Visiting Casimir was a lot like visiting anyone in a hospital.A couple of my friends had participated in volunteer programs,in which they came to see sick children.They weren’t allowed to talk to them about their illnesses.They couldn’t ask any questions or make any comments that might make the children feel bad.Basically,they had to keep it light,and not be too boisterous or too silent at the same time.With Casimir, it felt like we had more leeway and freedom to talk about things.Yet he held back and buried himself in darkness.One day, when I stopped by, he was sprawled out on the bed.Casimir looked quite upset.His eyes were red,and I knew that he had been crying. “Cas, what’s wrong?” I asked. “Are you alright?” “Yeah,sure.The doctor came and gave me some shots today.They hurt like hell.See?” he lifted up a limp arm to show me where some needles had gone into him,leaving little pricks.
Yet I couldn’t help but notice the little cuts on his arms. They certainly hadn’t come from needles.