A fever raged in both boys.
Free of shirts and energy, they rested on their backs, watching cartoons. It could have been a show on watercolor painting or Murders of Tennessee or Sesame Street. I imagine they would have watched with the same dull and uninterested eyes as their bodies fought the same infection.
I was their Leader, shivering and nauseous, smelling of vomit and ready to run back to the bathroom at any time.
We were a gang, bonded and branded by our shared symptoms of misery.
“So what are we doing tonight?” Daddy Longlegs asked failing to read the room.
We turned in unison to look at the perfect image of health who had just entered the room with rosy cheeks and shiny eyes. We made a chorus of sad moans before returning to the screen.
“You’re it,” I jumped up, feeling the sick rising in my throat, and tagged him on my way back to the bathroom.
I am still waiting for the tag back, however hopeful that as partners who share everything, in this, he is left out.