Chapter 23:

XXIII | Will Be

The Rowan Tree


Aren't these people
supposed to be recovering already?

What am I supposed to say?
Why am I even here?

This situation
doesn't make any sense.

I look at Rowan.

You handle this.

I pick at my Scrabble tiles
and form a word.

Rowan watches me
and says,

'God kept you alive.
'There are still things you need to do.'

Did she really

say that to him?

He looks down at the Scrabble board.
I give him two new tiles.

His eyes

are fixed on Rowan.

They stare at each other without talking.

He forms a word on the board.

'I'm old.
'Sick.
'Jobless.
'Alone.

'There's nothing I can do.'

I agree.

There's also nothing I can do for him.

Why am I here?

Clearly society has abandoned him
because he's grown senile.

What can he do

except take up space?
Be an extra mouth to feed?

Even I don't visit my grandparents at their nursing home.

No time.
Don't need them.
It's boring.

'How many times did you—'
Rowan pinches my arm when I speak.

Don't ask.

The wrinkles on his face

crease a little more.

'Enough to be dead by now.'

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