Two figures in a comfortably dark room. Just enough light creeps around their silhouettes, like faint haloes. A humidifier hums, underscoring the loud, snotty breathing of a child. Staccato coughs. The pungent aroma of menthol. Skin caresses skin.
You’ve been sick for a few days, progressively growing more congested. You were at your most miserable last night.
As I took up the jar, memories washed over me. I felt my mother massaging VapoRub into my chest, heard her murmuring reassurance.
At once, I am the mother and the child of thirty years ago.
Now the ritual belongs to you and me. Two figures in a comfortably dark room…