Thanks for always filling your water to the brim.

      One of my most prominent childhood memories was one that I shared with my mom. She however could not recall such memories because she was unconscious at the time in which the events happened.

       Every night, I would wake up at around two or three in the morning and head to the bathroom. That was my pee schedule, and it was unfortunate because I really feel I could have hit 6’ by now if it weren’t for the sleep loss as a child. Anyways, after I would finish my business in the bathroom, I would walk all the way up to my parents’ room. We lived in a town house, so there were floors to be conquered in between my room and theirs. Once I arrived at the foot of their mattress, I would make my way silently to my mother’s side of the bed, which would have been on your right if you were facing her.

      As she lay sleeping, I would watch over her for a couple minutes, waiting for her to either wake up or remain in slumber. Once my stealth was assured, I reached to the nightstand beside her head and grabbed what was to me at the time, the most precious thing in the world. In my clenched fist, I held the tall plastic cup she filled with cool water and ice. She would take a few sips before falling asleep, and for a time I believed it was making her immortal, for this water and ice was more than you could ever imagine. It offered the most crisp, primal, arctic water, more pure than God. The Tree of Life itself would become a forest if its roots were able to sip this water. This was the best water in the world.

      And so greedily, I’d cock my head back and drain that pint of water. I’d quietly chew whatever small pieces of ice that happened to fall through my baleen-like teeth. I’d wipe my mouth, set the emptied cup back on her nightstand, used and empty, and go back to bed. I will admit, most nights I was too afraid of the walk down to my bedroom and decided to sleep in the comfort of between two parents.

      I wish I was a braver kid… maybe I would have broken away from the conceptual umbilical cord sooner. But I can't blame myself for not nutting up and taking the descent: If only they knew how scary two flights of stairs in a town house was to a 6 year old — at night.