"Please don't make me call 911." she said aloud. Dawson shot her a look. He tried his inhaler. He nodded no. Joey looked at his lips that were now turning blue. "Tilt your head up." she said.
After about fifteen minutes of this, he was finally able to speak short sentences.
"Thank God." he said.
"Here, let me help you to the couch." she said.
"I can do it." said Dawson, agitated getting up slowly and walking towards the living room. His steps were slow and he was still a bit winded. Joey was instantly by his side.
"Dawson." she said. But there was nothing to say. She followed him into the living room where he laid down on the couch, his cheeks the slight tint of red she saw before, she smiled. It always made her melt.
"Are you mad at me?" she said, noticing his disappointed look for the fourth time.
"No, I'm just tired." he said, his arm moving from mid-air into onto his face. And with that he laid his head back and fell asleep. Joey tip toed out of the room and upstairs. She couldn't leave him. She had to stay. What if he had another attack? She turned off the TV and the light in his room and went into the kitchen to make some soup. Homemade.
About an hour later, Dawson woke up, wondering why he was on the couch. And then he remembered. He smelled something good, was it, soup? He slowly got up and made his way to the kitchen. "Dawson, sit." she pointed at the table.
"What am I, a dog?" he said. They both laughed a little. A coughing spasm was starting. Joey turned her head and cringed. Not again. Not again. He stopped coughing. She turned around. He was talking a hit from his inhaler, she sighed. She walked towards the cabinet and pulled out a bowl. She ladled some soup in and grabbed a spoon from the dishwasher.
"Eat." she said.
"Again, I'm the dog." he said, smiling. He took a taste. "Hmm, good." he said taking more.
"When do your parents come home?"
"At around 6, they do the five o'clock news. What time is it?" he said, glancing at the clock.
"It's about quarter to six." she said getting her self a bowl and sitting across from Dawson. When they were done, she helped Dawson back to the couch and they turned on the TV. "We didn't finish the movie." Dawson said, just as his parents walked in.
"Dawson, what happened? You look like, well, there's no fever." she said checking his forehead.
"It was my asthma Mom, I'm fine."
"Oh dear, you should get into bed. Oh, hi Joey, sorry, I didn't see you there.
"It's ok, come on Dawson, I'll help you up the stairs." she said.
"I'm fine now Joey." he said.
"I know." she said pulling his arm towards the stairs. "I can just see that motherly look, she's just itching to cover you in a blanket." she said. And with that, Joey tugged him up the stairs.
After about fifteen minutes of this, he was finally able to speak short sentences.
"Thank God." he said.
"Here, let me help you to the couch." she said.
"I can do it." said Dawson, agitated getting up slowly and walking towards the living room. His steps were slow and he was still a bit winded. Joey was instantly by his side.
"Dawson." she said. But there was nothing to say. She followed him into the living room where he laid down on the couch, his cheeks the slight tint of red she saw before, she smiled. It always made her melt.
"Are you mad at me?" she said, noticing his disappointed look for the fourth time.
"No, I'm just tired." he said, his arm moving from mid-air into onto his face. And with that he laid his head back and fell asleep. Joey tip toed out of the room and upstairs. She couldn't leave him. She had to stay. What if he had another attack? She turned off the TV and the light in his room and went into the kitchen to make some soup. Homemade.
About an hour later, Dawson woke up, wondering why he was on the couch. And then he remembered. He smelled something good, was it, soup? He slowly got up and made his way to the kitchen. "Dawson, sit." she pointed at the table.
"What am I, a dog?" he said. They both laughed a little. A coughing spasm was starting. Joey turned her head and cringed. Not again. Not again. He stopped coughing. She turned around. He was talking a hit from his inhaler, she sighed. She walked towards the cabinet and pulled out a bowl. She ladled some soup in and grabbed a spoon from the dishwasher.
"Eat." she said.
"Again, I'm the dog." he said, smiling. He took a taste. "Hmm, good." he said taking more.
"When do your parents come home?"
"At around 6, they do the five o'clock news. What time is it?" he said, glancing at the clock.
"It's about quarter to six." she said getting her self a bowl and sitting across from Dawson. When they were done, she helped Dawson back to the couch and they turned on the TV. "We didn't finish the movie." Dawson said, just as his parents walked in.
"Dawson, what happened? You look like, well, there's no fever." she said checking his forehead.
"It was my asthma Mom, I'm fine."
"Oh dear, you should get into bed. Oh, hi Joey, sorry, I didn't see you there.
"It's ok, come on Dawson, I'll help you up the stairs." she said.
"I'm fine now Joey." he said.
"I know." she said pulling his arm towards the stairs. "I can just see that motherly look, she's just itching to cover you in a blanket." she said. And with that, Joey tugged him up the stairs.