Page 101 - Vol. VI #1

hind her, then his face appeared at the foot of the bed. He waited for his mother’s eyes to find him, but she kept staring at Sheila.
fuzzy pink socks and saw the skin had turned as purple as a bruise, a sure sign death was within hours.
“Mrs. Harper, it’s okay to let go. I’m here, and Randall’s here, and everything is going to be fine.”
Mrs. Harper’s eyes shut again, as though she had to use every bit of her energy to focus on her breath.
To Sheila’s surprise, Mrs. Harper coughed then spoke. “Tree,” she said in a full voice.
Sheila felt calm and unafraid. The air in the room seemed to change, turning cool as a fresh breeze from outside.
“The tree will be okay,” Sheila said. The words sounded empty as the woman continued to stare deeply into her eyes.
“It’s close now,” she told Randall. “You’ll get your wish tonight I think.”
“Stupid,” Mrs. Harper said with a wheeze. Her
“What did you do?” he said. He sprung off the couch and grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her.
“Sheila thought about “What did you do?”
the moments before death, when the breathing ra led and rasped...”
“I didn’t do anything,” she said. “It’s just happen- ing. Don’t you feel it?”
“Ma, Ma!” Randall was on his knees on the side of the hospital bed. He grabbed her hand and leaned into her face.
breathing accelerated to a pant, mechanically regular and with a bit of a rattle, like a piece of machinery winding down.
Sheila looked out the window at the night sky, the backyard a black hole ready for Mrs. Harper to slip into. Randall started to cry, his shoulders shaking and fat tears rolling down his cheeks.
“What what what what...” “What is it, Mrs. Harper?” “What what what...”
“Do you want more morphine?”
“Oh, Ma, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Randall said. He buried his face against her hand lying still on the hospital bed.
The old woman shook her head. The breathing pened tonight, she wasn’t going to miss it. turned to a gasp, with a small squeaking sound at
the end.
“Oh God,” Randall said. He sat back down on the couch, his eyes trained on his mother.
Sheila went to the foot of the bed and pulled the
covers over the woman’s feet. She stripped off the presses.
Sheila pulled the wheelchair close to the bed, and sat in it. Her eyes flickered between Mrs. Harper’s head and chest, the two places she thought most likely to store the soul. If the gold shimmer hap-
Lipinski is an MFA student at Mount St. Mary’s University in Los Angeles. Her writing has appeared in UCLA Magazine, Trojan Family Magazine, The Los Angeles Times, and several small literary
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