We gotta talk.

The night that she spoke candidly to me about her concerns I was heavily sedated and sprawled across a coffee table where I had finally come to a rest after having spent several hours pacing back and forth through the room, spitting words into the air to watch them rise above my head like opalescent bubbles and pop sloppily, leaving traces of their existence in the form of slimy trails on the surrounding furniture. "I'm sick, you know.""Yes, I know.""We haven't talked about it yet, but I think that we should.""Go.""Are you listening to me?""Yes, go.""Well, I'm worried about what's going to happen."A lengthy silence. "What do you mean?" I asked her. I stood up and tried to soberly adjust myself and take a proper seat on the couch. She deserved my attention in this matter, and although I would have paid just as much attention laying on the table, I knew that she would appreciate my attempt at listening to her in a more orthodox position."Do you remember when we went to Dubuque and we stopped at that grocery store and got all of those pieces of fruit and ate them in the parking lot?" I nodded. I had woken up abruptly that night, from a dream where we were eating a peach, and had insisted that we go to the store to get some fresh fruit. She looked at me strange when I passed the 24-hour convenience store and got onto the interstate. And we drove, for four-and-a-half hours, leaving the right lane only to pass slow cars. She said nothing, the car was silent. I finally put on my directional, and got off on a dimly lit street. We drove about ten miles through the town, until a lighted sign appeared before us. The grocery store had just opened. I parked and skipped towards the door, marched down the aisle to the produce section and picked several individual pieces of fruit. I skipped to a register, paid for them, all this with her following close behind me. We walked out and sat against the side of the building staring up at the horizon as the sun started to come up. I took a bite out of the peach. "This is exactly what it was like," said i, between juicy bites. She took a bite, and just as in the dream a little trickle of juice collected on her bottom lip.She smiled, and I watched the sun shine through her hair, highlighting glints of red in her black-in-any-other light hair. She wasn't as excited as I was about the trip, and I could tell this was another time that she was following me against her better judgement. She was the voice of reason in the back of my head; or maybe I was the spirit of adventure in hers."Things like that can't happen,anymore, you know." I concentrated on her voice. I knew that soon she would start a new medication, something to help her sleep. Something that would make her better. She was worried about what would happen to me through her healing process. Her doctors concurred that I was part of the problem; they had even talked to me about it. "For her sake, we all think it's best that you let her rest. She needs to sleep. She needs to separate herself from you emotionally, and if you really love her you will try to let her stick to her new routine."I scoffed at their assertion that they knew what she needed more than I did. When you are around someone enough you get to know what they need. I had been around her for a long time and watched her thrive and watched her fail; the latter more than the former. I knew the optimum conditions for her health. She seemed the most healthy when she was happy, and I made her happy. I felt like making a case for myself, but when I closed my eyes I couldn't think of anything to say. "If I go," I said, "what do you think you will miss the most about me?"She took a few minutes to think and then spoke up. "Rollerskating. In the house, to that record you got from that place in San Francisco with all the "Top Disco Hits" on it. Even though I hate disco! I'll miss your words, I'll miss your songs. I'll miss your paintings laying all around the place. I'll miss the messes you make when you're in a bad mood. I'll miss the messes you make when you're in a good mood. I'll miss your snow angels and all of the tiny triangles you draw on the bathroom mirror... I'll miss the books that you leave lying around, the highlighted passages and the dog-ears and the little notes."I smiled to myself. "Those are nice things. But, what won't you miss?""I need some fucking sleep. I need some fucking sanity. And it's not that I'm choosing other people over you, but my friends don't like you so much. They don't understand you. To put it bluntly, you annoy them."She was telling me something I already knew. She tried not to bring me out when she was with others, but every once in awhile I would follow her and surprise her. She always seemed a little off-put, maybe even embarassed. "I've known you longer.""I know," she said, "but something's gotta give. They all can't be wrong.""What do you think it will be like without me?" I tried to visualize it but couldn't. She seemed to have a hard time concieving it, too. "It'll be quiet, I think." She looked sad, but resolved. "I was supposed to start the medication tomorrow but I think I might start tonight." I must have looked shocked. She got up and walked into the bathroom. She took an amber pill bottle from the medicine cabinet, and as she slid the mirror closed she traced her fingers over the little triangles. She looked at me and placed a pill on her tongue and all I could do was watch. I knew that soon I would feel fuzzy. I knew that soon I would flicker out into static on a television screen and that slowly the white noise would get softer and softer and that then.. then, I would disappear.