Goodbye Bernard, May You Rest in Peace
Tonight I kissed a man. I put my lips to his without hesitation, without thought. I didn’t think of the blood on his face, only of pinching his nose. Of exhaling with force into his mouth, of filling his lungs with my breath.
All the while, my beloved Amy pushed against his chest with rhythmic thrusts, compressing his heart to make it pump. Pushing hard, she only stopped to feel for pulse. Faint. Gone. Faint again.
She, the medical professional, the physician’s assistant in George Washington University Hospital’s intensive care unit. Me the husband who heard the crash in the YMCA National Capitol men’s locker room.