Mom made me sleep on the floor of her and dad's room. She made a nest of old quilts and pillows on the floor next to the bed and tucked me into the mass of blankets.
I didn't sleep that night; I tried not to think about anything. Thinking about nothing resulted in thinking about everything, and I was afraid. Afraid my parents would wake to sleeping me, wake to the vine, and I would wake in an unknown place.
. . .
When the sun finally arrived, I rose from my nest, folded the blankets, and stacked the pillows. Mom's soft snoring filled the room, and I crept out, careful to avoid waking my parents.
Putting a kettle of water on to boil, I prepped a french press and grabbed a mug out of the kitchen cabinet. The kettle whistled a few minutes later, and I poured the water over the loose coffee grounds and let them soak.
As I waited for them to steep, I wondered how long it would be before I had another episode.
It could be any time now, I thought. What if I just drop?
After a few minutes, I pressed my coffee and poured a cup with shaking hands. Footsteps accompanied my slurping, and I looked up from my mug to find Mac staring at me.
His muddy brown hair was mussed from a dreamless night, and he stared at me from two big, blue glassy orbs.
What are you thinking? I wondered. Do you know?
. . .
Within five minutes, mom and dad unfolded from their bedroom and joined me and Mac in the kitchen. Dad poured himself a glass of orange juice, and mom grabbed a carton of eggs from the refrigerator. The morning was almost too normal.
Mom cooked my eggs over-easy, just how I liked them, and I ate them accompanied by a slice of toast. My hands continued to shake as I ate, and I attempted to keep the tremors at bay. I was sure my parents saw my hands, though.
Dad raised his eyebrows over the top of the paper, so I hid my hands under the table. I didn't want them to make a fuss.
There was already too much fuss.
My appointment with the neurologist was the day after tomorrow, and I didn't want to know what he would find.