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Rose Neha Dronamraju Walt calls for his wife every day. During our reading sessions, smoke
breaks, garden walks, and dinners. It’s an ugly call—knotted, withered, soaked with sorrow. I remember a single magpie I saw years ago. I tried to lead her to my home, but she refused and waited for a mother who would not return. One for sorrow, two for joy. Souls imbue the turpentine walls and bright white tiles (I convince myself to ease the seclusion). When I’m not watching Him, I drive my ears into the gridwalls and strain to seek refuge in their whispers. To no avail— they never bear comfort. And when I tire of monsters under the sheetrock, I pine for open air. On July nights the ladybugs come out to play. Their scarlet backs line up in rows—marching band style—and they flutter their wings and kick their legs to the tune of “Giant Steps.” Beat the oppressive heat by virtue of a slight frame. Beat summertime tragedy with jazz and soul. July is a rare month of lucidity for Walt. He’s daydreaming in the courtyard and I’m flitting from wire to wire, adjusting mask, monitor, gown. We’re supposed to be reading books, but every time I suggest one, he shuts me down. Mystery? “Too predictable.” Science fiction? “That shit’s for teenagers.” Let’s try Beat poetry. “Affluenza boys. Never read a noble Cassady, a sober Ginsberg . . .” What about horror? “Do I have children?” So we sit through early summer picking our thumbs and watching birds. In three months’ time, I’m going to disintegrate from sweltering Texas heat. Break. In the middle he asks to leave. An outrageous request, but I am as eager to live as my derisive companion. And when I oblige, I light a fire behind his ancient eyes; it is enough fuel for my conscience. Enough to justify a breach in protocol, losing a job. We don’t speak, but we lock a gaze that holds midnight plans: three sharp knocks on the door, unhook, swing from window to grass, feel young for the first time. At 2:15 in the morning there is so much pull and riot and elation in my chest that breath is elusive. I look down in front of me and see bliss, catch a
