A Heart That Works

by Rob Delaney

And just like a little baby coming into the world brings with it a secret parcel of knowledge you can’t get anywhere else, you’ll only get to know what’s on the other side of that bridge when you’re ready (and dead).

Rather, I suspect I am a glass of water, and when I die, the contents of my glass will be poured into the same vast ocean that Henry’s glass was poured into, and we will mingle together forever. We won’t know who’s who. And you’ll get poured in there one day, too.

Julie reminds me of the angels in the Talmud leaning over each blade of grass whispering, “Grow, grow!” Thank you for turning me into an author, Julie.

The first time I called, I said, “Gi-RAFF,” in my American accent, to which the robot said, “I’m sorry; I didn’t understand. Please state the name of the ward you are trying to reach.” I yelled “Gii-RAAFFFF” a few times, with increasing frustration. After no luck, I wondered if the robot wanted me to say “Gi-RAHFFE” in an English accent. I tried it and was immediately connected to the ward. The point is, you never know the battles people fight in secret, and I am a victim of racism.

Clare was one of those people who didn’t ask; she just showed up.