Siobhan and I are at a hospital. We both have a disease. Cancerous? Siobhan has psoriasis, she has it spread across her bare chest and towards her arms and shoulders. You cannot see it on me.
The nurse leads us to a waiting room, more like a shower changing area with a curtain. She tells us to sit on the swimming noodles, one each.
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Siobhan sits on hers, but I’m not sure I like mine. It is dark pink with a blue cap on one end so I push it aside and sit on the bench. I reach over to Siobhan. She has straight black hair and I give her a hug, her bare skin close against mine.
Over the balcony in the room below a naked woman with yellow flowing hair and full body dances across the floorboards, “I’m cured, I’m cured!” the woman sings.
The nurse comes back and leads us to a large room with hospital beds. A few patients occupy the beds. We pass the office of the doctor, he seems old, has graying hair, and is talking unintelligibly to a person in a dressing gown. We are shown to our bed, although it is not a hospital bed, but a bed from a guest house; a double for both of us, unmade, with the top sheet pulled down and across.
I want to pee, should have done that earlier.
Image by James Ronin
