Received: from nobody by stodi.digitalkingdom.org with local (Exim 4.87) (envelope-from ) id 1cK59t-0002uO-G9 for lojban-newreal@lojban.org; Thu, 22 Dec 2016 07:19:53 -0800 Received: from ip38.ip-79-137-17.eu ([79.137.17.38]:35964 helo=bedimprovement.com) by stodi.digitalkingdom.org with esmtp (Exim 4.87) (envelope-from ) id 1cK59i-0002tT-Dg for lojban@lojban.org; Thu, 22 Dec 2016 07:19:52 -0800 Date: Thu, 22 Dec 2016 08:43:39 -0700 From: "Jessica Sims" Content-Type: text/html; charset=us-ascii Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit To: Subject: She will scream for hours this Christmas: Make love like never before 22548315 Message-ID: Mime-Version: 1 X-Spam-Score: -1.2 (-) X-Spam_score: -1.2 X-Spam_score_int: -11 X-Spam_bar: - improve him now before too late
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Youd better be getting on home, she said when the old cat looked up at her. Its going to rain. By dinnertime Finch seemed almost his normal self again. She dered how much of this was the meds. Though he was considerably better than he had been, she knew that the were still in his system. The doctor had told her they wouldnt totally clear out of his bloodstream for another fortyeight hours. Let me make you something for dinner, she offered. No, look, Ive got it right here, he said. He opened the fridge to reveal a row of labeled sandwiches. She noticed the script on the labels, cursive and feminine, decidedly not Melvilles. Peanut Butter, Tuna, Deviled Hamdates scribbled under the titles. Finch took out the deviled ham, pointing to the others and telling her to help herself. He couldnt swallow very well anymore. She remembered Melvilles telling her that. Melville had also told her that bowel movements were becoming increasingly difficult for Finch, peristalsis slog with the disease. She remembered he was supposed to eat prunes. She looked around for some, searched in cabinets and in the fridge. Then she dered if they had settled on some medication instead. She needed to ask Melville these questions. Even if he was gone, as Finch insisted, she still needed to talk to him. What do you want to drink? she asked. Milk, he said. He wasnt supposed to drink milk with his pills. He knew that. She poured him a glass of ginger ale instead. She chose a tuna sandwich for herself. They ate in silence. She could see the difficulty he was having swallog his food. It made her sad. But at least he was eating. Melville had long ago replaced Finchs favorite der bread with whole wheat. Two Oreo cookies had been placed on the side of each plate, Saran Wrap tight over the top. Finch had always loved Oreos. She slid the two cookies on her plate across the table to him. He smiled at her. Standing up slowly, he shuffled toward the fridge. What do you want? Zee asked. Ill get it for you. I told you, he said. Milk. You cant have milk with your pills, she said. Milk interferes with dopamine absorption. She was there when the doctor had told him that. Finch acted as if he had no such recollection. But Zee could tell by his smirk that he was lying. This was his form of cheating.


Oreos with milk. I took my pills half an hour ago, he said. Twenty minutes, Zee corrected. He rolled his head back and forth to demonstrate the ease of movement. He was acting, exaggerating the range, imitating the looping head of the dopamine at its peak. See, its working already, he said. He was right, of course. If it werent working at least a little bit, he would be too stiff to fake any movement. As if to punctuate, he touched his thumb to his middle finger over and over, the way they made him do in the doctors office. Suit yourself, Zee said. But he knew she didnt mean it. He ate the cookies and sipped at the milk. The fun had gone out of it for him, though. He left half a glass on the table when he got up and made his way into the den. By 7:00 P. M. He was asleep in his chair, heavily dosed with Sinemet, his head flopping forward. A long string of saliva dripped out of his open mouth and onto his pressed shirt. He wouldnt wake up again until it was almost time for the next pill. Then he would be agitated, looking for something, anything, to take away the tension his brain was creating. He might open his cent shop again for the tourists, though they had cleared out by now. Most likely he would try to walk, the worst thing he could do. It turned out that Finch had been right. The medicine was working. The flattened midpoint of normalcy the doctor always drew on the wave graph had happened exactly when Finch said it had happened, when they were in the kitchen eating the Oreos. She realized that now. She should never have complained about the milk.


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