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Show 60 for the excuse being on Medicaid gives me in instances such as this but I nevertheless do not offer up our poverty for her perusal. Instead I am thanking her with as much graciousness as I can gather together on this frosty morning and telling her that I would consider buying it if the manufacturer could explain exactly how it would help a disease that is not terribly well understood. If she can find that information, I am telling her, alarmingly proud of the true kindness I am hearing in my voice, I will think about affording it. I do not tell her about the other neighbor who wanted me to try the fitted magnets, for a price. I do not mention the also expensive herbal concoctions that I have been promised would cure me. Nor do I share with her the tense visits of those tactless few who warn me that I must be lacking in faith or I would be healed. At least those with cans and bottles and gadgets in their hands are speaking to me with the kind belief that their products would help me. I can only wonder at the motives of those tactless few, thinking to measure my faith by my innocent encounters with the random in life. She has run out of words. Her spiel has come to its end. I am sitting solidly in my wheelchair, looking her straight in the eye, waiting. "It's just that it has helped me so much," she is beginning, stammering, and I will relieve her embarrassment. |
