Frida Kahlo - Henry Fort Hospital (1932)
He Said:
Its time. They wheel her in. I wait outside. It takes longer than I thought. I stay outside the clinic making phonecalls. Afterwards we don't discuss what just happened. We're both extra formal. I am itching to get away but I feel something. Let's call it care. She is a genuis at the silent stare out the window. I do the same. I offer to go up with her but she shakes her head and slams the cab door shut. The last of three children, I'll never know their name.
She Said:
A growing pain that never dies, or a tumor even - though I cannot figure out yet if it is benign. Occupying the corner of my mind, mostly quiet, sometimes not. Whispering thoughts in my ear. I have mastered the art - I am aloof. If I pretend it does not exist, I wonder, how long can I carry on like this?
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