cook with

Laying in bed, just holding a pillow against a puckered frowning chin. Taking seriously the idea, for the first time in life, of the ER. Looking toward the dark window a struggle; more rolling of the skull on cotton and down, till balanced on forehead and brow. Streetlight by a tree without birds, quiet. Tord Boontje curtain in lieu of painkillers functionally doing that job, alternated with the Brent Wear owl. Still, one pointed foot tapping the mattress in discomfort, belly pressed into the covers.

The phone beeps, on the floor nearly within arms reach. Lifting up onto forearms, a secret wall suddenly veers up and curves around. It's covered in breast plates and shields as though for a warrior but also spare arms and legs, brains. Spare parts hung like tools of self-defense on a punch board wall that recedes into memory again as a scowl drops back into the pillowcase.

One arm hangs down well short of reaching the phone, fingers curled rather than reaching. The phone twitters again, insistent. The slats under the bed, forearm and wrist hanging loose, red light on the cell blinking and going out. Then legs bare to shorty boxers hit the floor at a run.

Stepping into a little white closet of a room. A young man alongside, a woman with incredible bright eyes and sharp cheekbones leaning into the doorway. Bright in their teal scrubs. She makes a gesture with her tongue in cheek, looks each of us in the face, and closes the door. He holds up a metal vest and raises his eyebrows, waiting. Step into the costume.

Hands gripping on either side of the face, chin resting on a frame, looking straight ahead into that compact mirror. Eyes closed again.
You have to open your eyes, he says. Laugh.

He leaves and it's florescent lights and spinning machinery. There are teal people everywhere, walking out of there. Swarms of teal people. Toss the index card appointment reminder in the trash on the way out to green and blue.

Walking back into the apartment, plugging the fridge back in and the clock, snapping the headband over ears, and sprawling out on the couch smiling again. A little bit of coming back to life in a pale blush. Needing quiet greater than white noise, more present and changing.