a bouquet of white flowers. Frank bent over and kissed his mother on the forehead. She was turned on her side. There was dried up saliva around the corners of her mouth, and there were tubes in her nose. Her hair was short and tangled. The monitor flashed with numbers and chaotic lines. Frank emptied last week’s flowers in the garbage in the bathroom. He refilled the vase with fresh water and arranged the new flowers. He dabbed around his mother’s lips with a wet paper towel. Outside was an antique shop, an Italian restaurant, a Salvation Army. People walked on the sidewalks and in and out of storefronts. Frank opened the window. The crisp fall air came in and dissolved the smell of stale air freshener and musty garments. He took a deep breath, and then slowly exhaled. He produced a flask from inside his checkered blazer. He always dressed up to see his
mother. “Mom,” Frank said. “…you ever wish you had gone right where you went left instead?” Frank’s mother gave no response, save the numbers on the screen that fluctuated when her son spoke. “You’re probably thinking I’m too old to be thinking like that anymore.” Frank took a couple of swigs from the flask and bourbon warmed his chest. “You’d probably be right.” “This girl died. I didn’t know her or anything…” A few more pulls of bourbon. “They took everything that was good out of her. They took her heart, her lungs, all of those precious things. I wish I could’ve given them to you. I know, I know, I know…you don’t want to be saved again. Don’t worry, I’ve squared that all away with the doctors.” “The shrink says I have some kind of latent stuff going on. Maybe you’d understand. I don’t know…but it’s not your fault, that’s not why I’m telling