By Laurel Richardson
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Extra info for After a Fall: A Sociomedical Sojourn
Good. ” Five years ago, I bought Akiva a student cello. He rapidly progressed through chamber strings, quartets, and cadet orchestra until, at fifteen, he refused to audition for the symphony’s youth orchestra. “It isn’t fun,” he said. “Everyone is too serious. ” For the next two years, although he took expensive lessons with a “tiger-teacher,” he practiced less and less. “I don’t want to be around musicians,” he ranted. “They’re 60 Laurel Richardson always in their heads listening to music. They don’t listen to you when you’re talking to them.
The flowers have been deadheaded, my bedclothes changed, the bed table cleared of its detritus, my water pitcher refreshed. The long tails of her tunic move like fins. She shimmers. “I’m Brooke,” she says in a breathy voice, as if she misses being in the ocean. “Let me help you into bed, and set up your IceMan. ” I laugh at her little joke. I like her. ” I ask. “Actually, I do. ” She notices the books on my table. “I like to read,” she says. ” “I met Atwood once,” I say. I decide not to tell her the embarrassing story about Atwood and me at the Kentucky Women’s Writing Conference.
Hi, Jean,” I say. Her black hair is cut into a bob. She leaves her North Face ski jacket on. “Thanks for coming,” I say. ” “A friend lent it to me,” I say. ” Jean is a close friend, a member of my Art League. We have lunch every couple of weeks and talk about our artwork. We have been emailing almost daily for the past two years, ever since Jean’s lymphoma returned. I know it is very hard for her to come to the nursing home, to see the terminally sick people here. Our conversation is awkward, strained.
After a Fall: A Sociomedical Sojourn by Laurel Richardson