Funerals for Horses (retail) by Catherine Ryan Hyde

Author:Catherine Ryan Hyde [Hyde, Catherine Ryan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2013-11-13T23:00:00+00:00

THEN:

I knew by the feel of things that I wasn’t home. The physical feel, but there was more. The energy of the people around me. Strangers.

Here and there Simon. I knew him across the room, who knows how. Smell, maybe. If Grandma Ginsberg had been there she would have said the extra sense provided by the caul. Thank god she wasn’t, though.

Sometimes Willie. I could smell her perfume. She’d sit on the edge of my bed with me, my head dropped back against her, her arm around my shoulder, brushing hair off my face. She’d bring me an apple or a carrot, which I’d eat only while she sat with me. I suppose she’d been told I refused all other food.

Then, after a few days, something terrible happened. It all began to come back. Slowly at first, shadows, whispers. But it grew with time.

It was a bit of a catch-22, I suppose, that the relief of being completely shut down would bring such ease as to open up the door again. Unready to go back, unsure how to cope, I left my eyes unfocused, showed no response to sounds. I heard few sounds, as the other bed in my room remained empty, and no one bothered to talk in my presence, the only exception being Willie.

She would run a monologue the whole time we sat together, metered words with spaces between, which she did not expect me to fill.

“Really not my idea of a good plan, all this, but sometimes, what can you do? The better you get, though, the faster we can get you home. Any sign that you could hear me. It would all help. Any kind of cooperation. Even if you stayed pretty shaky, if you could see and hear, you’d be an outpatient again. Tomorrow. Simon sure wants you home.”

I wondered how much she talked to Simon, and what they shared. I wondered if she was testing to see if I could hear her, or just talking to herself. In retrospect I think she tried to support me in some subliminal way, like a person who reads spiritual literature to a coma victim.

I felt sorely tempted, sometimes, to answer her, but I liked her too much. Same with Simon. When someone means too much to me, I want to please them. If I can’t, it’s hard to be around them at all.

Simon came in one day carrying a cardboard sign, with words on it that he’d made from twigs and glued down. He gave me a hug, then set it on my lap and placed my hands on the letters.

I could see the words, though a bit narrow and shaded, and I could see Simon, but I wasn’t sure if I was ready to give it all up yet. So I ran my hand over each letter, one slow step at a time, but I knew what it said.

It said, We’ll stay together, even when you’re well.

“What about your wife, Simon?”

He jumped at the sound, maybe because it was unexpected, or maybe it was too loud.

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