from Annie Atkin's A Little Pinch of Salt ... (one of my current fave reads online ...)
A simple mathematical equation
How long were you together? he asks, pressing a stethoscope against my back. Two and three-quarter years, I say. And how long is it since you split up? he asks. Two and three-quarter months, I say. Everyone always asks the same two questions, and I wonder if there's some kind of mathematical equation that I'm unaware of going on here.
I am back at the doctor, just making sure this small pain I still have in my chest isn't pneumonia. No, it's not pneumonia, he says. I wonder if maybe, just maybe, it could be my heart? He wonders why a healthy young woman thinks it could possibly be her heart.
There's nothing wrong with your heart, he says, putting the stethoscope away. But I'd like to do a chest X-Ray, anyway. There may have been some damage to your ego.
My ego? My ego is in my chest? I never knew that! I never knew that, I say. I never knew my ego was located in my chest.
No, says the doctor. Not many people do.
--
Later, as I wait for the results, I notice a framed photograph on his desk: two small children running along a beach, a dog, and a pretty woman in a dress. He must have used his surgical scissors to carefully cut it out of a catalogue one afternoon.
Like I thought, he says, striding back into the room. Bruising all down one side.
I've never seen an ego before. It's like a jelly-fish up there on the lightbox, caught mid-squirm in my upper rib-cage. I can see a face in it, if I squint. My ego looks like Jack Nicholson, I think.
Is it a particularly big ego? I ask, wide-eyed.
He shrugs. It's a little on the large side.
And the bruising? I whisper, almost afraid to ask. How much longer is this terrible bruising going to last?
It's been two and three-quarter months now, Annie, he whispers back, leaning in to tell me exactly what I want to hear. This will all be over by midnight tonight. A simple mathematical equation: a month for every year.
I am back at the doctor, just making sure this small pain I still have in my chest isn't pneumonia. No, it's not pneumonia, he says. I wonder if maybe, just maybe, it could be my heart? He wonders why a healthy young woman thinks it could possibly be her heart.
There's nothing wrong with your heart, he says, putting the stethoscope away. But I'd like to do a chest X-Ray, anyway. There may have been some damage to your ego.
My ego? My ego is in my chest? I never knew that! I never knew that, I say. I never knew my ego was located in my chest.
No, says the doctor. Not many people do.
--
Later, as I wait for the results, I notice a framed photograph on his desk: two small children running along a beach, a dog, and a pretty woman in a dress. He must have used his surgical scissors to carefully cut it out of a catalogue one afternoon.
Like I thought, he says, striding back into the room. Bruising all down one side.
I've never seen an ego before. It's like a jelly-fish up there on the lightbox, caught mid-squirm in my upper rib-cage. I can see a face in it, if I squint. My ego looks like Jack Nicholson, I think.
Is it a particularly big ego? I ask, wide-eyed.
He shrugs. It's a little on the large side.
And the bruising? I whisper, almost afraid to ask. How much longer is this terrible bruising going to last?
It's been two and three-quarter months now, Annie, he whispers back, leaning in to tell me exactly what I want to hear. This will all be over by midnight tonight. A simple mathematical equation: a month for every year.
***
this gypsy's taste of that pinch of salt ...
You go to rehab ... to fix yourself ... then a single mention of his name, sightings of an old picture he sent to you ... over hearing love songs he emailed ... accidental glimpse of threads in FB and YM ... faces of common friends ... memories good and bad ... you spiral into relapse ... slip into coma.
It's much harder after that ...
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