Beauty of the Dark

Chapter 7

          What a lovely painting. A sunset over a reflective lake, essentially. But no, there was much more to it then that. The fiery colors were bright to the point of being unnatural. Fire tainted orange, Valentine pinks, brick reds, and an array of fuschias. The lake was a simple steel gray though. It was simply a blank canvas for the other colors to inhabit. The colors were much brighter on the actual horizon as compared to the slightly dulled ones across the lake. In the middle of it all was the straight yellow orb. The orb that had, in fact, created all the colors within the sky and lake. The orb which fueled it all was - rightfully so - in the center. 

          Would she ever see a sunset such as this? Was it possible? Somewhere, maybe. Perhaps the ocean shore would display such a light show. Or maybe at one of the great lakes. Inside her head she began to list the places where sunsets might be most magical. 

          "Miss Colde? Miss Colde, I need your attention, please." 

          "That's a beautiful picture, who painted it?" Lucy asked, her eyes never leaving the sunset. The silence that followed her remark was doleful. 

          "Lucy," The doctor almost pleaded, "I don't know. Could you please give me your full attention?" Dr. Cohen spoke quite slowly she noticed. Was it because he lacked intelligence? No, it was more of the slow that comes from someone who is constantly thinking. Well, everyone is constantly thinking, but Dr. Cohen's thoughts seemed to be much more time consuming. He had quite a lot to say, as they'd been sitting in his spacious office for quite a bit of time now. Forty five minutes, an hour? She was not a hundred percent sure. There was not a clock in the room. Wouldn't most offices normally have a clock? How would the doctor know when to see a patient, or when his lunch break began or when his shift was over? Maybe he had a watch.

          "Of course, Doctor." Lucy's mind drifted into reality, as if keeping one foot in dreamland and the other in Dr. Cohen's office. 

          "Traditionally, we would treat Glioblastoma Multiforme with surgery, but Miss Colde's tumor is inoperable. My proposal for treatment in a high grade tumor like this is chemotherapy." Dr. Cohen stopped for a great period of time, must be thinking again. Both Aunt Sarah and Uncle Jim were quiet. They listened intently, holding each other's hands. No one held her hand.

          The doctor had a multitude of pamphets, all lined up along the edge of a coffee table. They varied in color, but seemed to all be pastelm or faded, as though that might calm the stresses of it's reader. Her eyes followed the line of words, but could not read them from this distance. Smiling faces and eyes were a common variable. They seemed to all be quite content with themselves. How silly!, she thought. You're dying! Cry, scream, do something! 

          "I'll set you up with an appointment about a week from now. The front desk can get a more specific time and date for you." Everyone stood, as though upon some invisible cue. Feeling slow and left out, Lucy also took to her feet. "Thank you for coming in today, I'm very sorry." His steel eyes indicated no sorrow. Aunt Sarah shook his hand, followed by Uncle Jim. When his frail and pallid hand extended to Lucy she simply stared at it. Was she to supposed to thank him for delivering the news he was required to? Without another word, Dr. Cohen's hand dropped. 

          In an organized manner, they filed out of his office into the hospital corridor. Lucy stepped on only the blue tiles of the linoleum floor, while her relatives tromped through the hallway. Quiet voices conversed all around her, the definition of their words lost in the distance. Her hands spidered up and down her blue sweater. It was soft, but also cold. Like there was no body beneath the fabric.