Death Scenes

I WANT TO get the rose-bushes in first. I like just sitting there. Last night there was a firefly. Can you imagine?

He said I could heal myself. He told me over the phone. He said, I can hear it in your voice. You should meditate on light for three minutes every day, and drink the leaves of cabbages, the leaves right next to the outer ones. Put them in a blender. Some garlic, too. You’ll pee green, but you’ll heal. You know, it actually worked, for a while.

This is not attractive. I know it isn’t, especially the hair. What do I want? I want you to talk about normal things.

I know I look like hell. But it’s still me in here. What do I want? I want you to talk about normal things. No I don’t. I want you to look me in the eye and say, I know you’re dying. But for Christ’s sake don’t make me console you.

I said, get the fuck out. This has nothing to do with my fucking attitude. Of course I’m bitter! Get out or I’ll throw something at you. Where’s the bedpan? You know I don’t mean it. Christ I’d like a drink. Well, why not, eh?

No, don’t. Don’t hug me. It hurts.

I want to see what comes up, in the spring. Damn squirrels, they eat the bulbs. Mothballs are supposed to work.

If you want to cry, do it around the corner where she can’t see you.

It’s time for you to go home.

Something went wrong, we don’t know what. We think you should come down at once.

— Can’t you do something? It isn’t her, it isn’t her! She looks like the Pillsbury Doughboy, she’s all swollen up, I can’t stand it!

— It’s not bothering her, she’s in a coma.

— I don’t believe in comas! She can hear, she can see everything! If you’re going to talk about death, let’s go down to the coffee-shop.

It’s cruel, it’s cruel, she’s never going to wake up! She can’t get back into her body, and if she did she’d hate it! Can’t somebody pull the plug?

I knew she’d died when the ashtray broke. It cracked right across. It was the one she gave me. I knew she was right there! It was her way of letting me know.

Glorious scenes. Glorious scenes! Nobody made scenes like hers. Vulgar as all-get-out. Of course, she would always apologize afterwards. She needn’t have done. Not to me.

What I miss is what she’d say. What she would have said. That’s the difference: you have to put everything into the past conditional. Bereft, you might call it. Not her word, though – too po-faced. That was her word.

I went over there, did a little weeding. It’s fading though, what she looked like exactly. I can remember her tone of voice, but not her voice. It’s funny the way you keep on talking to people. It’s as if they could hear.