She is packing to go somewhere I can't with my passport, she jokes about putting me in her suitcase if I could fit.
She asks what she can hack off so that I will still be me--what I don't need to stay myself, to get under 50 lbs. I’m almost childish enough to say all I am is my brain.
We agree she takes my legs first, below the knee. They weigh a lot less than she thought, she says.
Okay, I am 94.824 lbs now.
She says she wants me to keep my hands, but unfortunately a lot more has to be done. Would I prefer to keep my arms or the rest of my legs?
I tell her I would prefer to keep my hands at this point, if my feet are already gone.
She nods and punches some numbers into the oversize calculator she uses for taxes. Now I am 64.0008 lbs.
We can't avoid it, she says, looking at the data. (It's some article she pulled up on her phone.) I'll have to take at least one arm, I think. I can take your left one, and then you can still write me while I'm gone.
I guess it wouldn't matter. Take both. I wouldn't have to write. I'm doing this to be there with you, aren't I?
Well, if we got separated.
How would we get separated? I can't walk, I can't move on my own. I have no legs. I have one arm. I'm in your suitcase. Where am I gonna get off to? You're gonna leave me somewhere?
Forget it, she says. Stupid joke. I'm late anyway, I really need to finish packing.
No, really. Can you even lift 50 lbs by yourself? How are you going to take me around? Havana has beaches, are you going to roll me through the sand? Or I'm just going to be up in the hotel room, watching you drink Piña Coladas from the balcony?
She sits on her suitcase to close it and leans back to tug on the zipper.
Can you drop it? she says. I said it's a stupid joke. I don't even know why you want to come. You won't have fun anyway. I don't want you to meet my family. You won't like my friends, or you will and I'll hate watching you get along. It's not about you. It's just that I don't... I don't know. I can't. It’s easier where I don’t know anyone. Thinking about you in that part of my life makes me feel sick.
Kind of inspired by "Gay Thoughts" by The Growlers. Only a little though?
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