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Show Moon - 212 looked up at me, his eye twitching like a nervous flirtation. "We'll be sending her home in a few days. Any other questions?" . Well yes. Many other questions, like, "Why are you giving up on her?" I opened my mouth to speak, but then you appeared at the doorway, bent over the walker, your head tilted to one side as if you were straining to hear. "I couldn't make it to the end of the hall, I'm sorry," you said. I felt ashamed to have been talking about you as if you were a child, to have not joined you in your little walk instead. He placed you in your chair, tied you back up, put a little table in front of you to lean on, and left. "Please bring me my purse," you said. "It's in the drawer, there." I set it on the little table. You lifted out your wallet, spread it open. It was empty. "Never let this happen to you," you said. "Always have your own money." I took your hand, squeezed it, felt that this was not adequate. "I've written to William Howard Taft. He's related to us, you know, though distantly. I have asked him to help me. I have asked him not to let them operate on my brain again and I have asked for a little money." You looked at me with the eyes of someone who has travelled no distance at all. You'd had no brain operation. Taft would not know you from Adam. Had you lost your mind? "Do you think he'll answer me?" you said. "Do you think he'll help?" I closed my eyes, searched for a way to answer. It came: "I can't imagine anyone not wanting to help you." I touched your hair as if you were my child. It was spare, fine like a baby's. "How can I help?" You began to cry. You said, "No one can help me. Why is this happening to me? It's because I don't believe enough. I've failed!" |