the surgical resident who failed to make it to his friday on call rounds in our hospital, as well as on saturday, and sunday, and monday, the police found him dead, all by his lonesome in his bed yesterday.
balding although barely into his thirties, not one, not even members of his surgical team, knew much about him. his immediate superior, a highly voluble man, was painfully disinclined to talk to anyone yesterday, much like the wont of the dead resident when he used to skulk around during his early morning patient rounds.
except perhaps the slight buildup at the cross bronx expressway, it had been a lovely morning yesterday. almost like a ruse.
when i got to the parking lot, the sun was beating on the roofs of the cars just washed clean by a midnight rain. there was a steady flickering, as if from candles, in the softly scented summer air.
a nurse acquaintance, rushing in late for work, yelled at me as soon as she found a spot, "you knew, right?" heard of the news, i did. knew that he would kill himself, should i have?
i must be really this ancient. i've done this thing, this witnessing of things, an inordinate number of times. i trundled on to my bus stop under a seemingly cloud-choked sky. i shouldn't have been, and yet i found myself stunned moments after, standing under a dome, unmottled by billowing clouds and unspeakably blue.
