are you aware that your illness affects your mind and your body?

April passed, a blanket of medium days.   Linda was reading for pleasure when the telephone rang.

It was her accountant, Terry.   Linda could just tell that once upon a time Terry had been a troubled teen, a Jesus freak secret cutter or a real Nintendo addict, some kind of adolescent identity pudding that he’d sorted out the summer before college out of state and rarely thought of once he’d had sex a dozen or so times.

“Are you busy?” Terry asked.

“Define busy,” Linda said.   They both chuckled.   As Terry talked, Linda drew her first and maiden names in various styles of cursive.

Linda smelled pizza.

She sniffed.   It was a distant thin-crust.   She walked toward it.

Pizza is too familiar to be genuinely nostalgic, Linda concluded.   She ordered an extra-large with Italian sausage and mushroom, and as she ate she thought only of the future.

Linda was getting enough daily exercise when a UPS truck pulled up.   She signed for a box the size of two packs of Camel Lights or any other cigarette.   The box was addressed to her husband, Jared.   She guessed that inside the box was his anniversary present to her because it was their anniversary and the box was too small to hold anything a man could want for himself.

That evening, Jared tore open the box right in front of her.   It was an extra battery for his smartphone.   Linda hadn’t considered the possibility that the box held only a piece of something greater, but she didn’t let it spoil their anniversary.

While planning to host a small BBQ, Linda realized that her favorite TV show had jumped the shark.   When exactly had it happened? she wondered.   She re-watched eleven old episodes and discovered that the moment had been the introduction of the twins.   They’d be better off staying away from twins on TV, Linda reasoned, unless they’re there from the get-go.

An airplane flew overhead.   Linda closed her eyes and listened.   She was practicing knowing what direction a plane was moving in, just by closing her eyes and listening.   That way, if she ever went blind but not deaf, she’d be able to tell a northbound jet from an eastbound one, vice-versa, and so on.   Linda’s son, Thad, said she was overdoing it, but Linda’s friends assured her that boys always think their mothers overdo it.

Linda was dieting when a champion was announced on the radio.

The champion had come from behind, pulling off a seemingly effortless hat-trick of golds in Rowing, Cake Decorating, and Meta-Cognition. The announcer summarized the championship from start to finish: how the champion, a favorite both at home and abroad, had taken an early lead but had dropped back to a distant third place after less than stellar performances in Empathy and Beach Basketball. But the champion had refused to throw in the proverbial towel and was now the champion.   It was the middle of the night in the small republic where the last round of the championship had taken place; nevertheless, said the announcer, locals and tourists thronged the streets in riotous celebration of the champion.

Linda felt pleased and relieved, for the champion was her only niece, Tabitha.

In October, an attractive stranger showed up, looking for sex.

“Jared!” Linda called to her husband.   “This attractive stranger wants sex.”

“Oh!” said Jared.

“Wait,” said the stranger. “I want sex with you,” and pointed to Linda.

“Oh!” said Linda.

“Oh,” said Jared.

Later, Linda’s sister-in-law called.   Tabitha, Linda’s niece, the champion, had been attacked.

“Was it one of the other competitors?” asked Linda.

“Of course not!” cried Lacy, the sister-in-law, Tabitha’s mother.   “The losers were all terribly good sports.   Ladies and gentlemen, each one.   A near-champion can tell a true champion.”   Lacy had been talking in this way ever since she’d become a famous mother.

“Who, then?   Some activist who thinks the world was better off without a champion?”

“No,” said Lacy solemnly.   “It was an angry peregrine falcon.”

A few weeks later, Linda was making excuses when it began to snow.

“Mom, it’s snowing!” exclaimed Thad, her son.

“It hasn’t snowed here in years!” exclaimed Linda. That was their special joke: really it snowed every day there.

“Maybe school will get cancelled!” said Thad.   That was their other joke: Thad was thirty-five.

Not too long after that, Thad made a big announcement.

“Will you have to enter the witness protection program, son?” asked Jared.   Linda and Thad glared at him.

“You’re doing the right thing,” said Linda.

“Thanks, Mom.   Though I can’t say my reasons are very noble.”

Linda was making ends meet when her leg began to tremble.   She called her neurologist and described the trouble.

“Oh, God,” said her neurologist, Dr. Dave.   “Whatever you do, don’t try to hold it still.”

Linda let go of her leg.   “What is it?”

“It could be any number of very serious—oh, wait a   second.   Which leg is it?”

“The right.”

“Let’s see here—excellent!” said Dr. Dave.   “Not to worry, not to worry.   This too will pass.”