet.
“Very,” said Matt, staring at the table top. He drew in a deep breath. His cheeks puffed, then he blew it out and continued. “In fact, I can’t believe you’re sitting across from me, still breathing. I can’t believe you haven’t lost thirty pounds, haven’t suffered massive night sweats and incredible pain. Your appearance isn’t doesn’t remotely correspond with what’s going on inside you.”
Robert slumped back, looked out the window, found an obese woman wobbling back to her Benz. “I have cancer,” he said.
“It must have started in your prostate, then metastasized like crazy. I’ve never seen anything like your test results and we’re not even done with all of them. I haven’t seen this much tissue and organ damage in corpses.
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