Lifetime Guarantee

I was six. Mama and I pressed our fingertips together, our index fingers. I ticked her pulse aloud: tick, tick, tick, tick, tick. Then she ticked mine: tickticktickticktick. I got scared because mine was so fast. Mother and daughter should match, I thought. I held out another finger, the littlest one, made her pinky swear I wasn't dying. She told me everyone dies someday, but she swore I wouldn't go that day. I made her promise me the same thing every day, and she did, until I was about twelve, when I decided I was invincible. What I wouldn't give now for such a guarantee.