“But Pippa, you’re
frightening me!”
And then she was
awake, once again,
strapped to all of
the same monitors,
listening to the blips
and the bleeps and
the ticks and the
noises of paper
being spit, being
spewed, being
eaten, being
shredded and
being stacked
and stacked
until the crumple
folded in on itself,
flattening quite
a bit, and then
waiting for the
moment when
what was then
piling above the
collapsed bundle
would be collapsed
atop of as the next
ball of tickertape
became burdened
by its very maze
of roadmaps de
noting the glitches
and the ups and the
downs and the slow
rises and overly long
decrescendos. Esther
looked around at all
of this, but only for
a split second until
the staff were on her
with a simultaneous
bombardment of
questions. As she
lay there, able to
somehow ignore
the usual barrage
of questioning, she
closed her eyes again,
thought of Pippa, and
with every single part
of her that could still
pack a punch, she was
for the first time able
to go back home, to
her Pippa, she went
back for good, to see
her lovely daughter,
to replay that one
game of hide-and-
seek that went awry.
She had miscalculated.
The moment she realized
Pippa was gone, the second
she felt as if she were scream
ing “But, Pippa! Pippa! Come
back, Pippa! You’re scaring
the hell out of me!” she felt
herself uncontrollably enter
consciously into the waking
life, where she stayed, for
at least a bit longer than
the last time, until she
was able to ascertain
that it had been two weeks
and three days since the
staff had last seen her
conscious, had asked,
as always, in the bomb
ardment that was their
immediate questioning,
that one question that
always stood out, more
clear than any of the
others being slung at
her all at once, “Esther,
Esther, who’s Pippia?”
“Who is Pippa?”
“Esther?!”
