I spent that morning vomiting in a rest stop bathroom off of I-95 and the other half chewing mercifully on tums in the back of a Camero. Later that evening I collapse in my mother’s bedroom. My mother shuffles around the bedroom rearranging pillows and combing blonde waves of hair. She takes my pulse with the left wrist and blots tears.This must be it. I must be saying something because my mother keeps repeating "no no no".
iv left hand.

Leave a comment

Filed under Uncategorized

Comments are closed.