Congruence

By Cody T Luff

Gregory’s daughter gagged at the smell in the replantation bay, a blue surgical mask clutched to her lips as they both stared at Gregory’s body. He touched her free hand and she pulled away, her eyes wide in their nest of wrinkles.

“It stinks.” Her voice was rich with phlegm, she swallowed hard and tried again. “You stink, dad.”

It wasn’t Gregory’s body that stunk. He wasn’t about to correct Lucia on what could just as easily be her opinion on his soul as the overweight blob of middle-aged flesh on the gurney before them. He watched his daughter study his body, her eyes tracking from the curl of his crooked toes to the swell of his belly mercifully hidden beneath a blue hospital blanket. Her gaze settled on his body’s face, her fingers clenching into a writhing knot over her sternum. Her mother’s gesture, one that made her look older than her years even if Lucia herself was reaching into her sixth decade.

“So you’re still in…there.” Lucia’s gaze remained fixed to Gregory’s body.
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