The ceiling fan is slowly spinning, casting a soft shadow on the cottage-cheese-finish of the gypsum board ceiling. As I stared at it my thoughts raced back to that day when I was a kid of 10, ill in bed. The ceiling of my room was made of planks of wood with old faded white paint. I don't remember how long I've been sick; never counted the days. All I wanted was to get better and be on my feet again.
In the morning my 2 older siblings and my mom would leave for school, and I was left in the care of someone. She cooked my meals which at that time was tasteless; checked on me from time to time; and felt my temperature with the back of her hand on my forehead.
It was so quiet during the morning until mid-afternoon. There were times I dozed off. When kids in the neighborhood were back home from school, I could hear them playing, laughing and having fun. I longed to be with them, and have fun myself.
At this time my mom, brother and sister would be back from school, they would come and visit me in my room. My mom would check my temperature, and made sure I was doing okay; that I was getting better...not on the brink of death. I learned later on, when I was already an adult that I had pneumonia.
One day, feeling much better, I got up and tried to walk. On my first step my knees buckled under my weight and I fell on the floor. But instead of crying, I laughed. I was so happy that I could get up and be on my feet again, though shaky. A little friend who was visiting me at that time laughed with me. I would get up and try again, though knowing that I'm still weak and would hit the floor...again. Still it didn't matter. We laughed till we were spent.
A few days later on, I was back in school; glad to be up and about.
The ceiling fan is still going on; is having a hypnotic effect, and the hum of the motor...is...lulling...me...to...s l e e p.