one hundred story #27: perspective

We're in her bed and we're both crying, she because her fingers hurt when she plays the piano, me because I've already lost one grandmother and am afraid to lose another, and she's so small there in the bed, no makeup on, window wide open like her arms. And then: a fart, a tremendous jolt of energy that shakes us up, giggling, gets us remembering that we're both still here, lying in her bed watching the full moon grow smaller in the sky. I am still at it, alternately crying and laughing, until long after I have descended the stairs.