At the end of the date, just when Heather had escaped my mind, and I was leaning in for the kiss from the date I was with, my phone would beep. Every ...ime. There would be a text, a text from Heather. She wrote one of two things. Either a smiley face, or ‘I miss you.’ I prayed every night, sometimes crying, that God would take Heather away from my thoughts, as I could not think of anyone else. Eventually, I stopped hearing from her. She stopped sending me pictures of her and her son. I heard. . Oh!" She held me tight against her, trembling, her tears wetting my neck."Is she alright? Mom!?"She sobbed against me a moment, then said with great sadness, "no ... no ... she didn't make it ... oh, Penelope!"It didn't really sink in then. I knew tremendous loss and anguish in slow motion. I felt like I was out of my own body, watching myself cry, watching myself give in to the grief. I saw myself from a distance, the warmth of my mother's embrace around someone else's body. I could see my. Both of us felt the jolt. She sipped at the drink and smiled, “thanks ”. I had heard that muslim females are very sexy but this one was a bomb, waiting to explode any moment. I finished my drink in one gulp and got up to keep the glass in the kitchen thereby signaling her to finish her drink too. She gulped the drink down and I relaxed. It was only a matter of time now. My crocked mind was smiling away. We sat near the phone and waited for the call to connect. The summer heat in the closed room. When Lizzie woke again, it was morning. A quick check of the covers showed that it was no dream. She had gotten the figure of a living Barbie. As the nurse raised the blind, she got a better look at the 40 inch mounds pushed together with the surgical tape. "Ready for some breakfast dear?" The nurse asked.Lizzie nodded. The nurse moved the tray in front of her and left. Lizzie picked at her food, still weak from the operation. As she brought the food to her mouth she had to relearn how to get.
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