Silent Movie

Cancer.

The word flashes in front of my eyes in greys, blues, and browns: like a bruise. It's growing inside me: this bubble, this rotting mound of poisonous body excrement. Dr. Kent's office begins to turn, swivel, and swerve. His diplomas float above his head. His mouth moves, but I'm locked within a silent movie.

Laura. My daughter. Her jaw drops. I feel her heart stop and her lungs deflated through the tense fingers that are intertwined with mine. The hairs on the back of her hand stand straight on end as they tickle my soon-to-be decaying flesh.

Doctors.

Treatments.

Hospital rooms.

Sterile white tile-floored rooms and sterile white curtains and sheets. Needles and blood. Poking and prodding.

My wife - ex-wife - discusses business with Dr. Kent. Cold and smooth as she always is. Chemo? Radiation? If there were subtitles I might know. She's undressing the fresh young doctor in her mind; I have no doubt. His lab coat opened and his tailored work shirt elegantly wrinkled. Immature baby hairs stick out from under the second button. The top unbuttoned. No tie. No class. Chump. This doctor who is ready to sign my death certificate.

Laura sits frozen still. Her eyes: glassy. She's my co-star in this movie we're trapped inside. For my wife - ex-wife - and the good doctor: it's all rainbows and flowers, singing and dancing, life. A fucking musical over there.

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This really isn't anything. It was written during a monologue writing excercise in class today, but in this situation it's not really acting like a monologue. (For the few of you who read the 'private' short story, this is written from that main character's father's point of view from the scene early in the story where he's diagnosed. I think it's like the first paragraph of the second section.) Anyway, we were supposed to take a character we'd created and write a monologue for him/her and this is what I can up with. It was also an excercise in writing with a lot of detail. Figured I'd post it since I didn't post the whole story...even though this really has nothing to do with that story at all.

Excuse the poor grammar and sentence fragments. They were part of the assignment. They are to show his distance: to make things feel choppy. They are intentional, though a little painful for me.



"I have become a silent movie..." Elliott Smith Can't Make A Sound