Thirsty

I would wake up in the middle of the night and shout, "Mom! Mom! Can I have a glass of water?!" And she would bring it, whatever day, whatever time, she would get up and walk down the stairs and into the kitchen and get me a glass of water and walk back up the stairs to my bedroom and give it to me. It never took her very long. She never complained. Never told me to get my own glass.

I visit her now. There is always a water bottle in the fridge, a piece of tape on the cap with my name written on it. My mother is still always bringing me water, whenever I need it, whenever I'm thirsty. And here I am, splayed out on my bed, head in a vise, and I can't turn on my side to get the glass ten inches from me.