COMING HOME TOMORROW“THAT’S GOOD—REAL REAL GOOD,” EVANS said in response to Louis’s “They’re letting me come home tomorrow.” Evans had sounded like a father talking to his young son, though he and Louis were the same age.
“Come home tomorrow,” Evans repeated. “Yes come home tomorrow.” A part of Evans was happy Louis was coming home. He had grown weary of suffocating hospital rooms that had been Louis’s home for almost a year. He was tired of the Nurse’s syrupy banter and the all knowing Doctor Gods with their high shiny foreheads. The endless beeping and booping of machines made his stomach churn. He had heard the drama of death played out too many times—the wailing family members on one side of the wall while he and Louis watched Golden Girls or The Simpson’s on the other side. Eva
