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difference between her mother and Mrs. White. Where does sadness begin and where does it end? She quietly opens the bathroom door and tip-toes just beside, to the bedroom. The sunlight is pouring through the blinds, striping the carpet in rectangular shadows. It is, like all of the other rooms, white and barren, but this room, she finds is not the same. In the middle of the room, between two oak bedside tables with porcelain lamps, is a large bed. There is Mr. White, thin in a plaid pajama set, lying in the middle. He looks unreal, his eyes fixed on the door she has just entered, but they are not shifting, not blinking. His mouth sits slightly open and Lydia can see the edges of his teeth. Lydia gasps and covers her mouth with her palms. Above the bed is a metal contraption, like a crane, and though she does know the name of it, she knows it will no longer be of use to Mrs. White, that in some days it will be taken from beside this bed and sent someplace just as transitory.

12 | LINDSEY JOHNSON

Fugue 42 - Spring 2012 (No. 42)  
Fugue 42 - Spring 2012 (No. 42)  

The literary digest of the University of Idaho