I knew it long ago. (It stopped sending postcards from Cebu, Ko Samui, wherever it went for relaxation from being THE adverb... It works quietly behind the scenes of English, as we know, unsung, like a 'personal massager.')
Sigh.
Now, myriad technological-wonders are attached, beeping, pinging smartly, giving us up-to-the-second updates on its condition. Arteries hold drip-lines, veins have been tapped for samples - endlessly - it seems, unmentionables have been vigorously palpated, the proverbial gown is on. ('Can you see my ass crack in this?')
Someone in the scrubbed-bleachy hall, probably an overly cynical nurse, murmurs "It doesn't look good. Serious."
Dag nabbit.
Today I heard the call of a bald eagle, and I knew that little, paltry chitter-up from occasional sightings, and I looked up from my exterior trim-painting. The sky was deep blue, but thick clouds off the to the left obscured the Olympics. The city was mostly in cloud-shade, but yellowish sun beat down on the cargo ships anchored in Elliott Bay, Queen Anne and Magnolia, and occasionally flicked off the waves, wind-beaten as they were...
There wasn't just one, but THREE bald eagles cruising on the updraft coming up the beach from Alki. They were - perhaps - 150 feet from me, curling in the top of the flow, riding for free on the results of the westerly wind and the forest terrain. A ferry cut through ultra-blue water peaked with slashed white-caps, nestled into the same, odd breezes.
(And I didn't spill any paint.)
The adverb used to be so lively, so wonderfully vibrant. You should've seen it in spring, in light colors, flitting though the flowers, sniffing at the bees. I almost thought it had a special friend, that smile so fetching...
Turns out, people like language more efficient. Devolution, some would call it. I call it neglect.
Adverb wants food from that deli across the street from the hospital. (They don't have 'American' cheese there, Thank a Deity...) They've got a good, oily pastrami, so...
I scanned the chart hanging on the outside of the door frame, and even though I didn't know wht the heck it said, I know it wasn't good. The graph is going down. It's not like 'shit' rarely happens. (It makes a career of happening, until it's outsourced to several non-descript factories in Guangzhou.) In the middle of the page, there was a line that read, in poorly-mastered cursive, 'Abused, underused, neglected.'
I wanted to weep, unconsolably, but I thought better of it. What would the Adverb think? That I was a puss. We had some great times, notably before the Bush Administrations, throwing out the 'ly' like it w'a'nt no thang. (It was like dancing.) Usually I indulged it, made it feel welcome, offered some quickly reheated left-overs, maybe a Snapple if it was thirsty. A good beer if I had any left.
But I never had the couch ready. I could've been more accommodating. Those little soaps in the shower kept disappearing, and I wrongly thought it was Adverb. Maybe it was just me.
No more letters, no more cards. Not even e-mails. If it wasn't for the silly bracelet, they wouldn't have known to call me. (They?)
I got a voicemail from Vegas, maybe it was Adverb. Sounded soundly drunk, said it's been at the tables for awhile, then walked The Strip. It was all slurred, basically a confession of doom.
Then all this.
So I know Adverb is on it's last legs. I'm gonna hold it's hand. Lovingly, after midnight.
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