I am left alone as the rush subsides; a few discarded valentines dance and waft about in the air, before settling despondently to earth. I hear the voices of the students echo down the hallway. The reverberations are hollow. I follow them.
I take my seat in the lunch room next to a table not far from Zim. My current notebook is nearly full of observations; I pull another out of my bag. As I do so, I reflect on this Valentine's Day. It has not escaped my scrutiny that the emotions expressed here are seemingly awkward. (Given not only the age of the participants, but also in the imposed nature of the holiday.)
I have long since realized the false nature of this affair.
(But, I ramble. This particular notation is not about the holiday. An interesting event occurred, while, not being any more or less important than others, deems supplementary attention. Yesterday, I believe.)
I decided to forgo the bus and walk to Mercy. The sky was bright but gray; my legs were stung by the dead leaves whisked about by the wind. (The course I must tread through leads me past a more derelict part of town; for about two blocks, it is mainly broken glass and graffiti-laced buildings.) I was so frantically recording what I saw that a cry of mourning snapped me suddenly out of my reverie.
A woman was sitting on the steps of an old, frozen stone building. She was wailing, her hands covering her face. The sorrowful sob echoed through the air like discarded paper floating in the breeze.
"My baby…my baby…" Her voice trailed off.
My expression softened ever so slightly. I wanted to reach out to touch her.
I immortalized her pain forever with my pen and moved on.
I am lying on the floor in the hospital room, perpendicular to the bed. My arms are spread-eagled; in my left hand I loosely hold a pen, and my notebook in my right. The backs of my fingers touch the cool, bright linoleum.
I stare up at the fan lazily undulating with a muted clacking sound. It hardly stirs the stale air.
He has three days.
I think about how useless a fan is in the wintertime.