Fiction | July 25, 2017

“Of course—a Talmudic joke: we don’t know when we’re going to die, so it’s today you should repent. In my case, I do know—well, I know approxi­mately. And I’m not repenting, Doctor. I simply need you to be clever enough, objective enough, to help me gather together the pieces of my life. Not that I can bring the awareness with me to another world.” She smiles. “It’s in this world I want to feel, however briefly—“ She gropes for the words—“a sense of completion. Here’s what I’ve made of myself.”

The story is not currently available online.

If you are a student, faculty member, or staff member at an institution whose library subscribes to Project Muse, you can read this piece and the full archives of the Missouri Review for free. Check this list to see if your library is a Project Muse subscriber.