text: Every time I begin to get sick there are always different symptoms, but the outcome is the same. Usually, I start optimistically. “Oh no it’s just allergies,” I say to my scratchy throat. But as each hour passes by my intuition tells me what my mind will not - yes, I am actually getting sick. Reality has set in. I'm getting sick more often these days. I don’t know what it is, but maybe as my body grows older it just has less tolerance for these things, or maybe I fundamentally am just a sickly person. I don’t know. I haven’t really come to terms with it, but whenever I finally embrace that I’m sick I set aside everything for a sick day. Everyone’s sick days are different, but my sick days tend to all rhyme with each other. At first, I try to pretend I’m okay and go through my daily motions. But after my morning coffee, it all falls apart. When I would usually plod to my computer to work, I instead lay on my couch and then I’m faced with the worst question yet. What the hell do I do today. This is where the day really starts to sour. I really don’t know why I liked being sick when I was a kid. Now I can’t help but laugh that I liked this when I was a kid. Maybe it was the separation away from school, breaking a routine, or just alone time. One time I got so sick I vomited everything up over and over when I was 8, but weirdly enough I didn’t seem to hate it as much as a mild cold annoys me now. Now sick days are just... a waste of time. It’s the curse of being an adult that has made them less fun. Funny that it might all just be a perception thing. Anyways my sick day today. This sick day started like any other, but the phone call was when it took a turn for the weird. Yesterday was the first day I really showed some symptoms, and so of course I cleared my calendar and got ready for the long haul. I was not expecting a call. I drank my coffee, put on some tv, and plopped down with water nearby. That’s when the phone rang. I still get phone calls mind you, that’s not the weird part. But most of those phone calls are spam, and I don’t answer them. The part that was so weird was it was ringing on a landline. A landline you say - yes a landline. I didn’t actually own it, it was a prop rotary phone I bought for a friend’s bar at an antique show. Perfect for a bar that pretended to be older than it was. But the bar had been doing well and I would always oblige my close friend. So of course, I had a large rotary phone landline in my living room, a halfway house before its final home. But as it rang I was shocked, because it wasn’t plugged into anything. So naturally, I picked it up. “Hello” says a female voice on the other side. “Who are you and how are you calling me?” I say the obvious question. I was defensive, and a bit shocked. Is this what a fever dream is? “Now now we don’t have time for that. I need you to listen to me clearly before this link is shut off. Please I only have seconds, I need you to go to-“ the voice dropped as the receiver tuned to static, and then to silence. As I put that receiver down, my body too filled with a feeling of static. My smartphone in my pocket rang. Instead of “Scam Likely” it said “Pick Up” as a caller. I wasn’t sick enough to hallucinate but when I looked at the phone I felt like I had somehow felt outside of my body. Maybe it was the static in my body, but I felt disconnected, and my body went charging on ahead without my consent. The static in me built to a roar until my finger touched to accept the call. “Ahhhhh that’s better. Hello again darling. Now we have a bit more time. I need you to pick up something for me today. Yes yes I know you’re sick but luckily for you, it’s your favorite soup place. Please pick up a package at Pho 4 Lovers in 30 minutes. You’ll know which one when you get there.” Click. The line went dead on the other end. Pho 4 lovers was not only close but too familiar. I checked the clock, it was 12:42. Why there? I often went there when I was under the weather, and it felt like the caller had secretly known me and my normal sick day routines. And what’s more, I even had a bit of a history there. Well had a history there. Pho 4 lovers was kind of an inside joke with a girl I dated a few years ago. She started as a friend, and in a rare move, we moved a bit beyond friendship when her dad died and I was there. Was I being manipulative? Maybe. I don’t really know, I really liked her, I wanted to help her, and we just kind of fell into the routine of a relationship. Our joke was that when we went to Pho 4 Lovers, we actually were not just friends anymore, and our first “date” was there. Despite being a shabby second-rate Pho joint, it was our place. Well, that was until she broke up with me. Now I mostly go there when I’m feeling sick and want some Pho for takeout. Its place for love had been relinquished to a memento of years past. Hell, it had even had a renovation inside. It looked nothing like that space that held all those memories, and it wasn’t as dingy as before. This all weighed on my mind. Why at a place with so much meaning? Why was that voice on the phone so familiar? I had heard it before. The phrasing, the tone, it brushed just past the tip of my recollection. My mind raced as my body moved along without much thought, getting ready to leave my apartment. There was a feeling that I must go, and that at Pho 4 Lovers something of my past was there, something about the voice that commanded me to go in a way that I had blindly listened to before. Wait. Oh wow. Was... that my mom’s voice? She had been dead now for 15 years. It was then I started to shake. It felt like my fever was intensifying but also like the wrongness of hearing the voice of someone you knew was dead. I took a minute to breathe as I walked outside and started the car, my breath ragged and my palms sweating. The ride felt frantic. My heart raced; my fever felt like it was burning me up. I started to sweat. I pulled into Pho 4 Lovers only a short 6-minute drive later somehow much worse than how I had started. Something inside me was accelerating. The feeling of static had turned to a dull but intensifying ache. Something felt wrong. I breathed deeply as I parked the car and walked to Pho 4 Lovers. I walked up a steeper than a typical concrete ramp into the Pho 4 Lovers. Awaiting me inside was no one. I looked at my phone and the time said 1:11. The time made me feel even more uneasy. The entire place looked like it was closed, and not a single sound came from the usually busy kitchen. On the front counter sat a single large takeout order, filled with enough food for multiple. I knew it was for me. I walked closer and read the name on the order. That’s when I knew. It said Jean. My mom’s name. The feeling of dull ache started to crescendo. I realized now why I was here, what today was, and why I was sick. Without looking at my calendar app I knew today was June 23rd, and my mom just wanted to have a birthday meal with me. Something inside me broke, as I began to cry. I didn’t care anymore and started to sob uncontrollably in the empty building. Was I even in this world anymore? No one was at the restaurant. I went back to my car and drove to where I knew I was supposed to go next. The cars I drove by seemed fake; the drivers never once looked in my direction. Traffic was lighter than normal as I drove to the place we decided to bury my Mom. I hadn’t been back in years. My body started to feel pain, but also relief as well. I parked and then walked quietly to the headstone where my mom lay. No one was at the cemetery that afternoon. And I didn’t see another soul until the next day. But that afternoon sitting by her headstone I started to feel better. My fever broke. I spread the takeout next to my mom’s grave and quietly portioned out two sizes, one for me and one for my mom. I put the chopsticks in for her to eat her portion, and I quietly slurped noodles and talked to someone who I knew couldn’t respond. I felt my fever break. I knew she had led me here, I knew it was her. Some part of me felt a little more whole. I looked around and took in the scene. Cemeteries are odd places, they hold a certain feeling that normal places lack. And especially at this moment I still wasn’t sure if I was really part of this world or someplace else. The sequence of events since the first phone call had felt surreal, and I was dragged along like a small child to an inevitable destination. I finished my meal, waited as the sun began to wane, wrote a quiet goodbye note on a napkin, and walked to my car to drive home. When I arrived home, I immediately slept a deep and dreamless sleep. I woke up the next day feeling much better. What an odd sick day.