“Can I ask you about Caroline Mathers?” “And you say there’s no afterlife,” he answered without looking at me.
“But yeah, of course. What do you want to know?” I wanted to know that he would be okay if I died.
I wanted to not be a grenade, to not be a malevolent force in the lives of people I loved.
“Just, like, what happened.” He sighed, exhaling for so long that to my crap lungs it seemed like he was bragging.
He popped a fresh cigarette into his mouth. “You know how there is famously no place less played in than a hospital playground?” I nodded.
“Well, I was at Memorial for a couple weeks when they took off the leg and everything.
I was up on the fifth floor and I had a view of the playground, which was always of course utterly desolate.
I was all awash in the metaphorical resonance of the empty playground in the hospital courtyard.
But then this girl started showing up alone at the playground, every day, swinging on a swing completely alone, like you’d see in a movie or something.
So I asked one of my nicer nurses to get the skinny on the girl, and the nurse brought her up to visit,
and it was Caroline, and I used my immense charisma to win her over.”
He paused, so I decided to say something. “You’re not that charismatic,” I said.
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