>“What is that?” I point to a tapestry across the room from her bed. It looks like a purplish Persian rug. It’s hung up by thumb tacks.
“Oh, I guess I knew that,” a content quiet sets over. I trace the outline of her side with my fingertips. “One time, when I was sick as a kid, real dehydrated, I was sitting on our couch in the living room, and we had this huge tapestry, probably bigger than that entire wall, with some kind of Victorian-looking mural on it, hung from a gold bar across the top behind the couch. And I was so feverish that I was disoriented, and I needed to go pee, and I sat up on the couch and grabbed the corner of the tapestry, looking behind it, and I stood up and put my head behind the tapestry, sort of walking across the couch as I scanned the wall behind the tapestry. My mom asked me what I was doing, and I replied ‘I need to go to the bathroom,’ and then I realized that I couldn’t pee behind the tapestry, so I wondered off to the bathroom, and my dad followed me because he was concerned. I got to the bathroom, started peeing, and passed out, falling backwards. He caught me, which is good, because I would’ve hit my head on the window sill behind me.”
She’s laughing a lot. I’m laying with my chest on her stomach, perked up so that we’re looking at each other. “Bet you didn’t expect that.”
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