Sitting in the truck, waiting, each minute felt longer, like ten. What is taking him so long? Finally, I see him. He has a large envelope in his right hand. He walked to my side, opened the door, placed the oversized medical envelope, the results of my scan, on the dashboard. “You have a brain tumor,” he said, calmly, as though this was a common, everyday exchange between us. It was not. He closed the door, walked around, and started the truck. I, too, was oddly calm, as though I had left my body and was managing myself somewhere else.
Fall Contest Editor’s Pick. I appreciated the contrast between the news and the calm, as well as the space that opened up to wonder about all of it—the relationship, the future. So many questions as she is receiving this answer.—SB
Jessica Karki, aspiring to become a published author, is a wife and mom of one and lives off-grid in BCS, Mexico. She is currently working on her first memoir.