The Fever
Fever I know; sometimes better than myself. He came after a vacation lasting a whole week reaching 102 and 103, intense heat, achie-ness all over and blanketing sleep. I felt safe the dreams of illness so heavy and full; no room for the uncertain touch of insomnia.
In dreams he told me he loved me.
Scared by talk of love he retreated. I went back to work filling my days answering the phone trying to talk my way away from thinking about him; I was sure he found someone else. Feeling jealous I took my temperature all the time, it said 98.6, the degree of normalcy. I started running, my energy returned.
He protested with coughs that said so much. I grew to understand them. He didn’t like my new activity. He missed me, the words didn’t sound sincere. With each cough and sore throat I questioned, testing him, unsure if he wanted to stay around. Sometimes he’d say 99.2 other times barely 98.9. Sensing my insecurity he’d stop by in the evenings or in the daytime rubbing my throat, my head, showing me he still cared.
I pictured what he looked like: the clever portentous cells dividing, morphing, stretching and growing over time into a two legged starfish spanning from my lungs to my chest, my throat, my head, my arms, internally hugging me, knowing we’d become one.