Matisse in the Hospital

L tells Martin she is calling from the hospital and then gives him the news. “Beth had an accident on her bike this morning. When she fell, her left foot must have been trapped in the toe clip. Both of the bones in her lower leg are broken.” Lenore’s voice betrays no emotion. “It looks like she may be here for a while.” Since the divorce, Beth has lived with Martin during the school year and spent summers with her mother. It’ll take Martin two hours on a bus to get to his daughter. He lost his marriage to Lenore three years ago. He lost a car in a crash nine years ago and hasn’t been behind the wheel since then. Without a wife to drive him, he has been forced to rely on buses. Nights when he can’t sleep, Martin recounts his losses as if his life were a rosary. Th e people, possessions, and identities he has lost bump against each other like so many beads reverberating on a string. When he imagines the final loss, of life itself, he can see the string break and all his losses spinning away into the universe. And sometimes he can even picture Beth, all grown up, lying under an evening sky, her hazel eyes peering between stars to catch a glimpse of him. “Hi Daddy. I miss you.” Lenore has relinquished the phone without a word of closing or comfort to Martin. “I miss you too. How are you doing?” “It hurts, but the doctors are giving me medicine. Don’t I sound dopey? Anyway, will you come see me?” “Of course I will. Do you want me to bring you anything from here?” He hopes for a task to help him manage the fear and worry which now threaten to overwhelm him.