​The first day of kindergarten I sat in the cootie seat on the bus. The 4th graders laughed, and I never felt like I belonged.

I absolutely refused to take the bus and since I am the youngest of eight and since my mom didn’t seem to mind, she drove me on the days I decided to attend.

Besides being youngest of eight, at about eight I started to go to college.

I wasn’t enrolled in college naturally, but my oldest sister started at Wells College. I would barely cross the threshold of my elementary school, but I would stay with my sister at Wells for days.

I went to my sister’s classes and listened carefully. During art classes, I sat and drew pictures of Mark Spitz. We got snacks at the Student Union. I roamed the library and I snuggled in the purple velvet chairs that softened the sharp corners of the newly built Long Library.

Wells College was indeed a place of learning and part of that was the quiet and space to learn who we are. That longing to belong – and we did  – we belonged at Wells, cooties and all.

​I took Good Friday and Easter Monday off thinking I would catch up on some work.

Thursday evening a virus caught up with me instead. My throat as rough as coarse grit sandpaper.

My husband offered to make me a light brew, something that would go down easily, was I interested?

I sat on the sofa. Listened to the clinking of pans; the sharp sound of glass bottles being moved. I tried not to swallow, and saliva pooled in my mouth. I swallowed, felt the burn, and settled my head back on the pillows.

Luckily, I wasn’t going to work the next day. My lips felt chapped – I knew the sore throat came with a fever.

My husband came in holding a hot mug.

“Drink this.”

Brandy, honey, and lemon slid down. At once astringent and soothing.

“Mmm. Gggd.”

He smiled and handed me the TV remote.

“Didn’t you start a new series?”

I had started watching a K-drama. I kept the warm mug in between my hands until I finished the precious liquid. My head heavy with fever, my eyes glassy, I read the subtitles until my husband came in to say goodnight.

“Episode Three – good job - Are you sleeping down here tonight?”

I croaked back that it would be safer for his health and let my head sink into the pillows. My husband covered me with blankets and one of our dogs snuggled by my feet and the other curled up with her back to the top of my head. We slept.

The next day my throat was still raw, so my husband made me three doses, left them on the kitchen stove, and then left to grocery shop. I stumbled into the kitchen, joints aching, throat on fire. I warmed up the mug and drank to soothe. I went back in the TV room and continued watching my series, now firmly entrenched in the drama.

My husband came to check on me.

“Your face is all red. Did you drink all of that at once?”

I nodded yes.

“Oh boy….”
 
By Easter Sunday my stupor was such that I didn’t know if I was sick, drunk, or hungover. I do know that my throat felt great, and after finishing sixteen hours of my TV series, I’d swear I could converse in Korean.