number from Kristin and call her.
The last message was sent just minutes ago. I laboriously press the touchscreen to call Taylor.
“Shyla, what the hell? You said you would call me once you landed. It’s been an entire day.”
“I’m sick,” I utter. It must sound pretty awful, because he seems to understand how much so right away.
“What’s wrong? You sound terrible.”
“Everything, I can’t get out of bed, everything hurts, I have a fever, I can’t hold any food down.”
“Are you going to the doctor?”
“I don’t want to move.”
“I wish you would have stayed home. I would have taken care of you. Should I have a doctor go to your mother’s house?”
“I’m so tired…I’m going to sleep.”
“Shyla, you sound out of it. Do you know how high your fever is?”
“Taylor don’t worry. My mom is watching me, okay?” Mom comes back into the room with the chicken soup. “I have to go eat soup,” I say like a child who has no other choice but to obey her mother’s commands.
“Call me as soon as you feel better, okay?”
“Yes.” I hang up the phone pretty rudely, no strength remains for manners or pleasantries.
Mom hands me the bowl and I take four slurps of soup before I am so tired that I can barely keep my eyes open. “Honey, I hope you don’t have mono,” is the last thing I hear her say before I doze off.
The following morning, a ray of sunlight peeks through the shades right onto my eyes, awaking me. Finally, I feel human again as I sit up. My cell phone is dead, rendering me unable to find my bearings by checking the time. I walk out of the bedroom and notice that I am in a pair of my old Christmas footies littered with dozens of jolly Santas.
“Mom?” I call out.
“In the kitchen!” She calls out. “Oh you look so much better,” she says as I turn the corner.
“Wow, I don’t know what that was.”
“You pretty much slept for 36 straight hours.”
“What time is it?”
“It’s 11:13 on Friday.”
“Wow! Whatever it was hit me like a freight train. I was fine and then all of a sudden-bam.”
“I thought maybe food poisoning, and then I started to worry something like mono, but it looks like you’ve turned a corner.”
“Well, sweet trip this has been, showing up so I could puke and sleep.”
“It seems like you needed your mama.” She couldn’t be more right.
“Is there anything to eat? I might consume my own foot if I don’t get something in me.” There is never a shortage of food when I visit mom’s. She pulls out some leftover meatballs she had prepared the night before and makes a sandwich. “This is heaven!” I proclaim between giant bites. Afterward, I take a much needed shower as I have been marinating in my own sick sweat for days now. After my cell phone recharges, I call Taylor. He answers immediately.
“It’s good to hear your voice,” he says.
“Same here. I don’t know what that was. It was a huge blur. I ached to my bones.”
“It’s probably the stress. Takes its toll on the immune system.”
“Maybe. I never get sick. The good news is now I feel like a million bucks. Who wouldn’t after sleeping for a few days?”
“Come home.”
“I will! I’m leaving tomorrow morning. My poor mom has been stuck taking care of me. I at least have to give her a day of conscious Shyla.”
“Well I guess you were able to be a kid again in a way. Your mom nursing you and all.”
“I guess you’re right, but not in the way most people idealize.”
I surprise my mother with a shopping spree (shopping is our favorite bonding activity). At first she relents, but eventually, I get her guard down and we shop for several hours. When we return to her home, we order take out and rent a movie, our second favorite bonding activity. While we are waiting on the food we chat for a bit.
“I promise, I wasn’t being nosey, but you kept getting calls from a Mr. Sexypants. That couldn’t have been his real name.”
“Yes mom,
The last message was sent just minutes ago. I laboriously press the touchscreen to call Taylor.
“Shyla, what the hell? You said you would call me once you landed. It’s been an entire day.”
“I’m sick,” I utter. It must sound pretty awful, because he seems to understand how much so right away.
“What’s wrong? You sound terrible.”
“Everything, I can’t get out of bed, everything hurts, I have a fever, I can’t hold any food down.”
“Are you going to the doctor?”
“I don’t want to move.”
“I wish you would have stayed home. I would have taken care of you. Should I have a doctor go to your mother’s house?”
“I’m so tired…I’m going to sleep.”
“Shyla, you sound out of it. Do you know how high your fever is?”
“Taylor don’t worry. My mom is watching me, okay?” Mom comes back into the room with the chicken soup. “I have to go eat soup,” I say like a child who has no other choice but to obey her mother’s commands.
“Call me as soon as you feel better, okay?”
“Yes.” I hang up the phone pretty rudely, no strength remains for manners or pleasantries.
Mom hands me the bowl and I take four slurps of soup before I am so tired that I can barely keep my eyes open. “Honey, I hope you don’t have mono,” is the last thing I hear her say before I doze off.
The following morning, a ray of sunlight peeks through the shades right onto my eyes, awaking me. Finally, I feel human again as I sit up. My cell phone is dead, rendering me unable to find my bearings by checking the time. I walk out of the bedroom and notice that I am in a pair of my old Christmas footies littered with dozens of jolly Santas.
“Mom?” I call out.
“In the kitchen!” She calls out. “Oh you look so much better,” she says as I turn the corner.
“Wow, I don’t know what that was.”
“You pretty much slept for 36 straight hours.”
“What time is it?”
“It’s 11:13 on Friday.”
“Wow! Whatever it was hit me like a freight train. I was fine and then all of a sudden-bam.”
“I thought maybe food poisoning, and then I started to worry something like mono, but it looks like you’ve turned a corner.”
“Well, sweet trip this has been, showing up so I could puke and sleep.”
“It seems like you needed your mama.” She couldn’t be more right.
“Is there anything to eat? I might consume my own foot if I don’t get something in me.” There is never a shortage of food when I visit mom’s. She pulls out some leftover meatballs she had prepared the night before and makes a sandwich. “This is heaven!” I proclaim between giant bites. Afterward, I take a much needed shower as I have been marinating in my own sick sweat for days now. After my cell phone recharges, I call Taylor. He answers immediately.
“It’s good to hear your voice,” he says.
“Same here. I don’t know what that was. It was a huge blur. I ached to my bones.”
“It’s probably the stress. Takes its toll on the immune system.”
“Maybe. I never get sick. The good news is now I feel like a million bucks. Who wouldn’t after sleeping for a few days?”
“Come home.”
“I will! I’m leaving tomorrow morning. My poor mom has been stuck taking care of me. I at least have to give her a day of conscious Shyla.”
“Well I guess you were able to be a kid again in a way. Your mom nursing you and all.”
“I guess you’re right, but not in the way most people idealize.”
I surprise my mother with a shopping spree (shopping is our favorite bonding activity). At first she relents, but eventually, I get her guard down and we shop for several hours. When we return to her home, we order take out and rent a movie, our second favorite bonding activity. While we are waiting on the food we chat for a bit.
“I promise, I wasn’t being nosey, but you kept getting calls from a Mr. Sexypants. That couldn’t have been his real name.”
“Yes mom,
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