Do you want me to carry it in for you?“No, it’s fine,” I said.
The cylindrical green tank only weighed a few pounds, and I had this little steel cart to wheel it around behind me.
It delivered two liters of oxygen to me each minute through a cannula,
a transparent tube that split just beneath my neck, wrapped behind my ears, and then reunited in my nostrils.
The contraption was necessary because my lungs sucked at being lungs. “I love you,” she said as I got out.
“You too, Mom. See you at six.” “Make friends!” she said through the rolled-down window as I walked away.
I didn’t want to take the elevator because taking the elevator is a Last Days kind of activity at Support Group, so I took the stairs.
I grabbed a cookie and poured some lemonade into a Dixie cup and then turned around. A boy was staring at me.
I was quite sure I’d never seen him before. Long and leanly muscular, he dwarfed the molded plastic elementary school chair he was sitting in.
Mahogany hair, straight and short. He looked my age, maybe a year older, and he sat with his tailbone against the edge of the chair,
his posture aggressively poor, one hand half in a pocket of dark jeans.
I looked away, suddenly conscious of my myriad insufficiencies.
전체재생
다음페이지
문장검색