Sister Patricia

Sister Patricia

 

She had never run a marathon

until she received word from

her sister that her cancer was

malignant. That changed her

phone-call greeting from “Hi, Pat.

What’s happening?” to “Hi, Pat.

Is there anything I can do for you?

How about lunch?” Pat always

replied, “Yes!” When they exited

the car to go to the luncheonette

Pat lagged a bit behind, bent over

like a scalene triangle, but

remained game, despite her lack

of appetite. Food smelled like

shit and tasted like copper.

“How ‘bout we split that check?”

she said, pulling out her purse,

smiling.

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