It must have been early spring. I remember frost on the window and that the sun hadn’t risen quite yet, about six am. On this particular day, I had school so I stumbled out of my bed and down the hall to my mom’s room to whimper and ask if I could stay home. Nine times out of ten I would have been met with a firm no but today was different. My mom let me have a “sick day”. After the morning drop off of everyone else I climbed right back in bed to doze off until a more appropriate time. The second time I woke up I remember being surrounded by blankets, warm ones fresh out of the dryer. I climbed down and was met with fideo she had prepared earlier while running around the house. It was such a comfort to watch my mom in anything she did, to know she was there. She made me a bowl and made sure to set up a comfy spot to eat on the couch which was older and heavily embroidered with flowers, a bit scratchy but well-loved. By this time the sun had come out and the door was propped open to let fresh air in, and the house felt so light. A few moments later, she joined me on the couch to watch my movie. She brushed her fingers through my hair as I lay in her lap. All I really needed was a sick day.
The Bolt Magazine 