‘I get it,’ Paul says, ‘how people feel when sick. Real sick.’ Paul has been running between our house and a neighbors, he has been checking on the elderly lady with pneumonia. ‘All one’s plans, ideas, objectives, just end.’
‘It is a mystery to cope without working,’ Paul continues, ‘the body seems to blanket the mind.’ Getting a glass, Paul pours a glass of milk. ‘The questions are always bleak. What if I never walk again, breathe the same, see the same?’ Paul stands there after a sip, he doesn’t move, but looks up through the upper window. ‘What if things are never the same?’
‘Job, he must have felt it, the feeling of release.’ Paul stretches a little, he touches his toes and arches his back. ‘Things may never be the same, and you may never get answers. Answers why.’ He takes another sip. ‘But I am human to the extent that Jesus was man. And in that, he taught us to affirm life, with the momentary stings of suffering.’ Paul closes the refrigerator and puts his cup in the sink.
‘We are yes men, we are yes men.’ He chants.