Pancakes In The Morning
I saw you come for me. It was the last thing I ever
I remember the noises, the shouting and the screaming.
I remember the pain of the wound, the blood, trickling
like that funny clear syrup you always like on your
pancakes in the morning. I didn't make them for you
that morning, I'm sorry. I remember the strange smell,
like I was covered in pennies. I remember the
surprise... I remember everything with crystal clarity,
except for the fact that the only thing I saw was you.
You running toward me in that strange, slow motion way
like on that beach show you always watch. You used to
tell me it was because you were such a big fan of
rescue shows but I knew the truth. I just didn't say
anything. I bet you didn't know I was capable of not
speaking my mind but I can. I just always chose not
When you ran to me I actually thought the entire world
had slowed down. That is had realized I was dying and
wanted to die with me. But no, it was just you. It's
always just been you. You screamed my name and came to
me. For one last time I got to take shelter in your
For all the things I have experienced as a human I'd
have to say that dying is the strangest feeling.
There's a kind of fuzzy feeling that blossoms out from
the wound and spreads like a stain over your body.
It's a fuzzy crackling feeling like what used to
happen to your TV before you got cable. Then my body
went all numb and floaty. The only thing I could feel
was your hands.
I used to watch those hands while you worked. I
witnessed them change a piece of wood into something
useful and productive. Those large hands that I used
to massage when you came home from work. Keeping alert
for new injuries. I remember I was so upset when you
came home one night with a callus. I didn't want your
rough hands on my soft body. What I wouldn't give now
to have a body for you to touch.
I should be taking this rare, blessed moment to tell
you how much I love you- and I do love you. It's just
hard to admit that I'm not coming back, that I'm
I'm dead. It looks so strange down on paper. For all
my vocal fears I never, deep in my now unbeating heart
thought I would die. Not 'I never thought I would die
this young'. No, I never really thought I would die. I
always thought some type of something would intervene.
But now here I am, dead and buried. I finally got
answers to all those questions I had about Joyce's
death. Unfortunately I realized too late that it's not
the answers that are important, it's the questions.
The best part about having pancakes with you was
learning how to make them. Getting Bisquick all over
the place, realizing that 'cups' didn't mean those
super-gulp things you got from the 7-Eleven, and being
told '2 eggs' meant the insides only. And you ate them
all. With a strained smile and a large glass of milk
nearby. First the Cajun style then the raw, Japanese
style, then the style with the lumps...till I finally
got it right. Till I turned my vice into my expertise.
Hey! That's a metaphor! Huh, who would have thought I
could get this human thing down so well I can create
metaphors now. If I wasn't dead, if it wasn't too
late, I think I'd be really happy. I guess that's
I'm getting the feeling my time here is growing short
so I'll wrap this up. I love you, I'll wait for you.
And if you ever look at any woman the way you looked
at me I'll make sure you're dipped in a vat of boiling
wax and fed you to a pack of ravenous bunnies.