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There was an uncomfortable humor in the air.
 I guess we all felt that joking around would make the trip easier. 
Sketchy laughter toddled between us inside the cab, 
but no smiles at the stop lights
                       ...burning red distress.
 As we rounded the corner,
 and arrived at the ICU parking lot
 I looked down at my cigarette and thought
 of its consequences. 
They were hard to shake off but it 
didn’t keep me from inhaling the rest. 
One more Marlboro sigh before I opened the truck door. 
Room 212. 
She was much more lucid than I expected; 
I gauged the steadiness of blinking eyes and anxious smiles
 with a tempered reserve. 
The battle between heart and carapace
 erupted in sync with her recognition of my presence.
 I had to be strong for her, and not show my worry.
 I had to be stone.
 I knew that my slightly trembling tongue
 and overly cheeky banter was sure to 
give me away somewhat, but at least I 
kept my chest from writhing in the fashion
 that it endorsed. Instead I conceded my right foot
 a tender tick against the freshly buffed floor 
as I rested my torso against a wall that smelled of mortality.
 

"I brought you something." I raised the book to her hands and smiled as firmly as I could. 
 
"It’s a great read, I thought it could keep you company."
 
"The Shack" By WM. Paul Young greeted a pleased face and her body rose to a more comfortable reading position. 
 
She studied the preface while my body searched for it’s pressure release valve. 
IV laced arms rose to greet me, and for the first time since I had heard the news
 I let myself believe things would be okay. 
 
"Love you too dude." 
 
 
-James Kelley 2013, All rights reserved.

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