Capitol offence

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I died three days ago.

I never saw it coming. It had been a difficult day at the hospital, shocking even-but when was it ever different? St. Benedict's is one complication after another, especially in my line of work. There are too many patients, too many bureaucrats, and too few happy endings. Midday, I took a long stroll through the children's ward just to hear the high-pitched voices raised in song or play. Even when there is great pain, the young always seem capable of mustering optimism and innocence, two qualities I see too infrequently.

"Dr. Thomas, you're pretty."

"Thank you, Jonathan."

"My dad thinks you're pretty, too."

"I'm flattered." And I was, genuinely. Compliments are sparse in my line of work.

"When I get better, do you think you could come over for dinner? Not for me. But I think my dad gets lonesome sometimes…"

"I'm married, Jonathan."

"Oh…"

"But I'd still love to have dinner with you sometime."

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