Day 22

"I sort of hate these lights right now," said Kyle as he closed his eyes against the flourescents. Kyle had three more little bottles of liquid courage before falling asleep, signaling the end of the rager party in his hospice room.

Putting my hand on his forehead for a moment I said, "You're not sick. Oh, are you still hungover from last year's party?!"

"While you're still as sure as a now designated driver," replied Kyle.

"Wonder what you've written about my twenty-second birthday." He opens the card that I've placed cat stickers all over. "Twenty two is the double of eleven; the symbolic number of chaos. Which means you're twice as chaotic. Walk away from the black cats if you know what I'm saying."

Kyle mulls over the longer than usual message with a shake of his head. "Do me a favor, Renata, turn off the lights."

Walking near his door, I switch off his room lights. He smiles as he said, "Much better. Now, you should know now. I don't believe in numerology, astrology, or superstitions. So guess what, I'll cross as many black cat's paths as I want."

"Suit yourself. Don't say I didn't warn you," I replied.