Excerpt from Chapter 39, Leaving the Bones Behind
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Parasagittal atrophy. Big word. My boy’s looking for it in my brain scans. Mysterious as the devil in the angel. It’s over son. I’m ready. I don’t need to know my brain weighs close to 10 of those Mr. Goodbars you like so much. See there! Those sticky-looking globs and tangled vines. That’s it. The stuff that looks like melted candle wax. Right there for Christ’s sake! —About to bite your nose! Perhaps he knows and just doesn’t want to see it. Peek-a-boo! I see you.… It doesn’t matter. I think I smell acetic acid—Kramer calls it that. That’s pee! I’ll call the pod angel when he leaves. She’ll clean up. Tonight’s the night. Scrambled eggs and toast. I’ll be the toast. Or was that yesterday? I don’t know why I thought I had plenty of time to finish. Hear the oaks outside? They’re swaying in the wind. Quit lookin’ at that damn picture! I’m ready tonight … I’ll just fly away so he’ll see I’m really dead. True enough though when you’re dead you’re really dead but I’m deader now. Lost my parts. No script to follow ... No new memories….