ONE
Cambridge, Ontario, April 2010
MUCH IS UNDECIDED. THE DOCTORS talk over me, debating the possibility that I’ll speak again. I feel more fluent now than I ever was. Colours are radiant and I am one with the intricate weave of the curtains and the soft nubs of cotton on the blankets and the currents of air sweeping out into the hallway. I am perfect and whole. I am everywhere.
There is a sound I recognize without effort. A name. My name. It sets down boundaries and calls me back. Hazel. I am Hazel. I shrink and miraculously fit back inside the single small body that is somewhat worse for wear in a bed that is not mine in a hospital room that is stripped of every comfort and every untidy incidental beauty. There is a startling rush of memory like breath and the habit of thought returns
