I sit at the bedside of my failing friend. At her request, each time I visit, I read from my book.<\/p>\n
\u201cThis is great for me,\u201d I tell her. \u201cI need feedback and criticism before I send this out to the publishers.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou know me: I love to criticize,\u201d Annette says, and then groans in pain. Over the years, we traveled together up and down the Finger Lakes to catch art shows, concerts and plays. She shared her poetry, went halfsies on exotic dishes at Thai restaurants and taught me to play racquetball. Despite being twenty-four years my senior, the things we have in common have always outweighed our differences. But the past year she has lost her health and much of her former active life. So now we are related in pain and loss.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat were you feeling then? Optimism? Pessimism? Anger or fear?\u201d she asks after I read a few sentences.<\/p>\n
\u201cNeeds my feelings,\u201d I write in red ink for later. This I\u2019ve heard before. I read on.<\/p>\n
\u201cWait. \u2018A girl is able to tell her doctors\u2019 isn\u2019t right,\u201d she interrupts again. \u201cWhat are you trying to say?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cA girl has the right to tell her doctors \u2013 Oh. Yeah,\u201d I say and circle in red what I must change later. I continue. \u201cShe lay there prone, mortified, vulnerable, waiting for the inevitable pain.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat did you say? \u2018Marika produces a sound like a roar.\u2019 You can\u2019t do better than that?\u201d She listens raptly as I read about Marika\u2019s struggles with cancer and pain. In almost every other line she finds faults, and pounces on points no one else has noticed or mentioned before.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou are ruthless. You\u2019re brutal,\u201d I tell her and try to hide my smile. I want to bat her over the head with the bedpan sometimes but her observations are remarkably right. Even on pain-killing drugs that make her fight to keep her eyes open, Annette is sharp. We take a short break and as we reassemble, she arches her back and writhes in pain.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s okay,\u201d she says. \u201cRead more.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAre you sure you want me to continue?\u201d I ask.<\/p>\n
\u201cOh yes,\u201d she insists. \u201cI have to hear this. Go on.\u201d<\/p>\n
My knees butt up against the bed as I sit sandwiched between her walker and the commode. My feet constantly knock over one or the other of two Lysol spray cans on the floor beside me. And her cat, that I helped pick out at the SPCA, squints menacingly at me from the spot on the bed it hasn\u2019t budged from in all the hours and days I\u2019ve been here.<\/p>\n
\u201cExcuse me. Will all your readers know what EcoVillage is?\u201d she asks. \u201cAnd what does \u2018unconsidered debris\u2019 mean?\u201d<\/p>\n
I read painstakingly slowly at my voice\u2019s maximum volume and enunciate so she can hear each word. She stops me in the middle of every third, fifth or sixth line to demand correction or clarification. It is like we are clearing a minefield of internal explosive devices; I never know when she will plant an objection or a question that will rip my sentence to shreds.<\/p>\n
\u201cHold it. \u2018PEPPER the sky with endless SWARMS of doves\u2019 is too violent to describe sending out kisses. You need to find better words,\u201d she says. She blasts apart so much of what I\u2019ve written but somehow leaves it, and me, in better shape. And I can\u2019t help but notice she\u2019s having fun in the process.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s been over two hours. I need to go soon,\u201d I say.<\/p>\n
\u201cCan you come back tomorrow and read more?\u201d she asks.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019d love to but \u2013 it\u2019s not too painful for you to listen to this?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOh no, it makes me feel BETTER. Please read on,\u201d she says as she winces, gasps and clutches her side and her middle.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
I sit at the bedside of my failing friend. At her request, each time I visit, I read from my book. “This is great for me,” I tell her. “I need feedback and criticism before I send this out to the publishers.” “You know me: I love to criticize,” Annette says, and then groans in […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[24],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-162","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-24"],"aioseo_notices":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/robinbotie.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/162","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/robinbotie.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/robinbotie.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/robinbotie.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/robinbotie.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=162"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/robinbotie.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/162\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/robinbotie.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=162"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/robinbotie.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=162"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/robinbotie.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=162"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}