contagious

I'm getting ready to go away - a girl's weekend. Last night I had plans to go for a run and then come home and get organized for my trip. Shoshana invited me over for dinner, trying to commendeer my plans.

"I haven't seen you in ages!", she complained.

I pulled back at first, but then came to what I thought was a fair compromise. I would still go for my run and then after I'd go to her place for dinner. And she made me a delicious meal! How could I have been so ungrateful, I wondered, feeling guilty while eating the chocolate and strawberries she served for dessert.

The next morning she called to tell me she had been up all night vomiting.

"I have the stomach flu."

As she described her night in vivid detail all I could picture was the virus coating every strawberry I ate the night before and I wondered when it would strike. All I could think about was how pissed I would be if I missed the weekend. Selfish? Perhaps. Neurotic? It's possible.

On my way home, I stopped at the store. I bought gatorade, chicken broth, and gravol. It got me to thinking how when I was small, I often worried myself into a frenzy, calling out for my mother in the dark.

"I'm going to throw up", I would cry.

She would rush me into the bathroom and I would gag and cry over the toilet until the feeling passed. Shaky and pale, I would spend the rest of the night in her bed, listening to the sound of her breathing.