I try to calm down by reminding myself that she was the one that cornered me into doing this painting. At five in the morning, I go to my parents' room. They're sleeping back to back, like strange doughty twins. She shifts in her sleep, her plump body curling forward. I reach out to touch her but quickly pull back my hand.
Mom is suddenly awake, sitting upright.
Her nightgown clings to the soft folds of her breasts, her stomach, the creases in her thighs. I only wanted . . . I couldn't sleep. Mom takes my hand and pats it gently. Mom is in her new red, white, and blue two-piece suit, a matching handbag stiff on her elbow.