The corridor stretched out ahead of me, quiet except for my footsteps and the occasional bleep of a machine. Most patients were sent home to spend Christmas with their families. I’m Jesse’s family, but he was too sick to come home. Fucking leukemia!

Jesse’s diagnosis last year was a terrifying blow. We’d just come through a busy tourist season. Mardi Gras through to May had been insane and we were all tired, but Jesse could barely keep his head up. He’d fall asleep during the day, and he seemed to have one fever after another. One day, bruises appeared on his body for no good reason. My grandmother blamed me and she gave me hell. Jesse laughed it off, but I felt scared and guilty. I replayed our sex over and over in my head, wondering if I’d been too rough. Afraid to touch him, I hugged the edge of our bed every night. Jesse didn’t complain about the lack of sex and that scared me even more, but it was Mawmaw who insisted he see a doctor, and finally he did. The doctor took some blood from Jesse’s arm and sent him home with an antibiotic. Only Jesse got any sleep that night.

Mawmaw and I were scared to death. We’d been down this road before, but that didn’t make it any easier. All I had to do was look at her face and I knew she was reliving the same painful memories as me. Finally, she went to her room to talk to the spirits while I sat at the kitchen table and drank her spirits. Southern Comfort. 100 US proof. I have no idea how much I put away, but in a short time I was in my own state of comfort. Feeling no pain.