Sequel: Cure ›
Sickness
Red
I’ve lived a good life.
Well, so far.
I remember when I was five. I went to the doctor with my mom. I was getting a blood test. I had only had shots before, and was really scared.
“What if they suck all the blood out of my arm and I die?” I whimpered.
“That’s not going to happen. I’ll make sure the doctor doesn’t do that to you.”
“Mommy?”
“Yes?”
“How come you’re coming into the room with me?”
“Because I’m doing what you’re doing.”
“You’re getting a blood test thingie?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Darling, whatever you do, I do as well.”
I loved my mom. She was so caring and supportive, even in my darkest nights. And she stuck to her word. She did whatever I did. We went on walks together, she went back to college when I was in school and got a degree, we did everything together. It was the ultimate mother daughter relationship.
But there were times when I wished we didn’t do certain things together. Obviously, she wasn’t going to come on dates with me, or hang out with me after school.
I wished we didn’t have to take medicine together. I wished we didn’t have to take medicine at all.
I wished we didn’t share the same sickness. If I had to pick the person who would have to live with it, I would pick me.
I wished we didn’t have to go to the doctor together as often as we did.
Most of all, I wished that we knew we weren’t going to die from the same cause.
There is one thing that my mom and I don’t have in common. And that is jewelry.
She wears so much jewelry that it makes me sick. Long, dangling earrings, bulky necklaces, bangles on her wrists, at least two rings on every finger. She used whatever piece of jewelry she could find to decorate her body.
Me? I don’t wear any jewelry. I don’t have my ears pierced, I don’t wear necklaces, rings or bracelets, or anything else there is.
Actually, that’s not entirely true.
I do have one bracelet, but calling it jewelry is an insult to any jeweler known to man.
See, it’s made out of rubber.
I wear this bracelet on my left wrist; it’s bright red color standing out to my dark skin tone.
But, like people, there’s more to this bracelet that meets the eye. You just have to look a little closer.
This bracelet sums up my life in two words:
Life Support.
Well, so far.
I remember when I was five. I went to the doctor with my mom. I was getting a blood test. I had only had shots before, and was really scared.
“What if they suck all the blood out of my arm and I die?” I whimpered.
“That’s not going to happen. I’ll make sure the doctor doesn’t do that to you.”
“Mommy?”
“Yes?”
“How come you’re coming into the room with me?”
“Because I’m doing what you’re doing.”
“You’re getting a blood test thingie?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Darling, whatever you do, I do as well.”
I loved my mom. She was so caring and supportive, even in my darkest nights. And she stuck to her word. She did whatever I did. We went on walks together, she went back to college when I was in school and got a degree, we did everything together. It was the ultimate mother daughter relationship.
But there were times when I wished we didn’t do certain things together. Obviously, she wasn’t going to come on dates with me, or hang out with me after school.
I wished we didn’t have to take medicine together. I wished we didn’t have to take medicine at all.
I wished we didn’t share the same sickness. If I had to pick the person who would have to live with it, I would pick me.
I wished we didn’t have to go to the doctor together as often as we did.
Most of all, I wished that we knew we weren’t going to die from the same cause.
There is one thing that my mom and I don’t have in common. And that is jewelry.
She wears so much jewelry that it makes me sick. Long, dangling earrings, bulky necklaces, bangles on her wrists, at least two rings on every finger. She used whatever piece of jewelry she could find to decorate her body.
Me? I don’t wear any jewelry. I don’t have my ears pierced, I don’t wear necklaces, rings or bracelets, or anything else there is.
Actually, that’s not entirely true.
I do have one bracelet, but calling it jewelry is an insult to any jeweler known to man.
See, it’s made out of rubber.
I wear this bracelet on my left wrist; it’s bright red color standing out to my dark skin tone.
But, like people, there’s more to this bracelet that meets the eye. You just have to look a little closer.
This bracelet sums up my life in two words:
Life Support.