Ruth

Ashamed, Disease and I spend the last days of my life lying helpless in bed. The
sick must find a way to honor themselves. I cannot. Greasy, filthy, smelling like
death, realizing that I will leave only some dirty sheets behind me, I wait to die.
To die alone would be a comfort, but like an uninvited, unsuitable guest at a dinner
party, Disease clings to me. I wear it like a size six. Disease exposes me, it
humiliates me.

I somehow fanaticize that on the eve of my departure Disease will relinquish its
chokehold, and as gentlemen should, only open the door for me. In reality, my
labored breath charges ahead, letting the door slam in my face. Disease wants to
die, to exit as much as I do.
“Damn it! You’re not invited.”

Yesterday I died. Disease pleaded with me to stop breathing. I gave in.

Today I am standing in my bath rob at an iron gate. I look down and my feet are
still swollen and blue. Soars still cover my skin. Disease is with me. I begin to
choke, to panic.
“They lied, they lied.”
Tears of rage stream down my sunken ashy cheeks. I begin to struggle with the
gate, pushing it, grappling with the latch, kicking it, shaking it. It will not open; it
will not open for me.

In the distance I hear a voice, “Enter your password.”

I look around and find a keypad on a post just to the left of the gate. No one told
me my password. Nobody said I needed a password to get in.
The voice sounds off, “Enter you password.”
Out of desperation I key in my name; M A R Y.
“Access denied,” the voice echoes as if I am standing in a cave with no outlet. It is
melodic, it sounds like a machine, uncooperative and firm.
“Enter your password.” I try again. M A R Y.
“Access denied.”
“Enter your password.”
I enter hundreds of possible passwords; always denied, always rejected.
Without consent my body sinks in disgust and despair. I do not know the
password. Maybe I should have listened more, maybe I missed it somehow.

My head aches, my feet burn, my breath is shallow. Disease is still with me. I will
set at this gate forever; Disease and I, unable to enter, unable to journey. “Enter
your password” resounds every five minutes for hours; my torture for eternity.
This must be hell.

I sit here for weeks, months, maybe years remembering, and searching only to
remain stranded at this dreadful iron gate. Disease clouds my mind.
“It’s all your fault. I told you to stay, but you had to come.”
“You rob me even now. I hate you.”
“Enter your password.”
At this moment, my eyes filled with torment, I rise. I strike the letters on the
keypad with such force, with a violent resignation.
D I S E A S E.
Again, I pound out my exiled fate, my separation.
D I S E A S E.
Hopeless, heartless, and exhausted I fall to my knees, and a primordial scream
travels upward escaping my gut.

“Access granted. Welcome.”

As I struggle to stand the gate opens. My swollen feet barely carry me across the
threshold. As I cross over, I feel as if I am stepping outside myself. The gate
closes. I look back. To my horror Disease is standing behind the iron bars. Our
eyes meet.
“Forgive me,” I whisper with uncertain pain.
Disease blows me a kiss; I feel it caress my face. I turn to walk away.
Disease calls after me, “What is your name.”
I turn. “My name is Ruth.”
Disease turns and walks. I turn and walk. We journey in opposite directions.