the village
I took mama to get her infusions today, and it’s a full-day type of ordeal. They tell you to allot at least 3-4 hours of your day for it, so I wrapped up my 11am session by saying something along the lines of, “what if you weren’t the perfect or best version of yourself and someone loves you anyway?” and headed home to pick mama up. When I entered the house, she sat lounged on the sofa in her pajamas that have recently begun to only loosely fit her. She ushered me to eat something in her listless, meek voice that fills me with a simmering bitterness kept at bay by dread and guilt. In the kitchen, I found a bag and a Diet Coke waiting for me with mama’s name printed on the ticket. I stashed the bag in my bedroom for when I returned, grabbed my drink, and asked her why she wasn’t ready. She cast me an apologetic look and moved to stand, looking and sounding pained as she did so. When we were in the car, she picked up the default conversation we have been having for the past year or so— r...