She sat at the table staring at the salt in the shaker, while beating a steady tattoo on the tabletop with her knife.

The private nurse sat quietly next to her.  An Easter Island statue in comfy shoes.  There was a tiny stain on her white uniform top. It must have been the cranberry juice at lunch. 

Lunch took two hours.  She did 12 bites in all, and her pants felt tight from it.  They were 45 minutes into this meal, and four forkfuls had already gone  down.  One forkful from each of the items on the plate.  It had to be that way, otherwise the sweats would come and soon after the shakes.  So much responsibility to keeping the order. 

Each day she would find an orderly word in the dictionary, and write it and it’s definition neatly on a blue lined journal page.  Today the word was symmetric; she thought it a lovely word. 

The clock ticked loudly.  The nurse tapped the table to get her attention. 
“The food is getting cold shall I pop it in the microwave.”
“No”
The knife was placed next to the plate carefully.
“Why do you all think I need reassembly in a world that’s falling apart?” 

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