While the Fever Rose by Celine Ong

 

After dinner,

my legs gave way beneath me—

I held on to tables,

as if they were anchors in a room that swayed.

The Taiwanese drama flickered to an end at ten.

I barely made it.

Then I vomited.

Fever came quietly,

like a second shadow.

I woke in the middle of the night

to take medicine

and stumble to the toilet alone.

Morning came,

but not with comfort.

Mum said I forgot to turn on the vacuum cleaner.

I told her—

I vomited,

I had a fever.

She didn’t reply.

Instead, she called the polyclinic.

My appointment is at 9:50.

I spilled tea on the floor,

wiped it with the tablecloth.

Dropped tissue paper—

picked it up.

Sprayed the toilet floor clean.

Ate my breakfast.

Even while I felt faint,

I still tried.

Still cleaned.

Still moved.

Some people will miss me.

Some will stay silent.

But I’m still here.

Even while the fever rose.