#The Cloth Mother Wire Mother Hair Mother Tar Mother

[m0gg3t]

[NIGHT SIX?/SEVEN? OF HORRIFIC INSOMNIA SLEEP DEPRIVATION]

*delirious with fatigue*

THEY ENVY ME FOR MY HOMUNCULUS IMAGE

Ah fuck.

[dragon-fics]

DOS: A Princely Predicament (Male Human x Dragon/Reader)

Chapter summary: For years the only interaction you hade with humans was pillaging their villages. So when a king comes to you with a scheme on how to kidnap what would later turn out to be your greatest treasure.

F/C = Favourite colour

* = means (my) father

I hated humans. I just hated them. You could hide your quiet, solitary self, high in a mountain, away from all the drama of the world and somehow one would still scurry its way up to jab at you with its tiny metal handheld spike.

And the worst ones were the ones that dreamt of greatness and glory, and killing a great dragon such as myself seemed to be the most popular way of doing it. Obviously, none of them had succeeded.

So, when this visitor arrived, let’s just say I almost bit his head off before he had even spoken. But I’m glad I didn’t; I got some fine treasure out of it.

“You want me to do what?” I spat, peering down at the king who stood in front of me.

He held his pale face calmly, staying stoic and proud. “To kidnap Prince Lansa and keep him here until I send someone to fetch him,” King Darius said. He and King Alo were rivals. And from what I understood, Darius was desperate for an alliance. But he hated doing things civilly, so he figured that this way was the most convenient way.

“And what’s in it for me?” I hissed, flicking out my tongue.

Darius smirked, scratching his black beard. “Why, treasure of course.” He threw his hand back to a knight stood at the mouth of my cave. He led forward a horse-drawn carriage, piled up with gems and gold. The treasure caught the morning light beautifully.

A grin caught my face. So much treasure for babysitting a prince? I almost laughed at the thought.

“And there’ll be more when you capture the prince, and much more will be given once I send someone to pick him up—for the inconvenience.” He grinned. A few of his knights glanced at each other. “So, do we have a deal, (Y/N)?”

I looked up, focusing on the sky outside. The dripping of water from the man-made pond in the other room filled the silence. Darius stayed completely still and silent. “Very well,” I said finally. “We have a deal.”

He offered his hand to shake. I offered him a claw and shook it. “I look forward to working with you, Darius.”

*~*~*~*

“Let go of me! You foul beast!” Prince Lansa yelled. He wriggled in my front talons, punching my claws.

I chuckled and flew higher. “I’m not going to do that, Princess. You’re much too valuable to let drop.”

Lansa groaned, irritated. “I am not a princess. I am a prince.”

I snorted amusingly. “I’m well aware, Lansa.” I looked ahead at the twinkling stars and the spire that pierced the clouds. The spire that was my home. I flapped my wings harder, putting on a burst of speed.

“What do you want me for?” he demanded, hitting my claws again. I felt something tickle my digits.

I chuckled. “Magic will not free you, Princess.”

Lansa scoffed and held himself still. “Well, what are you going to do with me?”

I smirked. “Eat you, of course. After a good game of cat and mouse, or rather, dragon and human.”

He flinched in my hold and looked down. “Wonderful,” he murmured.

I soared towards my cave, seeing its opening and landing just in front of it, by the smooth, round pillars, holding my wings out for balance as I teetered on my rear legs. I placed Lansa on the ground.

He stumbled forward, gathering his balance. I looked down at him in his red evening suit. I picked up a torch on the ground and blew a plume of fire onto the tar at one end, its warm light illuminating his face as he stared up at me in quiet awe. He had several gold pieces and gems embedded in his ears, a delicate gold chain and ruby around his neck, and bands of gold and silver around almost every digit.

I would hate to admit it, but he had quite a handsome, pointed face with light brown skin and long, dark hair in a long plait.

“What?” Lansa spat, noticing my face. “I thought you said you were going to eat me.”

I cocked a brow. “Well, I lied.” I picked him up by the back of his clothes.

“Hey! My garments are very expensive!” he yelled, throwing his hands all over the place.

I growled and walked on the smooth, straight-line cracked floor. I walked passed the stone, seated human in its chair. Its shattered head lay in rubble by its feet. I hit one of the bigger pieces with my tail, shattering it into smaller pieces.

“How dare you?!” Lansa seethed. “Broella did not give you life just so you could smash her head into such small pieces no one would ever recognise her!”

“I washn’t aware see wash shomeome speshial,” I said between clenched teeth.

“This entire temple is littered with paintings and statues of her. How could you not know about the most important deity to ever exist!” he lectured, crossing his weak rope arms.

I hummed and ignored him, making my way to the back of this so-called temple. In the centre was a man-made pool of water with some other human standing with a bucket of water. Once upon a time, water flowed from the bucket in some magical way, but it no longer did. Surrounding the stone pond were piles upon piles of gold and gems and my soft bed made of goat, sheep and oxen hides.

I dropped Lansa on the hides and pinned him down with my rear leg. He uttered a sound of mild discomfort. “Don’t even think of moving.”

He scoffed and rested his head in his hands.

I rolled my eyes and put down my torch in a stand, rummaging around in a pile of gold, remembering what I’d robbed from a town a few years ago. They had kept a fire phoenix in a cage, so naturally I took the cage and released the fiery bird. The cage itself was silver—whether it was actually silver was another thing—and embedded with gems. So, I kept it.

Finally, I pulled it out from beneath its pile of gold. I shook it, getting rid of any loose coins and gems. I placed it on the ground with a clang. Opening the wire door, lifted my paw from Lansa.

He pushed himself to his tiny feet. “You must be joking,” he said in a flat, yet irritated tone. He scowled at me. The cage was just big enough for him to stand and lie in comfortably.

“In. Now.” I growled, slamming a paw down onto the floor beside him.

“What do you actually want with me?” Lansa said with a penetrating gaze.

“Does it matter?” I lowered my head to get a better look at him.

His brown eyes stared deep into mine. He lifted his suspicious look. “You have beautiful eyes,” he commented.

I raised my head, baffled.

Lansa looked at the cage. “I suppose not. Either way, I’ll either end up dead or you’ll trade me for treasure or a feast,” he answered. He stepped into the cage. “But if I’m expected to stay here, I wish for some pillows and some blankets.”

I peered down at him, closing the door with a soft clatter. “And what happens if I don’t provide things for your comfort?”

He smirked. “I can be very aggravating. Plus, I’ve got magic.”

I barked a laugh, making him jump. “Magic? I’d hardly even say you’re capable of a simple card trick.”

Lansa scoffed, clearly offended. “I promise you; I can be very aggravating.”

Continuing to laugh, I walked away. I went over to my bed of hides. I picked up a bundle of sheep’s wool, a deer hide, a blanket and a cushion, all from raids. Opening the door, I tossed in the soft belongings.

“There,” I said, shutting it. I lay down on my bed, yawning widely.

Lansa got to work quickly. I observed him. Placing the wool down first, he made a mattress. He draped the deer hide over the wool and then set up the cushion and blanket on top. He removed his jacket and lay beneath the blanket, dozing off quickly.

I waited a few moments before coming closer to his cage and lifting it up. I studied him for a moment and hung him from the chandelier high above my bed. As I smothered the light, my eyelids grew heavy, and I dozed off.

*~*~*~*

“Get. Me. Down. From heeeeere!” Lansa bellowed.

I cracked open my eyes with a groan. “Shut up!” I groaned, reaching for a piece of gold. I launched it at him, eyes closed, and missed.

He groaned. “Well, I need to get out of this cage!” he whined urgently.

I lifted my head groggily. “And why exactly to you need to leave the cage?” I asked. I yawned and stretched out my wings.

Lansa sighed. “I have an urgent need,” he mumbled.

I forced myself to my feet, exasperated. I looked at him. He was holding his paws over the fork of his legs, his knees together. I sighed and lowered the cage onto the ground. I opened the door. “Just remember that I’m faster,” I warned.

He jogged out of the room to the entrance of the temple. I plodded after him, stretching my legs. Settling in front of the giant statue of the deity Lansa had lectured me on yesterday, I looked at its robes and narrow figure. I stared at it for a long time, unsure why exactly he had taken so much offense to the rock being broken.

“So now you take an interest, dragon,” Lansa said, emerging through the entrance.

“(Y/N),” I corrected. “That is my name.”

He echoed it quietly and stopped by my talons. “I’ll remember that.”

I hummed. “Who is she?” I asked.

“That is Broella,” Lansa said, “the Goddess of Life. She created the world and everything in it. She is the mother of all gods.”

“Huh,” I said, looking down at him.

He looked up at me with another penetrating gaze. “How do you know my name?”

I looked back at the pale stone statue. “I’ve been watching you for a while.” That was partially true.

“And why have you been watching?” he asked apprehensively.

“Because,” I started, “you’re handsome.” That too was only partially a lie.

Lansa looked away from me. “So, is that why you kidnapped me? To make me your…?” he trailed off, uncomfortable.

I shrugged. “Maybe.”

He looked away. “Wonderful,” he sighed.

I hit him with the end of my tail. “Right. Back into your cage, I have things to do.”

Lansa yelped, stumbling forward. “Ow! Alright. Alright.” He walked back to my hoardroom with me. I locked him back into his cage and left the temple, keeping an eye out for Darius.

*~*~*~*

There had been no sign of Darius all day.

I snorted, frustrated, as I walked into the dark temple. I spared the statue of Broella a glance and walked through to my hoardroom. Lansa was sitting on my bed of hides, reading a book with an orb of yellow light hovering above his open palm. It surprised me he hadn’t just left.

“Still here?” I called, lighting the tar torch and placing it in a stand by the hides.

He shrugged. “Did you bring something to eat?”

I snorted, amused. “You ate last night.”

“But I’m staaarving!” Lansa whined. He was already aggravating, and I’d only spent a few spare moments with him.

“Fine,” I huffed. “I’ll get you a rabbit or something.”

He rushed to his feet. “Can I come with you?”

“Fine. But don’t make a sound.” I was willing to do anything not to risk hearing him whine and moan.

Lansa grinned and went for my leg. He gripped my shoulder, and I tossed him back. “What… are you doing?”

He held his hand to his head. “I was trying to get onto your back.”

“And why would you do that?”

Lansa got to his feet. “How else was I going to keep up with you?”

I sighed. How did this tiny thing with needle-like limbs think of everything? “Alright. But no poking or kicking or anything like that. It is a privilege to ride a dragon, Princess.” I raised my nose.

He huffed. “I promise I won’t poke or kick you.”

I nodded, bending my leg for him to clamber up onto my back.

Lansa got up quickly and settled into the spot between my shoulders and neck. “Alright, let’s go.”

Scoffing, I walked out of the temple. I treaded along the path I had made for myself, staying low to the ground. I avoided low-hanging branches and other obstacles for Lansa. It made me feel ridiculous.

Finally, I glimpsed some movement along the trees. “Off,” I whispered.

Lansa slid off my back without a moment’s hesitation, and I pounced on the movement. A rabbit landed between my claws. I swiftly cut its throat and picked it up. “On,” I ordered. He got onto my back, and I walked back to the temple.

“That was quick,” Lansa commented. “Did your parents teach you to hunt?”

“Yesh,” I responded, entering the temple, my jaws clamped shut. I stopped in the hoardroom and dropped the rabbit on the floor.

Lansa slid off my back and looked at it. “Can you cook it?”

I eyed him. “Cook it?”

“Yes,” he said. “Humans can’t eat meat raw.”

I sighed and blew a plume of flames onto the rabbit. Its skin and fur were burnt away, leaving bare, smoked brown rabbit meat. “There,” I said, walking over to my bed.

Lansa picked up the cooked rabbit and scrambled after me. He sat opposite me on the animal hides. He graciously ate the rabbit. You’d know he was a prince.

“Is it to your standard?” I asked, not truly caring if it was.

He nodded, taking another bite. “Yes. Thank you,” he responded after swallowing.

I looked out of the room, towards the statue’s room. “Of course. Can’t let my Princess have food that’s not up to his liking.”

*~*~*~*

It took two weeks before Darius showed up. And unfortunately, Lansa had grown on me. A lot.

It was ridiculous; I know. But I had developed a bit of a crush on him. He taught me a lot about the statues at the temple; he read to me most nights, and he really enjoyed flying, making him an excellent company.

And I’d rather not bring up about how often I thought about him when I was away. I wondered if he was alright, whether some nasty pest might hurt him, or if Darius had sent his knight and snuck past me. At this point in time, I was honestly questioning whether I was going to let Darius take him away.

“Hey, (Y/N),” Lansa said, touching my foreleg.

I stilled at his touch, coming out of my thoughts. “Princess,” I responded, looking down at him.

He looked up at me. “Are you ok? You’ve been out here for a while. Just… sitting.”

I looked back out at the rising sun. “Yeah. I’m fine. Just thinking.”

“Thinking? Since when do you think?”

I snorted and hit him with my tail.

“Ow!” he hissed. “Okay, sorry.” He rubbed his lower back. “So, what were you thinking about?”

I hummed, wondering if I should be honest. I drew in a breath. “Lansa,” I started.

He tapped my leg, interrupting me. “Eh, (Y/N), who’s that?” he pointed to the rocky trail that led to the base of the mountain.

I followed his gaze. It was Darius, making his way up with three wagons filled with gold and seven knights. I stood up and spread my wings. I tightened my jaw. Add to my piles of gold or protect Lansa? That was what was running through my mind.

Finally, I said, “Get on my back.”

Lansa looked from me to the king and his knights. “(Y/N)? What’s wrong?”

“I’ll explain later. Just get on my back.” I bent my leg for him to get on.

He glanced at the group getting closer and climbed up onto me. As soon as he was settled, I leaped up into the sky, my wings catching the wind. Lansa gripped my neck as I rose into the sky. Behind me, I heard king Darius yell and swear at me.

Finally, I levelled out over the clouds. Water droplets clung to my scales as I skimmed the clouds. Lansa sat up and looked around. He admired the view before looking at my head.

“(Y/N)? Who were those people?”

I faltered, my wings beating irregularly. “That was King Darius,” I replied, ashamed.

“And why was he coming up to you? And how did he know your name?”

“Because… I made a deal with him,” I sighed. I looked up at the horizon, where the sea of clouds met the bright blue sky.

“What sort of a deal?” Lansa asked suspiciously, leaning over my shoulder, trying to catch my eye.

I stayed silent, unable to respond. We had gotten so close; I couldn’t let that fall apart now.

Lansa sighed, exasperated. “What. Sort of deal. Did you make. With Darius, (Y/N)?” he said, his patience waning.

I looked at the rolling cloud beneath me. “I made a deal… to kidnap you, and guard you. In exchange for treasure,” I admitted, my head dipping sombrely.

He took a moment, cooling off before he spoke. I could tell it outraged him with how his heels dug into my shoulders and his finger clenched my spike. He drew in a large breath and looked up, his face still and regal as his limbs relaxed. “So why did you fly away with me?”

I raised my head. “Because…” I took in a breath, mustering up every bit of courage I had. “Because you mean a lot to me, and I don’t want to lose you. So, I’m going to return you home and fight off Darius or move somewhere else, depending on my mood.” I glanced down; we were almost on top of King Alo’s castle.

“My father won’t just let you leave,” Lansa said.

“Then I will fight my way out. No king has ever captured or imprisoned me.” I snorted out a plume of smoke.

He spluttered and coughed. “That’s not what I m—AHHH!” he was cut off as I dove.

They built the castle in a niche of low-lying canyon, so it was almost out of sight to dragons who couldn’t see it. A longer, more hidden niche was close to it, with tiny houses pointing up from the pale rock. Farms made up the bed of the valley, with a meandering river separating the animals from the vegetable patches.

I slowed to a stop by the castle, landing in the cool courtyard. The walls and roofs of the castle were the same beige colour as the rocks and were at almost ninety-degree angles to each other, as were all the other houses’.

Lansa slid off my back as guards came rushing towards me. I growled and spread my wings.

“No!” Lansa hissed, touching my leg. “Stay, please. My father will want to see you.”

“Why?” I hissed back.

Not a moment later, King Alo appeared through the large wooden doors. He wasn’t much taller than Lansa, with long grey hair in an even longer plait than Lansa had. His skin was slightly paler than his son’s. White robes hung on his body and a necklace made of black bone and white beads decorated his chest. He was in fine health, one of the healthiest older humans I have ever seen.

“Oh, Lannie,” Alo cried, wrapping his arms around Lansa.

The guards pointed their spears at me. I shot them deadly glares, wishing I could hit them with my tail, or bat them away with my wings, or lash at them with my claws. But I didn’t. I lashed my tail in irritation and glanced at each one or their painted faces.

Lansa held his father close. “It’s good to be back, Nòsh*,” he whispered.

I looked away from the two. Such a sappy view made me uncomfortable. I shifted on my feet, monitoring the guards.

Lansa released his father, giving him a smile that said, “I won’t admit it, but I missed you”.

“And who might this be?” King Alo asked in the same suspicious tone Lansa used.

I inclined my head to him. “I am—”

“—Nòsh. This is (Y/N).” Lansa introduced, cutting me off. “He/She/They rescued me from the terrible dragon that stole me away.” He put his hand to his heart and looked up at me with the awe-inspired and grateful look. He looked back at his father. “He/She/They brought me back here to make sure I got home safe. Apparently, King Darius wanted to buy me off (Y/N) to make an alliance with you. But of course, he/she/they couldn’t let that happen, now, could you?” He looked back up at me.

I shook my head. Playing along seemed like the best option right now. “N-no. No, I couldn’t.”

A small smile flashed across Lansa’s face. “So that’s why he/she is/they are here. To ensure Darius didn’t capture me and make a fool out of you.”

Alo looked up at me and pinched the triangular stone dangling from his chain of beads between his fingers. “Well, you have done me a great service, (Y/N).” He came closer, touching my shoulder. “Lower your weapons,” he ordered. The guards obeyed, standing at attention. Alo dug his finger into one of my (F/C) coloured scales. “Come. I’ve got so many questions to ask you.” He spun around, striding towards the doors into the castle.

I lowered my head to Lansa’s eye-level. “What does he mean?”

“let’s just say that Nòsh is a huge dragon nerd,” he whispered to me.

“Oh,” I said in understanding. I raised my head again and walked after King Alo Lansa, walking beside me. “So,” I started, once the guards and the king were out of hearing distance. “Why did you lie?”

Lansa smiled at me. “Because I don’t want to lose you either.”

Like I said, I got some fine treasure out of making a deal with Darius.

[amnportfolio]

Shopping with Mom - Memoir

           At first, the video is unintelligible, rendered grainy from the years.

           But then, the film focuses on a door and the nymph-like singing of a child can be heard. A strikingly pale hand presses against the grey wood of the door, and once again the camera has to refocus. Now, a white tile bathroom with seashell pink walls comes into view. I’m sitting in the tub, four years old, swaddled with nothing but baby fat like a child in the Garden of Eden. My tiny voice swells and fills the bathroom with a shameless yet gentle melody.  My grandma always told me that babies only sing when they’re happy, so I’m assuming in that moment, I am happy, content with the thin, warm water of the bathtub and the presence of my mother. I still retain an affinity for bathtubs.

           The woman holding the camera giggles. “What are you doing?” She asks. Her voice is deep and instrumental. It’s clear she adores me, her only daughter. In my infantile eyes, my mother is life giving goddess, a Platonic form of beauty. I smile up at my mother, dimples creasing the edges of my mouth. The same dimples dapple the outskirts of her lips, too.

           “I wrote a song, mommy.”

           “What’s it about, baby?”

           I laugh, a high-pitched reflection of my mother’s own laugh, the kind of laugh you only hear before the complexities of adulthood put their hands around a child’s throat. “I don’t know.”

           My mom turns the camera on herself, now sitting on the edge of the bath tub. The camera refocuses on a moony face with warm brown eyes and cropped red ochre hair. It is apparent that my green eyes must have come from my dad, but everything is else is wrought from the chromosomes of this woman. My mom looks at the camera lens, her pupils darting from side to side, trying to figure out where to look. We always teased her about being bad with technology.    

           “My baby wrote a song,” she asserts with a quiet pride.

           This tape is all I have of Mom before the walker and the pain pills and blood tests and Lupus. Always the Lupus.

***

           “Ok, Mom. One foot at a time.”

           I take my mom’s leggings in my hands and gently roll them up, so that they go on faster when she puts her atrophied legs in. Gingerly, I take the first foot and place it in the bunched up hole of the legging, and smooth the fabric across her soft, creamy calf. I follow the same delicate operation for the second foot, and look up at her face when I’m done.

           “Ready?” I ask.

She shuts her eyes tightly. They are almond shaped and slope downward innocently, like mine.

           In one quick, haggard movement, she shoots up off the edge of the bed onto her feet, with help from her walker, so that I can pull her leggings up all the way. A grunt laced with pain and effort escapes her translucent lips, and she crash lands back onto her bed.

           “Ok. Ok. You did it,” I murmur, brushing some lint off her knee. “You’re dressed.”

           “Thanks baby,” Mom begins, and then tacks an “I’m sorry” onto it discreetly. She is always apologizing for being my mom. While I can understand this sentiment, there is nothing to be sorry for. Despite her severe Lupus and all the consequent health problems, she is a good mom. Always has been.

           “Alright. I’m going to work. I got my cell on me at all times. Dad’s taking a nap on the couch.” I brief my mom as I open the window blinds beside her big, four-poster bed. Silvery slivers of sunlight shoot into the room, illuminating all the oak furniture and the shag carpet and the dated floral patterns. We moved into this house fourteen years ago, so it’s a different house than the one in the video. I never liked it. It’s a big house in a nice American neighborhood, the kind that the wind blows right through without being warmed first.

           “Sounds good hun. Have a good day.” My mom settles back into her pillows. I lean down and plant a kiss on her forehead, careful not to lean on her too hard. I’m afraid of breaking her.

           My workplace is a hot pink, sparkly gumball of a world. I’m a part-time key holder for Charlotte Russe, a young women’s clothing store. All my coworkers are also women, so sometimes over the summers, I forget men actually exist.

We do things like bring each other waffle fries from Chik Fil A on our breaks and give each other discounts we aren’t supposed to give. We sarcastically dance to the cheap pop music corporate makes us play, and the giggles of girls line the merchandise fabric like rhinestones.

As much as I like my work, the constant montage of moms and daughters shopping together reminds me of something I’m missing.

I see girls running out of the dressing rooms in half naked ecstasy to show their mom an outfit, and I can’t relate. I see girls asking their moms for advice on color coordination and nothing in my brain pings in response.

You see, I can’t remember the last time I went shopping with my mom. It’s such a petty, suburban detail, I know, but you don’t realise how much the little things count in a relationship until you can’t have them.

***

The first Spring Formal dress I bought, I bought alone. I bought it the spring that my mom was in the hospital (again) with pneumonia. It was the spring the dog died, and not soon after the floods came and washed out the wildflowers on the side of the road, and the road with them. Houston forgot how to swim. It was the spring I forgot how much my body was worth and slept with a boy I really shouldn’t have slept with; so it was also the spring of my almost baby, and crying in a nail salon bathroom.

           Though it was a beautiful dress, it was a dark one, more suited for fall than spring. The bodice was a nude tan with muted rhinestones peppering it, and it was slightly too big— gravity and my ribcage fought for supremacy. However, I could endure the suffering and the constant bust checks for the sheer beauty of the dress. The full length, ballroom tulle skirt was tar black. Add a couple stars, and it could have been mistaken for the night sky.

           For that Formal, I got ready at my friend’s house. I remember sitting on the stairs in my dress as her mom took pictures with her, smiling boisterous pearly smiles into the camera lens. I could almost see the camera flashes bouncing off their teeth. Her mom told her in melodic tones how beautiful she looked in her purple mermaid dress. A thick ball of an emotion I could not quite name formed in my chest, on top of my heart, and it sat there all during the Spring Formal. It was there when I danced with my friends and when I drove my friend home that night across town, the highway unraveling under my swollen feet. It was there when I arrived home at 2am and nobody was awake to greet me.

           I sent my mom a few selfies of the dress in a mirror at the dance, but the hospital always had had bad reception.

           The first and only time Mom saw my dress was on a hanger a few months later. She looked at it with an expression like flat soda in her eyes. She ran the tulle between her finger tips lightly, considerately.

“It’s lovely, Lexy. Really,” she said her wind chime voice. She didn’t say it, but we could both feel the “I’m Sorry” hanging thick in the air.

***

           “Shit. I just remembered something.”

           “What is it Lex?”

           “The Spring Formal is next weekend. I still need a dress.”

           “Why can’t you wear the one you wore last year?”

           I shake my head. “It’s too big now, Mom. I’m gonna have to go today to get a dress.”

           I look over at my mom. We are cuddled into her bed the day before Easter, an expanse of half eaten Cadbury bunnies and crème filled eggs spread before us. Her eyes are getting dewy clear and red.

           “Oh God, Mom. What’s wrong? Please don’t cry.” At the sight of my mother getting choked up, I feel a wad of tears in my throat as well. It’s a universal, primitive instinct, the urge to cry at the sight of one’s mother crying.

           “Dammit. I wanted to go with you this year.” Her voice cracks a bit, coated with a mixture of frustration and sorrow.

           “Relax. What about next year?”

           “Next year I’ll still be sick, baby.”

           Unable to respond, I walk to her side of the bed and wrap my arms around her small nymph body. I have to be careful not to step on one of the Ziploc bags of pills on the ground. We remain like that for a bit, twisted into each other like wisteria plants. The TV murmurs with “Say Yes to The Dress” in the background. I want to reach in between the static and crawl away, my mom in hand.

           “Listen. I’ll send you a picture of all the dresses, ok?” I know this offer isn’t much, but my brain is wired for problem solving like my father, and this is the best I can come up with.

           Surprisingly, Mom brightens up at this idea.

           “Deal.”

           At the mall, I try four different stores and countless dresses. I film myself dancing around the dressing room in all of them, and my mom responds with her varying, unapologetic opinions. The other moms and daughters look on in confusion, wondering what the hell I’m doing, and why I’m alone. The moms help their daughters carry the heavy dresses and are convinced of their child’s exceptionality. I am alone to haul my own dresses back and forth from the sales floor to the changing room. By myself, it is a daunting and tiring task to wriggle in and out of the dresses, but my mom’s digital voice urges me on. I can almost see the invisible thread tying us together suspended above the dressing rooms, and reaching across town and over all the heads of the other moms and daughters.

           After two hours of this, I narrow things down to two dresses. One is relatively reminiscent of the dress I picked last year; strapless, with a muted peach bodice and dusky ballroom skirt. But the other one is so strikingly different from anything I’d usually pick.

           It, too, is a full length ball gown, but instead of polite, quiet colours, it’s awash with vivid spring magentas and oranges. Water colour flowers flit about on a silvery satin ocean. It’s an open back with a crisscross. If I wanted to be buried in my past dress, I wanted to live in this one.

My mom and I are sold.

           “THAT’S THE ONE” she texts in all caps.

           Before racing to the checkout, however, I check the price tag and realize it’s egregiously off budget. I sink back into the changing room bench. In the next dressing room over, I hear a mom helping her daughter shuffle into a dress. At first they spar at one another in shrill voices, but once the dress is on, silence pervades the dressing room.

           “Oh, wow.” Her mom finally sighs. “You’re so beautiful.”

           I can’t hear the girl blushing, but I can feel it.

           I sigh and reluctantly call my dad, the budget setter.

           “I think mom and I found a dress we like.”

           “Oh great! Are you gonna be home in a bit?” His burly Caribbean accent fills my ear.

           “Well, the dress is a little bit more than we expected. Like 80 dollars more.”

           My dad makes a sharp sound by blowing air through his teeth.

           “Lex, are there any other ones—“

           He is cut off by an assertive yell in the background.

           “Well, you just got lucky. Your mother chimed in. She’ll pay the extra 80.”

           I jump up off the dressing room bench.

           “Really?”

           “Yup. Hurry home. I just made dinner.”

           “Oh. Ok. Thanks Dad. Tell Mom I said thanks.”

           He lets out a broad chuckle. “You’re welcome. See you in a bit.”

           When I get home, it is my turn to be exceptional. My mom and I coo over the dress, and I jump up and down on my side of her bed and dance around the dusty oak bed posts, hot pink hibiscus flowers bouncing victoriously on my hip bones. I think I hear every synonym for “beautiful” that night. In the shiny dress before my mom, I am rendered a bright creature, lit from within like a floral Christmas light. She just smiles and smiles and the bedroom fades into a warm whirlpool of laughter and lamp light.

           Suddenly I don’t care about the dressing rooms or the other girls or the Lupus.

           ***

           I still dream about being able to go shopping with my mom. By this, I mean that the walker and the pills melt away, and my mom rises from the bed. By this, I mean that I imagine the Lupus gene switched off, allowing us to be just a mom and her daughter.