The soft spot on a piece of fruit

Written by

Craig Finn – Not Much Left Of Us

I saw my sixth grade teacher today. She has cancer now. Has for a while. I haven’t seen or talked to her for a decade and a half.

She was shuffling through the mall, green shawl tied around her bald head, leaning heavily on her husband. He’s some 10 years her junior and has always carried a boyish energy. Now graying, face drooping, his gait still bounces – heels eager to leave the earth. He was smiling oddly. Like he was proud to be parading around his wife, or maybe proud to be showing her the world which has become increasingly his own domain whereas hers is the dimly lit living room, a damp cloth on her forehead, or Lysoled hospital halls.

I didn’t stop them. What does one say to someone dying of cancer? Besides, I didn’t want to take out my headphones mid-song. “There’s not much left of us. The part that remains is rotten and bruised, the soft spot on a piece of fruit.”

[Clear Heart Full Eyes.]

One Response to “The soft spot on a piece of fruit”

  1. Jessica says:

    Shit, Zac. Too depressing.

Got something to say?