A Pound of Light, ... those conniving Gods

The meds assuaged Sam's physical pain as anger warred with hope. On his trudge to the bedroom he pounded the wall; lean-step-drag-pound, thinking, lean-step-drag-pound, mapping the afternoon wondering how it would play out seeing Mia again. He placed Colleen's picture neatly on his bed stand, collapsed on the bed and closed his eyes, planning the meeting as he lay. He drifted into a fitful sleep and soon awoke in pain and hungry. Sam rose moaning aloud when he put weight to his left foot and shuffled himself to the kitchen, reached for a glass, the fry pan, bent into the fridge for eggs, barely able to manage juice, butter, and cherry preserves to the counter - more new pains. He scrambled eggs, sat on a bar stool stroking his cursed face and carefully forked in a mouthful when chewing hurt and caused his right eye to tear. He sat still for a three-count and downed a long drink of juice, some dribbling from his crooked mouth down his shirt. He hurled the glass to the wall. After swallowing more pills Sam composed himself and called his sons. They said they were about to leave for the airport and Sam's chest heaved at the sound of their voices - he quickly filled his mouth with eggs, muffling tears. They talked baseball and spring training and school. Love you. He couldn't talk anymore. Miss ya, Danny said and Sam wondered if he would.