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Show Moon - 206 Anne woke up to the thin buzzing of her travel alarm, turned it off without opening her eyes, and lay a while in her rocking bed in pleasurable anticipation of seeing San Francisco again. She thought she'd be comfortable enough with Esther, but was a little frightened about Ruth, who might hold her illness against her. When she finally opened her eyes, what she saw was a place without shape or color, a world between death and somewhere else. All detail, all distinction, had vanished in a shifting dark fog. She rubbed her eyes, blinked hard, held her hand in front of her face, but couldn't see it. Fighting down a rising panic, she sat up, pushed aside the pillows that had cradled her, and groped for the window. Yes, it was as she remembered: she'd left the shade up. On the cool plane of glass, she splayed out her hand and began to rub it round and round, circles, circles, as if she were washing the window to let the light in. She pressed her hands to her eyes and forced herself to breathe deeply. This new development would require some thought, for she'd need help but didn't want to be at the mercy of strangers. She finally stood and, after long moments of struggle, managed to flip up the bed to uncover the toilet cunningly hidden underneath. Then she found her clothes where she remembered hanging them, was grateful she'd worn a simple dress with not many buttons. She fumbled near the door until she located the buzzer for calling the porter and pressed it in short urgent bursts. While she waited, she found her purse and the comb within. It would not do to look like a wildhaired madwoman. Finally she heard a knock. She found the latch and the memory of how it worked. She could feel the porter filling the open doorway, imagined his kind black eyes regarding her patiently. She held her voice low and unhurried. "I have multiple sclerosis, and, well, this may sound strange, but overnight it's |