Healing Machine for Christina
For the emptiness of waking up and realizing you're no longer tethered to your physical body and your name no longer fits you.
You have one of those balloon souls, and that's okay. We'll have to get you a ribbon to tie the loose end to something that won't float away, like the giant stuffed rabbit you used to pretend was your dad when he was at work. Or we could tuck it under your plate on Thanksgiving at your Uncle Jerry's house, or maybe tie it to the headboard of your grandmother's bed where you used to sleep.
You may notice, in times of stress, that this technique doesn't work so well. The balloon becomes agitated and floats away, carrying with it the stuffed rabbit, Uncle Jerry's dining room table, or your grandmother's bed. At times like this, you will feel like a ghost, wondering if your soul has finally popped along the edges of space. The motions of life will become unbearable. You will have to be very patient.
One day you will come to work tired. You'll take the elevator up to your office, then walk past reception, past the secretaries, through the door with your name on it. The stuffed white rabbit will be at your desk, typing away. You'll walk up to him. He will not stop typing, even as you use your left-handed scissors to cut the balloon's ribbon from his wrist. You will slip out unnoticed, hugging the balloon to your chest, leaving the rabbit to do your work forever. In the elevator, you will untie the knot in the rubber, exhale every bit of air from your lungs, and suck the air from the balloon until your whole self is back together for good.