Day Sixteen
It’s after midnight when I finish writing. It’s not exhaustion that stops me but a whine I hear from my parents’ bedroom. I tiptoe to their door and it’s quiet. I hold my breath for a few seconds, listening, and there it is again, a strange plaintive cry. My mum, dreaming or wincing in her sleep. I turn the knob and, as quietly as possible, go to her.
“Mum,” I whisper. “Mum.” When she stirs, I ask her if she needs to go to the hospital. I am still dressed, wide awake, and can easily get her there.
“Is it still raining?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m fine.”
“You were making this strange noise.”
“Your father says I do that, too. I have no idea.”
“Like a kind of sorrowful call.”
“I’m fine. Go to sleep. I’m fine. Really.”
I sit there for a bit until I am sure she is back asleep. Then I go
