But nothing feels good, does it? “What was that?” “Nothing.” Mark claps me on the shoulder twice. “Hang in there,” he says. And I can’t help it. I picture my dead hanging body for a second. Swinging from a hook on the ceiling. Mark getting the news by phone. Nodding soberly. Perhaps even burying his face in his hands. It puts things in perspective for him. It makes him understand that pain is not just a guide, not just simply information, not just a friendly teacher of lessons I need to learn. And then it’s Mark’s body hanging from the ceiling I picture.
