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Show 199 The man in white came and went several times, made adjustments, bounced between them on his rubber soles. But the last time he came he took away their blood, one bloated plastic bag in each hand. "Getting my blood back isn't the answer," she said. The man wasn't sure what she was talking about. "What's the question?" he asked. "I don't know. I just know I didn't come all the way out here to do this with you." The man had been staring at the ceiling. Now he turned his head so that he faced her. "Look," he said, "I can see you're unhappy. This isn't exactly my idea of a good time either. But talking about it doesn't make it any better." "How would you know?" she said. "What do you mean?" "I mean we never talk." "We're talking now," he said. "No we're not," she said. The man went back to staring at the ceiling. The silence between them was modified by the FM radio music. All the songs sounded the same. After a moment he said, "You don't have to keep pumping. That's just to help force the blood out. You're getting saline now. You don't have to do anything." The woman looked up. Above her, clear fluid was slowly dripping |