Once again the porter laid down the cloth, this time between them. He then uncovered the salad, laid out the flatware and poured the drinks. He sat out dressing and crackers.
“Thank you.” Sarah smiled.
“Come back in an hour.” Orion stated.
He bowed before quietly leaving.
“Mr. Shedecy’s dead you know.” Sarah restarted their conversation.
“I was there.”
“You were the Prince they mentioned in the introduction?”
“One of them. I am sure he taught more than me.”
“I have never witnessed so many people at a funeral in my life.” She smothered the salad with dressing, before taking a bite. “Hmm, this is really good.”
“I knew you looked familiar. You gave his eulogy.”
She shook her head yes. She was enjoying the salad. It took her a while to notice he was staring at the roof of the car. She watched him.
“You have the whitest skin I’ve ever seen.”
“I know I look like a ghost.” She remarked, suddenly wishing she had something to cover up her legs with.
He noticed her discomfort, “I’m sorry. I meant nothing by it.”
“They are my legs. I can take discomfort from that statement if I want to.”
“I like them. Their structure; you have the tiniest feet. They are so delicate. The calves of your legs are muscular, strong.” He picked up a fork and played around in the salad.
“Talk to me.”
“I started getting sick soon after Paul.” He corrected himself, “My son was born. I have been to doctors, and a multitude of treatment centers. I will get better for a little while then before I know it I am sick again.”
“How did it start?”
He laid the fork down. “I felt strange. Everyone told me that I acted weird. I would walk away from the table then pass out. I had never passed out before. A couple days later a rash appeared, mostly on my back. Nothing we tried would make it go away. After a month, it went away on its own. I got to the point that even water would make me sick. It has gotten so bad that I’d rather not eat. The pain isn’t worth it.” His eyes never left the roof of the car while he talked. “I would eat, throw up, and then pass out.”
“What about now?”
“I pick.” He selected one piece of chicken to eat. “I still go through the motions of throwing up.”
“You didn’t last night.”
“I had horrible dreams.”
“Do you normally dream?”
“It is a rarity.”
“What do you think it is?”
He slowly ate the chicken, “Stress.”
“That’s a lot of stress.”
“You have no idea.” He finally looked up at her. His eyes told her that he was about ready to cry.
“You eat something. You are alive.”
“Look at me. You call this living? We went out for two hours yesterday. It wore me out. How long have I slept?”
“About 15 hours.”
He scoffed. “I’m slowly dieing. I’m going to leave my son without a father.”
“You said your son was 12?”
“Yes.”
“So you’ve been sick for 12 years?”
“Amazing isn’t it? I’m so tired of this.”
“What are you going to do about it?”
“Die.”
“How selfish is that? How can you just die?”
“What would you suggest?”
“Keep trying.”
That is easy for you to say, you’re not sick.”
“I always know when my patients are going to die. They get tired and give up. Their bodies can heal perfectly, no infection, no scarring. But their soul gets tired of fighting and they give up. Death is a matter of time regardless of age.” She looked over at him. A big tear rolled down his cheek.
Not even the beauty of the landscape or the little patches of devastation caused by the storm could break through his pain. She was beginning to see why Carter couldn’t do anything with him.
The porter appeared to take away the dishes. “Thank you,” she smiled.
“You are welcomed, milady.”
She raised her left shoulder, blushing. “A girl could get used to being called my lady.”
Poetry & More 