For Me, It's Better To

A Hysterical Young Woman With Flowing Brown Hair Is Also Called From 4, But She's Quickly Replaced By A Volunteer, An Eighty-year-old Woman Who Needs A Cane To Walk To The Stage.

There's No Point In Comforting Words, In Telling Her She'll Be All Right. She's No Fool. Her Hand Reaches Out And I Clutch It Like A Lifeline. As If It's Me Who's Dying Instead Of Rue.

It's Weird, How Much He's Noticed Me... And Apparently, I Have Not Been As Oblivious To Him As I Imagined, Either.

My Mother Says Healers Are Born, Not Made.

My Spirit. This Is A New Thought. I'm Not Sure Exactly What It Means, But It Suggests I'm A Fighter. In A Sort Of Brave Way. It's Not As If I'm Never Friendly. Okay, Maybe I Don't Go Around Loving Everybody I Meet, Maybe My Smiles Are Hard To Come By, But I Do Care For Some People.