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Show CHRYSALIS PAGE 12 strip and make love. "I missed you," Mark says, tracing a featherlight trail with his finger down my ribs to a sizable bump of hipbone where there didn't used to be a hipbone. "Ticklish?" "You don't waste time, do you?" A quick shiver. "There's plenty of time." Yesterday I met a man dying of lung cancer. He said his wife won't kiss him anymore for fear of catching it. It had never occurred to me that Mark might be afraid to touch me. He's not. When we lie relaxed in each other's arms, I discover I still wear this wretched plastic bracelet that links me to the hospital. I'd like to rip it off and burn it. I cut it loose and throw it in the trash. I'm sure they'll find me another, but for now. . . . Mark wrote me fantastic love letters before we were married. I was touring with the American Repertory Players much of the time, doing one-night stands, living in hotels. . .while he worked as a counselor in a home for emotionally disturbed children. He wrote: Mein Lieben, Ich habe die Ensamseit, Ich bin sehr |