Wreck

by Catherine Newman

“Do you want me to make popcorn?” he says. “And we can turn the air conditioner on and watch Tiny House Hunters?” These are a few of my favorite things, and I smile at him.

My body is damaged and leaking and maybe attacking itself for no reason.

How stupid is this—having a body that’s a hypochondriac? It’s just creating imaginary problems and attacking its own skin and organs and scaring itself half to death.