Cancer of the Heart

The things we talked about.

One couldn’t get more eclectic than that.

From panties to penis we didn’t leave anything out…

That I’m sure of…

“Cute sandwich box,” you noticed Charolette’s Wonder Bread Sandwich Keeper.

“Yeah, Madre got it for me when she went outta town.”

“Miranda has one of those,” I chimed in.

“Yeah, and not only is it nifty lookin’ but efficient,” Charolette held up the container.

You nodded.

“I got tired of eating peanut and jelly sandwiches that looked like used pads,” you laughed.

Unfortunately…

Charolette was serious, you were laughing, and I had a PB&J for lunch.

“Damn it…” I placed my used pad back into a Zip-lock and threw it in my lunch box.

“What?” she was truly clueless as to why I’d made that hideous face.

“She had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, way’da go genius,” you laughed.

“Awe, I’m sorry Sage I didn’t know you’re lunch box was in the way, or I wouldn’t have said that,” she laughed, how sympathetic.

“Damn man…” I groan.

“Dude I so didn’t mean to do that,” she seemed more sincere this time.

“It’s cool,” I smiled.

“Sucks for you,” you smiled and took another bite of your Sweet and Sour Chicken.

“I’m mean you can still eat it can’t you? I mean it looks fine,” she examined it.

“Dude, you verbally molested my food while it was in my mouth!” you nearly choked, due to laughter.

“Well when you put it that way,” Charolette made the face of a discussed four year old.

- Memory as noted by Sage.

That man’s chaos made me sleepy.

Everything either tilted to the left or the right.

Words like velocity and acceleration, caught behind his teeth and seemed to get stuck in his ever shrinking mouth and on his ever swollen tongue.

Physics, I just wasn’t getting it.

Mr. Bower.

Nice man, s****y teacher.

Kinda like Carter.

Great humanitarian, as president? Shoulda been assassinated.

At home I owned a prophet and a philosopher.

I kept them together in a kidney shaped tank on my nightstand.

In dirty water.

With a palm tree.

They ate Tetra and sat on rocks to sun bathe.

Jesus and Archimedes roommates and quiet.

Collecting state quarters and paper cuts at the back of my brain.

A bruise cerebrum was the diagnosis.

Things tend to look crazy from this perspective.

- Signed Charolette.

“You could see it in her face, every time she thought of him. The bus rides the Spanish words of the day. She just wouldn’t let go. And God only knows why she clung so tightly to him. She would cry in the rain and act as though it were the droplets soiling her eyelashes. When her nose was red and her eyes clearly puffy. I would just watch her and know that she was dying inside. Trying like hell to hold on to something that wasn’t there. You know doctors say its ironic how cancer eats away at every cell in your body, except your heart. But that’s not the truth. That’s where love comes in, it eats away at it until there is nothing left, or the body self destructs. And I would know. I’ve watched this slowly kill Charolette for months. And the sad thing is, much like other cancers, there’s no cure…”

- Signed Sage.