Untitled - CSUN ScholarWorks - California State University, Northridge

stiff cold fingers untie the laces of my skates. I strip off my
thick socks and rub my blue feet. After a few moments, the
pain comes, streaking, sharp, like pieces of broken glass,
through my feet. The pain being the recognition of my life,
of my survival.
It has been over two years. Right now, we live one day
at a time. In many regards. My aunt is recovering, feeling
normal, thanks to the newest medication. She is in a new
relationship, with the widower of her former best friend,
the one who died three years ago of cancer. There are the
issues of proper decorum. Of appearances. It is a small
town where people believe in decorum and relationships
extending beyond death. But we remember the train tracks.
The cancer. The friendship. The love. We know that there is
only today. That there is only yesterday. That very little
matters. Except the pain and the process. My husband
continues to drink and slowly die one swallow of ice at a
time. I have to believe in the magic of the story, of the
mirror. When modem medicine continues to fail my aunt,
my husband, and me. What answer is there but one as
simple and as mysterious as a magical mirror? Its pieces
must have slipped into the hearts and eyes of those I love. I
am Gerda, wishing it were so easy--to simply cry my tears
of sorrow onto their chests. I have tears enough. I know the
way to the Ice Queen's palace. I have sat on her throne. I try
to remember to find shelter in time.m
*All medical information and the chart on manic-depressive
symptoms are from Manic-Depressive Illness by Kay Redfield
Jamison.
tlJ
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