When my hair thinned, when my face grew paler, he brought home some medicine but it was the wrong kind again. Don't flinch, he said, rubbing my feet, not letting me inch farther and farther away. This stuff is strong, he said, his voice full of sand. I wanted to tell him that what he had given me was yet a new kind of trap.
 
Great, I said, watching him pour it onto a spoon, the bright orange color like a floral surprise that nobody asked for. I swallowed it down and watched him watching me be a good patient.
 
Are you good? he asked.
 
Very, I said. He stood there in this tall black turtleneck, counting the seconds until my recovery.
 
It's taking a while, I said.

Now there were purple clouds poking in through our steamed-up windows, filling the room with the feeling that rain was about to spill. He smiled, a magical kind of smile that made me feel as if I could glimpse my old self, as if she were standing in the doorway, not flinching at what I had become. Beautiful and young in the doorway, like a star blinking out in my mind.


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