Thursday, August 25, 2016

Radiation Vibe

While Matchbox 20 plays insipidly over the speakers, the room-sized machine revolves its enormous, heavy, blind head around my supine, immobilized form, and tomorrow I know it will beam the stuff of my childhood nightmares into me: the invisible, odorless, tasteless, unfelt corruptor of DNA that is radiation.

Afterwards, when the nurse tells me that it'll be the same tomorrow, I try to make a joke to chase away my nerves, saying, "Oh, so all I have to do is show up and look pretty."

"You don't even have to look pretty," she says, laughing.

"I can't help it," I say distractedly.

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