WILL
(a one-act by Bob Zolnerzak)
WILL
NARRATOR: I will not turn away from the details.
I will continue to offer my arm for blood-taking though I have no flesh left.
I will eat all the meat and fish I can though I'd rather just have vegetables.
I will answer my telephone and try not to make you feel too uncomfortable.
I will eat your cookies and chocolates even though it's getting harder to brush my teeth.
I will not complain when you wake me up at 3AM to give me a sleeping pill.
I will continue the peritoneal dialysis four times a day, taking into my abdominal catheter one clear liter of fluid to replace the yellow liter of fluid that has just been drained out.
I will not be annoyed that this must take place when you wake me at midnight and at 6AM and as I eat my lunch at noon and as I eat my dinner at 6PM.
I will continue to feel cold for one hour after each dialysis.
I will not regret that I don't feel like playing with myself anymore.
I will not ask what happened to the man down the hall who used to visit me every day.
I will smile when I accept the flowers you give me that I will watch slowly die during the next two weeks.
I will return the winning entry that will reward me with $200,000 tax-free each year for the next thirty years.
I will not call anyone homophobic.
I will renew my subscription to The New Yorker so that I continue to look at the cartoons and ignore all the modern fiction I haven't understood for the past five years.
I will not be annoyed when the man eating next to me vomits his meal all over his tray.
I will scan Body Positive for all the new medications my doctor won't prescribe me.
I will smile when the priest comes in but I will say that I'm Jewish, and I will smile when the rabbi enters but I will insist that I'm Protestant, and I will smile when the minister arrives but I will reply that I'm Catholic.
I will not be sad when you describe to me the meals that you've had in restaurants, the shows you've seen in theaters, the exhibits you've looked at in galleries, the men that you've met in the bars, or the trips that you've taken.
I will not complain when the man in the bed next to mine screams all night.
I will continue to look through Theater Week for addresses of festivals that might like my plays.
I will not get angry with that person who shouts "Fucking faggots!" every three minutes for two hours at a time.
I will look through my mail every day even though I would rather not get most of the envelopes that are sent to me.
I will continue to hope that I don't break anything when I fall in the bathroom.
I will keep my home-page up to date.
I will not complain when they give me a cola filled with ice when I requested some juice without ice.
I will continue to love that person who visits me every day he can, even though for the most part he drives me crazy with attentions I don't want.
I will thank everyone who telephones me even when they've wakened me from my nap.
I will resist the impulse to save up sleeping pills.
I will not get annoyed when my favorite sweater is stolen.
I will continue to say that the food is very good even though I've lost my sense of taste.
I will not be bothered by people who laugh at the parts of the movies that I think are particularly sad.
I will die.
END