My scalp tingled when I heard the news. The words “six weeks” crackled like thunder over the storm of the doctor’s prognosis. Tracing my thumbnail along the creases of my palms, I couldn’t help but chuckle.

 

“You might be wondering why I’m amused,” I said.

 

The doctor nodded.

 

“Irony.” Rocking back in my chair, I tapped my forefinger to my temple. “The anomaly that amplified my brain will now destroy the body in which it lives.”

 

“I’m afraid so.” The doctor leaned back. “In fact, I’m confused by your surprise, Mr. Sezaro. It’s the normal course of events for a parasite.”

 

I swallowed, then smiled. “I’d always hoped it would be proven to be a symbiotic organism.” The doctor nodded as he tapped his screen. “This most recent pool of data rules out mutualism.”

 

“What about contagion?”

 

“We’ve run nonlinear and chaotic simulations and there is no risk of it spreading to others.”

 

“And the trans-dimensional theorists?”

 

“Turned out to be correct. It moves from one host to the next, sharing its experience before randomly moving on to another being in another dimension.”

 

“Is there any logic to it?”

 

“If there is, it’s far beyond our most advanced calculations.”

 

I steadied my head with a shaking hand. Sighing, I looked out the windows at the park below. A girl with glittering fairy wings was climbing on some sort of spiraling metal modern art sculpture. I took a deep breath and faced the doctor. “What should I do?”

 

“I’d refer you to the psychological/spiritual division of our hospital, but since I believe that every being must choose their own way, I’ll leave that decision up to you.”

 

Seeing that there was no need to prolong this meeting any longer, I stood, gave a slight bow, and said: “Thank you for your candor and wisdom.” I grasped the door handle.

 

The doctor cleared his throat and stood.

 

“Thank you, Mr. Sezaro.”

 

“You’re welcome.”

 

I turned the handle and went through the door.

 

The glass elevator descended. Through shiny windows, I watched budding branches streak upward. Dampness permeated the spring air. I walked out onto a path that curved through vibrant grass into a public park.

 

My thoughts wandered. I sat down on a bench to gather them. My work had relegated environmental pollution, international warfare, and the energy crisis into quaint pastimes. They were now like gardening in the suburbs. Why couldn’t I do the same for this personal dilemma?

 

I pulled out my phone and scrolled through my contacts. World leaders, activists, and celebrities zipped by, but there was no one to call at a time like this. I turned it off and saw the pensive lines of my face reflected in its black surface.

 

I’d had a wife once, but she quietly left while I was devoting sixty hours a week to solving world hunger. Anyone would have understood. I certainly did. We didn’t have children because of her infertility, a problem I had ironically solved a few years after our divorce. I’d read that she had remarried. Some popular artist who’d put a radiant smile on her face. I couldn’t bother her now. She deserved to be undisturbed in her new life.

 

Still, I didn’t want to die alone.

 

I wondered how often others talked to themselves. Well, it wouldn’t be speaking to myself, exactly. For the first time in years, I reached out to the being inside my brain. Closing my eyes and tensing every muscle with mental effort, I asked: “Why? Why would you do this to me? I had so much more to live for, so much more good work I could’ve done. Why me? Why now? Why six weeks?”

 

Only silence answered.

 

A squeal of joy pierced the air, followed by a scream of panic. The girl with fairy wings was teetering on the highest point of the metal spiral. No one was nearby. I sprang up. Before I knew it, the girl landed safely in my arms, her broken wings scratching my chin.

 

The girl giggled uncontrollably. “I got another one, Mommy!”

 

“I am so sorry.” Her mom appeared and took her hand. “She’s always running around like crazy trying to ‘catch modems’ or something. It just about gives me a heart attack!”

 

“Catch moments, Mommy!”

 

“Sure. Moments. Now, come on, you glitterbug. Let’s leave this nice man alone.”

 

I mumbled, “It’s okay.”

 

But she was already marching them away.

 

As I plodded back toward my bench, I felt a tug on my pant leg. I turned to see the girl holding out a dandelion. I bent and took it. I offered a high five and she slapped my hand. “That hurt!” I mimed an injured palm and she giggled once again, then flitted off with her broken wings rustling behind her. I walked back toward the bench. Instead of stopping,

I grazed my hand along its rough surface that must have been repainted a dozen times and glided out into the city. My steps were light as I calculated how many dandelion moments I might discover in the next six weeks.