Mom wants to take Jason to the faith healer who’s appearing nightly in a limited engagement at the Westgate Auditorium.
“There’s no such thing as faith healing,” I say.
“He’s dying,” she says.
Like I don’t know that. Like anybody wouldn’t know that who sees Jason in the hospital bed in her living room, a lump of bony flesh, each breath a whimper. My brother, who fought in Iraq, who ran marathons, who had a bright future until the Big C tapped him on the shoulder. You’re it!
I want to ask Mom when she got religion.
But I know.
I wrote this story for the 100 Word Challenge #347 at Velvet Verbosity.