“To poorly paraphrase Papa Hemingway,” the MD said. “The lousy bill is coming for you, son, it’s already on its way.”
“As long as Lilac is near me,” I said, “everything is exceptional and cool.”
“Finish describing her,” he said. “Please go on.”
“Lilac’s eyes are closed as if in the midst of some orgasmic fugue. Her legs are crossed and there is one orange pillow resting behind her. Her neck is amazing, smooth, and elongated like those tribal women with golden necklaces you sometimes see in the Natural Geographic’s from the early eighties.”
“She sounds so vivid and pulsing,” the doctor said, near breathless.
“Lilac’s got wide hips, too,” I said. “A straw hat so cool and understated that it knocks you over, charms you, and makes your eyes spill.”
“Delightful,” the doctor said. “I really see Lilac crystal clear now.”
“At first,” I said, “I did little that was positive in my life - everything was sardonic and brutal. There had to be an insult, or I didn’t feel right about participating in someone’s chat. I was in rough shape, beyond teetering, crumbling even...”
“Excellent self-analysis,” the doctor said. “Tragic but exquisitely put.”
“It didn’t take long for me to develop a bond with Lilac,” I said. “And, when I fell into the psychic thunderstorms months later, the only safe place I found was with my L in a corner of our damp, mildewed basement.”