Have you filled out your forms? No, I say, and I stand to leave. I haven’t. I’m not sick. Oh, she says. Are you waiting for someone? I’m not sick, I tell her, but this time I say it in a hardened voice, pushing past her and through the crowd. I walk away from the nurses, away from my anonymous and injured lovers, away from Darius and his mop, his bucket of suds, his brown clothes and janitor’s nametag, hiding my smile behind my hands, but before I even make it to the EXIT sign, I drop my hands to my sides, retreating, and turn around. Back in the thick of these hurt others, I yell at them to come inside, all of them, inviting them into my body as I open my mouth as wide as it will go. Salvation, I tell them, salvation. And before I know it, one by one, the whole waiting room is moving around inside of me. Now they know the weight of my love.
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