and the echo of his aphorism “When you’re in bed, you’re dead” began anew inside my head.
I entered, pushing a smile onto my face. He wore a yellow pajama-like top, and a blanket covered him from the chest down.
The lump of his form was so withered that I almost thought there was something missing.
He was as small as a child. Morrie’s mouth was open, and his skin was pale and tight against his cheekbones.
When his eyes rolled toward me, he tried to speak, but I heard only a soft grunt.
“There he is,” I said, mustering all the excitement I could find in my empty till.
He exhaled, shut his eyes, then smiled, the very effort seeming to tire him.
“My... dear friend...” he finally said. “I am your friend,” I said. “I’m not... so good today...”
“Tomorrow will be better.” He pushed out another breath and forced a nod.
He was struggling with something beneath the sheets, and I realized he was trying to move his hands toward the opening.
“Hold...” he said. I pulled the covers down and grasped his fingers. They disappeared inside my own.
I leaned in close, a few inches from his face. It was the first time I had seen him unshaven, the small white whiskers looking so out of place,
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