The stethoscope was still on my chest, a very slight pressure, so light I found it tender, and I asked him if his arm hurt because I was worried about his arm, so he smiled and shook his head gently, he was fine, still listening, but he encouraged me to talk to him. He was looking down, and up, and sometimes he would look at me, smiling, always. And I thought of his hand on my chest and I didn’t want him to remove it. All I wanted was to continue sitting there with him, all morning and all day into the evening, and we would drive back to his place at around 7, when it would be dark outside. And the stethoscope was still on my chest and his hand was keeping it in place, with a delicate pressure, so kindly, still caring. I couldn’t let this moment come to an end, I wanted to remain attached to him, so I put my hand on his hand, on the stethoscope, on my chest, and I started counting the seconds. On my chest, the stethoscope, his hand, my hand, for how long.
(2010)
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