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Show across the cot in an arc and disappeared down toward the floor. "Pump," said the man in white. "What?" Her eyes were closed. "Pump your fist. It makes the blood go faster." She pumped her fist and the man in white placed a large "X" of adhesive tape over the needle, securing it firmly into her arm. "I'm starved," said the man from cot twenty-three after he too had been uneventfully stabbed and the man in white had left. "How about you? Hungry yet at all?" "No," she said. "I feel like my stomach is full of ice." "You'll feel better when you get your blood back," he said. The man in white came and went several times, making adjustments, bouncing between them on rubber soles. 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. "What's the question?" he asked. "I don't know. I just know I didn't come all this 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?" "What do you mean?" "I mean we never talk." |
