I opened my eyes but the water made everything blurry. Sort of like my life. Chest burning I knew I would have to come up for air soon. It could never be that easy, to just relax and take a breath, make it all go away.
The banging was muffled by the water. I heard it anyway. My mom was checking on me. The water melted away as I sat up in the bath tub. IF I didn’t answer soon enough, she would bare in. I couldn’t bring myself to blame her. She just wanted to see me still alive, to see my wounds were healing. She wanted to know on the outside I was getting better so she could pretend inside I was getting better too.
“I’m fine mom.” My voice was still hoarse, but firm enough she didn’t insist on coming in. I don’t think I have any modesty left, aft the time I spend in the hospital. I think I’m just cruel enough not to let her pretend I’m “all better.”
I probably should have let her in.