It’s nothing, she said to her super-duper hypochondriac husband for the billionth time. And yes, that’s billionth with a major capitol B.
I think I have this.
I think I’m getting that.
Look at my eyes.
Glaucoma, followed by a coma.
It looks like herpes!
Have you been cheating?
Sorry, never mind.
What if I do go into a coma, and they think I’m dead and they bury me alive, and I wake up? I want to be cremated, but only if I’m really dead.
You do know I’m claustrophobic!
You’re a phobic alright.
What did you say?
I think that I’m going deaf.
I said I love you
I think I have a fever.
She put her lips to his forehead.
Get the thermometer. The rectal one!
I’ll get the biggest one on the planet.
What did you say?
I said I love you God damn it.
It was so cute at first. The imaginary maladies, and she was in a place where she needed a man that was needy. It became like babysitting. She would not verbalize to him thou.
He couldn’t take it she thought.
He is so very weak.
Still she loved him.
One night when he thought he was having an asthma attack, even thou he didn’t have asthma, he went into the night alone to get some fresh air in the middle of the dirty city they lived and loved in.
He was waiting to cross the street to get to a bench in the little park he wanted to freely, get some free air in.
The light was red and he waited in back of a woman who he first thought was too loudly speaking on her cell phone.
After a few more overheard words, he realized that she was taking to herself.
A bus was coming by and the woman stepped in front of it.
Still, in her soliloquy heading from stage struck to bus stuck.
He saw her future and leaped out and pushed her out of the way.
He was not that lucky, as the bus ran him over.
But he wasn’t dead, even thou it sure as Hell looked like it.
In the hospital he was plastered from head to toes. Tubes out of his mouth, dick, nose, and ass, and if that was not enough, throw in some comical traction.
His eyes were covered too but thru his bandaged ears he heard his love crying as she was sitting next to his deathbed.
He mumbled something through the tubes in his mouth to her.
What did you say darling?
He whispered to her in the most positive whisper he was able to accomplish.
“Don’t worry sweetie, it’s nothing”.
Alan Berger has a few films on Netflix that he wrote and directed. He lives in West Hollywood along with the memories of 4 great cats and not much else and likes it that way. About fifty other pieces of poems and short fiction can be found in “The Literary Yard”