your eyes were closed as i held you on the floor. cradling your head in my lap, i wiped the vomit from your face in a gentle manner. you'd shiver and you'd shake and i'd delicately stroke your hair. i wanted you to get better. and i really had confirmed to myself: this is not work. this not a bother. i am happy to be here, taking care of you. why am i so accepting of this? this shouldn't be so easy. i should be uncomfortable and frustrated. i should be anxious and aggravated. but i'm not. i am not impatient and i am still unburdened by all of this.
and so i cleaned your sick up off the tile, soundtracked by the sounds of your best friend laying you in this tub, the sounds of subtle temperature change of hot steam & water flowing in the next room.
all the while, i'm trying to help you up and down and in every other conceivable direction and you do not let me touch you. you say you are disgusting and i say 'i don't care' but you still protest because you care.
so you're laying in this tub, soaked and sick but conscious enough to make a few silly jokes about the absolute glamour of the situation. and i'm trying to calm you down. asking you not to make such a big deal of little things that are not so important. and you assure me that i am important. you say 'everything's a big deal to me, especially you'. i am surprised and i tell you so. i close the shower curtain on you and remain near you and this tub for a while, just in case i am needed. from behind the curtain i hear 'i want to tell you how i feel'. i peek around the shower curtain and you are fast asleep. all i can think is 'fuckin' Laz. this should have been Laz!' (so said by you upon entrance to this tub). things are strange. people are strange and i do not understand them. but i know a few things. and i would like to be the one they call when you need taking care of.
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