Every time I close my eyes, I see it.
It was like he was rifling through the contents of a kitchen drawer, mildly frustrated by years of clutter. One too many measuring tapes, birthday candles, takeaway menus.
Then he pulled her heart out.
"Ah, here it is!"
Heart in hand, he held the organ up to the light. Sun streamed in through the tall, atria-like ceiling. The glass was the type you see in bathrooms or doctors offices for privacy. Resplendent light shone through beautifully. Peacefully.
Actually, you know what it was like? A greenhouse, but without the plants. Exactly. The Anatomy Room was like a greenhouse, but with a bunch of bodies.
The cadavers seemed both an afterthought and unforgivably present all at the same time. The room was so big, so airy and so... decorated. The school had commissioned an artist to create delicate cardboard mannequins to hang from the ceiling. The figures were made to look as if they were posable, not unlike the jointed figurines painters use. The room was totally silent. I looked at the heart. The figures were suspended in the air, frozen in time and space.
In many ways it was hard to believe the Anatomy Room is steps away from my new office. One tiny door separated me from the world of the living. Beyond the closed door was a hallway. A frequently trafficked hallway. Elite marble floors, normal, innocuous things, such as talk about "the rugby," people standing by the coffee maker, asking each other what's for lunch.
He beckoned me closer. I was very conscious of my hair, lest it touch her.
"How do they...stay like this?" I asked. "You know, all the way until September?"
"They are embalmed. Pickled, if you will." He returned the heart, but put it in the wrong place. We examined all that was in front of us, and it didn't matter whether or not the pieces were put back correctly.
"Funny, someone put the kidney all the way up here!" He yanked out her stomach and put it in her chest.
A tour of the Anatomy Room had just concluded, though the visitors did not see any of the bodies. I stayed behind afterwards, morbid and curious. The reverent atmosphere no longer existed, and I thought it would be the opposite once the crowd had left. I was genuinely surprised the students were so respectful. Then again, it's a different crop of kids you get who tour a medical school than any old school.
The flesh that had been cut away was three inches thick at least. The embalming fluid had eroded all traces of color, so the skin reminded me of raw or boiled chicken.
As he stuffed back her spleen, I pointed to a yellow thing with some dots on it.
"Hey, is that the pancreas?"
"Gosh, no, that's down here."
I couldn't even see it, it was so tiny.
It's been almost two years since my grandmother died. I wish he could've taken the pancreas out, but it was attached to something else. I'm still amazed something that small killed her. Pancreatic cancer.
I stood there, thinking, "Well, you want to see a pancreas? Here's your chance!"
Still can't believe I did that.