Company

My mother was crazy. “And misery loves company,” said Dad. When I was six I cried because the water was hurt as it boiled. Poor water. I wailed. My mother took my hands and spun me around the kitchen. “Oh you,” she said.  “You’re something.” Eleven years later I wrote my life story on my wrists with a razor blade. I had been sane too long. Mom came out of hiding to kiss me and wrap me in white bandages. She lay down on the bed beside me. “I’ve waited so long for you.” I would not disappoint her again.

Photo Credit: Sean Garrett