House Call

“The Mass has ended. Go in peace.”

Finally those words were uttered by the priest after an agonizing hour in Our Lady of Pompeii. In the span of only 60 minutes, May had gone from having a light sore throat to feeling a wave of misery washed over her entire body. Her head throbbed, her bones ached and her skin was so sensitive her clothes hurt.

She was sick.

This was likely to happen, as the recent weeks had been filled with activity. The fall is always busy and exciting, and certainly the most fun time of year. The air is fresh, the leaves are beautiful colors, and it’s as if all of New York has woken up after a steamy, sleepy summer. New York is meant to be lived in the fall. But just like when she was a girl in school, May would easily wear down and inevitably get sick shortly after her birthday.

She walked in a daze out of church and down Bleeker Street toward the No. 1 train. She felt feeling terribly weak and a little pitiful. But during the three long, lonely years in the tough town that is New York she had more than learned to handle crisis on her own, and had managed to take care of herself no matter how dreadful the situation. There was never any other option.

After what felt like an eternity on the subway and a marathon-distance walk to the apartment, she was home. May stumbled through door and immediately changed into her softest clothes, falling tired onto the couch with a blanket—this already felt an improvement. She glanced longingly at the refrigerator, just five feet away, and wished she had a glass of juice. But after careful consideration she decided the effort was too great, and would attempt the juice after a nap. She faintly remembered to send Roger a quick message that he would have to enjoy the sun for both of them today (they had talked about seeing each other in the afternoon, what would have been their fourth date) and then fell into a strange half-sleep while watching Roman Holiday.

A half hour later, around the part when Audrey Hepburn gets her hair cut at the barbershop, the phone’s pleasant twinkling sound awoke May from her rest. Roger had sent a message back, “Posso portarti la zuppa?”