Slow Burn

  Love, I don't know if you'll ever see this. I'm sitting in the waiting room of Sacred Heart. It's very crowded in here, but it's quiet. In the movies the panic has this noise, like a high whine under all of the chaos of beeping machines and people clamoring for help. There aren't enough machines here for the beeping to be heard out here. There aren't even enough rooms. Every now and then, they come and strap someone into a gurney and wheel them away. Nobody is clamoring. You hear a moan on occasion, or a voice raised in delirium, but I think we all know what we're waiting for here. Even the children are silent.
  I'm sorry I left you with no note. I finally put the pieces together. You'd think a B-movie aficionado like myself would have realized ages ago what was going on, but I didn't. How could I? How could anyone? Except, I think that on some level we knew. You were too insistent that this was just a flu, even after my nailbeds began to blacken. We painted my nails, remember? We didn't want to see it, so we painted them bright red.
  I think I was one of the first to be infected. I had biked too far, and wore myself out. So, I took the bus back home. It was that little kid. The one with the crusty brown crap flowing from his nose. He leaned over, and took my hand. I laughed, thinking he was just unusually friendly, and then he bit my finger. I snatched my hand away, and his tooth came with it. He didn't cry. He just reached for me again. I got off at the next stop.
  The bite wasn't bad. My pinky finger had this tiny mark where the kid's tooth had sunk in. There wasn't even any blood, just a bit of lymph like you get with any really shallow cut. I washed it in the Walgreen's restroom.
  It healed up like any cut does. There wasn't any infection, or anything dramatic like that. Not long after, though, my finger started to tingle. A week later, my whole hand had pins and needles. I thought that kid had given me tetanus or something, and went to the doctor. He said I'd been sleeping wrong, and gave me exercises that didn't help. It wasn't until after the pain had spread to my other hand and my feet that the news reports started coming in about the Frisco Flu.
 We know it's not a flu now, right? Flu viruses have a survival rate. The flu doesn't get into your nervous system. It doesn't burrow into your brain like a prion, make you bleed like ebola. It doesn't give you compulsions. It doesn't make your corpse get up and walk again.  
  It's weird to see what people obsess over at the last stage. An old woman is knitting furiously. Another guy is constantly updating his facebook. A little girl is slowly devouring her teddy bear. The talking heads claim the compulsions have to do with what we value most. I'm just glad there's no sex addicts in here, you know? Dying is awkward enough without that.
  It's been six months since I was bitten. That shallow little cut was all it took. The nurse who took my vitals called it a "slow burn." She said it was unusual. She said it was a good thing I came in. She didn't say I'd ever be released.
 There's a guard at the door. A lady is trying to get out. She's got one of those stupid surgical masks on. I'm fine! she says I'm fine! and the nurse shakes her head. You can see the blood staining through her mask. I don't think she's realized she hasn't got control of her bowels anymore. She breaks past the guard, and he follows her out. We hear  POP! POP!
  The guard looks like he's about to cry when he comes back in. I wonder if he knows what kind of mercy he gave her?
  I'm pretty far gone, my love. I'm no longer bleeding. I can't feel anything but this howling sort of emptiness. I can barely remember who I am. I remember you, though. I remember your eyes, and your smile. I remember the way I felt when I first told you I loved you, and I remember the whoosh! of relief and joy when you said you loved me, too.
  It's my turn on the gurney. They say they'll give this to you, so you won't always wonder. I love you. I'll always love you.