The other day I was sitting at dinner watching Dan drink water. He just drank it, gulped it down, an entire glass like it was nothing. I licked my parched lips, felt the soreness in my dehydrated kidneys and the ache in my shriveled stomach.
“That’s amazing,” I said.
It was beautiful to watch. I imagined it was me drinking, swallowing a whole 12 ounces of water with no fear of yorching it up moments later and I was transfixed.
I find myself staring at my kids while they eat, enjoying each bite in a voyeuristic sort of way, asking them to take just one more. I prepare food that I normally love but cannot stomach right now and when I do risk a bite, it inevitably comes back up.
I turned to Dan at dinner.
“I feel like Captain Barbossa!
I’m unable to eat but twistedly delight in watching other people enjoy the pleasure. Please eat a bite of the apple while I watch the slobber drip down your chin.”