“I remember I was making love to you and my eyes hit upon
an inhaler on your side table.
“Hey, flower?”
With a little trouble, she said, “Yes babe, what is it?”
“Do you have asthma?”
She began to pant and I got worried, perhaps right then and there she
was having an attack. What would I do? How fast could I calm her?
Shit. Shit fucking shit.
I had forgotten that I was still on top of her.
“Yeah, I do. Is that okay?”
Clumsily, I spit out, “Haha of course it is okay. I’m just.. I’m sorry.”
Why did I get so sad? As if this was an impairment of hers now, and I
looked at her like a patient in a hospital bed.
“Jared, it’s fine. It isn’t a big deal. Just keep going, you feel amazing.”
But then I thought of your poor aching airwaves, your tired lungs, your
timid chest. Why the fuck would someone like you have to deal with
something like this. You deserve fresh unadulterated breaths. I wanted
to give you fresh unadulterated breaths.
I climbed off and laid at your side. I took both of your hands in my one
hand and said again, “I’m sorry.”
I don’t know why I respond with apologies. But seeing that dormant
piece of plastic, thinking of you reaching it, it filling you up with the
medicine you require, it was all I could do. I made a promise at that
moment, with your arched back against my chest and my legs wrapped
around your hips, that if the time presented itself, I would find your
faulty organs. I would find them, and I would remove them. I would
find them, remove them, and replace them with mine. And hopefully
they can keep me alert long enough to see you breathe an array of
unadulterated breaths.”

04/08/2014

Posted on 04/08/2014
Copyright © 2024 Jared Orlando