He is ill again. I watch him sadly as his speech slurs and his focus blurs. My baby of only slightly more than two years is ill and I have to call the physician in.
As I wait helplessly I remember the good times and bad we’ve shared - my baby and I. He’s made me laugh and yell in frustration. The companionship between him and I was awkward at first and later blossomed into a need. Maybe I’ve hung on to him for too long.
A soft knock on the door jerks me out of my reverie. The physician stands at the door, a tall, lean man with intelligent eyes.
"This way. I’ve tried everything," I try to explain as I show him to where my baby lay.
The physician merely nods understandingly. He examines my baby with furrowed brows. "It’s a virus. Many others are infected as well." He leaves it hanging and I feel a hand closing about my heart.
My heart constricting with fear I can barely speak. I look at the tall man, hoping against hope.
From his bag he takes out a silver box. "There’s an antivirus program that I have. So far, it’s worked."
The fear in my heart abates a bit as he connects his magical silver box to my baby and tranfers a software. I thank him and see him to the door. Here I am now. Waiting. Hoping that my baby will be all right.