1-19-21

A man with a pustule on his back, the size of a basketball.

PUSTULE-MAN
I am sick, as everyone will be. One day, sick and old if God wills it.
You can feel bad for me, it’s nothing preventable, a pustule exploding out of my back. This is at least what my roommates tell me, my elaborate system of cameras can’t capture it because I haven’t gotten the iOS update so
When I lie down to sleep, it is painful beyond language.
My roommates and I have workshopped metaphors with steak knives and factory farming, unusual scenarios involving time travel and the betrayal of the oldest friend but so far there are no matches.
Usually I sleep standing upright, in the stall with my cows. Does that answer your question?

HEALER
Yes.
The issue is: we don’t know what’s in there.

P-MAN
Oh.

HEALER
Could be pus—could be an organ migration. The ultrasound couldn’t breach the barrier.
We cannot pop or drain it.

P-MAN
Can you freeze it and cut it off like a wart?

HEALER
I’m sorry, it is not possible.
The pustule is a manifestation of your guilt.

P-MAN
…No, I don’t think so.

HEALER
Your pride?

P-MAN
No.

HEALER
Jealousy?

P-MAN
I don’t experience these things. I am a simple machine. Like a pulley or an inclined plane.

HEALER
I see. You predate the Industrial Revolution?

P-MAN
And for that I am pure. I have never even heard of a thing called ‘soot.’

HEALER
(Taking notes)
I see. You are a man with a pustule, a simple machine, who stands to sleep with the cows.

P-MAN
Correct.

HEALER
Do you have any other animals?

P-MAN
I used to have a dog so big it looked like a human in a dog costume.

HEALER
(Vigorous notes)
Mhm, and then?

P-MAN
And then the dog died so I had it cleaned out and now I wear it like a human in a dog costume.

HEALER
Are you familiar with the term ‘menagerie’?

P-MAN
No.

HEALER
How about ‘hosanna’?

P-MAN
No.

HEALER
Is it possible that the pustule is grief?

P-MAN
I…don’t think so.

HEALER
Because I am also a Medium.
And a Closet Organizer.
And I can tell you that that shelf holds more than grief.
What I mean is, I’ve spoken to your dog and she said the thing isn’t going to get any better.
Your dog told me, from somewhere, We believe in a funny God. So it isn’t ending any time soon.
Shore up that brickwork and refinance the joy because round each corner is a holiday of dread.

P-MAN
I’ll be in this pain forever?

HEALER
Grief is like—

P-MAN
It’s not grief.

HEALER
I’m just telling you what the dog told me, which was: Grief is a game of hopscotch with all the single steps erased. You might as well walk down the street at that point, you might as well jump in place.

P-MAN
What should I do?

HEALER
Sleep on your stomach for now.