Excerpt of The Distance Between Us by Masha Hamilton
(Page 7 of 7)
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She’s heard it said that everyone’s blood is the same color. An insistent
moral position: we are all as one underneath. But it’s not true—or perhaps
it’s that once spilled, the hue varies widely based on whether the day is
humid, balmy, overcast. On whether the blood splatters on concrete, dirt, gravel
or grass.
She makes lists in her mind. Pastel rose and watery. Vivid as a police
warning light. Eggplant-purple.
The blood that comes from Marcus’s head is the color of raspberries, and
sticky.
"I have to file," Caddie pleads. "It’s a story. Even if
anybody’s … hurt. Especially then."
No, no, dear. The voice comes from a great distance as a lady with pewter
hair and creamy uniform reaches for Caddie’s arm, mops it with a cottonball.
Caddie feels a sting. "What’s in that syringe?" She puts her head
back against the pillow, overcome by a desire to close her eyes. Then she tries
to sit up, realizing at last that this is a nurse, and a nurse should know
something. Caddie has to interview her. "Can you tell me the precise nature
of the wounds—"
The nurse’s head wobbles. You can’t get up yet. Please.
"How—" Caddie breaks off for a second. "How exactly are you
listing their conditions?"
Lie still, dear. Try to relax. The doctor will be here soon. The
pewter-and-cream lady, still out of focus, removes the needle and swabs
Caddie’s arm again.
"I don’t want to relax. I want to file."
She feels her arm being patted. It’s all over.
The nurse’s words echo. Overoveroverover.
From The Distance Between Us by Masha Hamilton. Copyright
2004. All rights reserved. No part of this book maybe reproduced
without written permission from the publisher, Unbridled Books.
