Paint and Sip at the Clinic of ReanimationKatherine Garrison We checked yes at the clinic. When asked if we were interested in reanimation after death. It felt too soon to have to think about these things. They told us you wouldn’t be the same. The technology doesn’t exist to reanimate more than bones yet. An emaciated you rattled with laughter. It probably won’t feel much different.
Your soul would be there tucked in between ribs, memories would be there, swirling in an otherwise empty cavity, and they promised everything feels lighter when you’re only a skeleton. Fast forward— you’ve gone and come back. Metatarsals click on tiled floors as you relearn how to walk without flesh. Femurs, tibias and fibulas knocking against each other. Strung together by whatever magic a soul provides. Soon, you are tap-dancing down the halls. In the brochure there are activities to do after reanimation, reestablishing connection in both body and mind. We chose paint and sip, and you clacked your teeth together, like those laughing cartoon skeletons, when Sharon showed us hers, a painting of herself making love with a very dead Steve, and that’s how I knew it was you in there, not some false demon or artifice of technology designed to trick me. |
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