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Show THE BRUISE-6 Peter tries to hug me, but I think I hit him. I am not always nice. He finally leaves. At least when I come to, he's gone. The molecules have thickened this morning into a fog and I peer into it, not finding any shapes. There's something I ought to be be doing, but I keep forgetting what. I am never sure any more when I have something to remember or when I have merely had a dream. The sunlight hurts my eyes. Mark telephones. He is cancelling our date for for next week. Good. I keep thinking of the man at the window of the Triumph. He had the eyes of a doe. He quivers in the middle of traffic, on the edge of panic, ready to dart into the trees which are not there. I know. Every day I look for those trees. Dad telephones. He wants to have dinner with me tonight, but I say no. Peter telephones. He is asking how I am and saying he just can't handle the bruise and wouldn't I please think about getting some help or something. Someone I met at some party telephones. I say no. I telephone my mother and ask her please to come. I am sure she'll say no; she's never been up to see me before, but she says yes, she'll leave as soon as 9addy gets back, almost as if she knows. When I was sick, she used to bring me tea. The black plastic leaf bag bulges with empty beer cans. I worry that someone will see me and I will have to explain, but the halls are empty, and it is a great relief to be rid of them. I go outside to go shopping, step over O'Leary's broom. |