|detail from William Blake's The Great Red Dragon and Woman Clothed by the Sun|
It's still summer in Los Angeles even though Sophie has gone back to school. It's hot here, like it always is in August and September, and when I got up with Sophie and started feeding her breakfast, she had one of those big seizures at the table, and while I tried to stop it, it didn't stop so I picked her up, angrily, and first sat on the stool but felt squeezed there and couldn't protect her jerking arms and legs so I lifted her up and me up and rushed down the hallway to her room feeling like one of those mothers you read about who lift up cars off their dying children. That is exactly what I felt like but I wasn't fueled by love but by anger and it rose up so strong in me that when I put Sophie on her bed and rolled her to the side I felt steam coming out of my ears so I plopped down beside her, my back to her and breathed in and out like a dragon. A dragon mother with a scaly interfering tail and breath like fire, late summer fire in Los Angeles, ignited by the tiniest of embers that burns slow until it catches just right and the whole place is up in flames.