I follow Greg inside,
panic filling my mouth
for reasons I don’t understand.
I call his name, but someone
else is calling him, too, and he
doesn’t hear me.
Mama! he screams, tearing through the rooms.
She’s on the white floor of a bathroom.
Her face is twisted and looks
like dead ashes after a fire,
but she smiles when she sees him.
I’m okay, she says. I fell on my way out.
She looks at me, her eyes seeing
something beyond me. Sorry your
new friend has to see me like this.
I watch Greg try to lift her up,
his feet nearly stumbling, and I move
to her other side so I can help, too.
Greg clicks on the brakes of her chair
and we set his mama gently in the seat.
And it’s then that I understand.
He picked this.
He chose a life taking care
of someone else over a life
where someone took care of him.
I wish I could be
so brave.