Arcadia's Gift(54)

On the floor next to the shower, my mother was sprawled out naked and dripping blood from dozens of tiny cuts all over her arms, hands and torso. Silvery shards of mirrored glass were scattered on the sink and the tile and glinted off of her skin.
“Holy shit, Mom! What happened?”
“Dun know...slip...outta nowhere...” she mumbled, her eyes glassy and her hands flailing wildly. The wall above the sink held only an empty frame, making the room feel small.
I leaned in, careful not to step on glass in my stocking feet, inspecting her wounds. From my vantage, none looked overly serious, but each trickled several inches of crimson fluid. My mother’s eyes drifted closed, and she continued to mumble unintelligibly. She was a mess, but she’d survive.
Frustration began to overtake my worry. I concentrated on bringing my emotional shields up and locking them into place just as Jinx taught me. I knew I’d end up with one heck of a headache later, but I didn’t need Mom’s depression and drunken stupor killing my post-Bryan buzz.
“Mom, we have to get you out of the glass before you cut yourself more.” I reached to help her up, but my hands slipped on the rivers of blood trailing her arms. This wasn’t going to work.
“Don’t move.”
I ran to the bedroom closet where I yanked on a pair of my mother’s tennis shoes. Grabbing a pair of slippers and a bathrobe for her, I hurried back to her side.
Mom cried, snot and slobber rolling down over her chin. I bent to put the slippers on her feet. I may have had the right and left mixed up, but at least there would be some protection for when she stood up...if I could get her to stand anyway.
My nose wrinkled at the scent of blood and alcohol and unwashed body. With my eyes averted as much as possible from her nakedness, I brushed the loose glass from her skin and wrapped the robe around her. “Come on, Mom, work with me here...” I grunted, trying to thread her arms into the sleeves while she continued to fidget.
When she was reasonably covered, I took a towel down from the rack and swept as much of the glass away from her bare legs and bottom as possible.
“I need to get you to the bedroom, Mom. You have to stand and walk.” She nodded, but her eyes were closed, and I had doubts whether she really understood.
Standing behind her sitting form, I gripped my mother by the underarms and began to lift. “Mom, stand up. That’s right, move your leg...no, the other one...that’s good...”
With Herculean effort, I managed to get my mother into her bedroom and deposited onto a reading chair in the corner. She slumped back like a ragdoll, all loose limbed and boneless. The blood was going to completely ruin the powder blue upholstery, but I couldn’t care less.
“Stay here,” I told her. “I’m going to call 911.”
“No!” she yelled.
With the jolt of her fear pounding against my shields, my head snapped around to look at her. The word must have shocked her too because her eyes flashed a moment of lucidity before she collapsed into another fit of sobs.
“Don fine me lik dis,” she slurred.
My heart cracked remembering my mother as she used to be, the perfect picture of the career woman, all manicured and styled. Could that really be her slouched in front of me, her bloody robe open, her papery skin hanging on her emaciated skeleton? Had she always been gray? Regular hair appointments ensured I’d never seen her roots before, but now almost an inch of ashy growth framed her face.
No, I couldn’t let anyone find her like this.
“Fine, but you have to work with me here. I’ll need to inspect your cuts and make sure all of the glass is out. If you make this hard on me or if you need stitches, I’ll have to take you in to the hospital. Understand?”
I realized I was talking to her like she was a child, but she nodded and tried to sit up straighter.
“Be right back.”
I returned a few minutes later, arms loaded with first-aid items to discover my mother passed out cold in the chair. Maybe it was better this way. I lowered my mental shields, not needing them anymore. A sharp headache immediately ricocheted through my brain, setting my teeth on edge. I took a few deep breaths to steady myself. I turned on the overhead light and dragged over a reading lamp so I could spotlight in on any glints of mirror. Starting at her shoulders and working down I cleansed, disinfected and bandaged. Several times I had to use the tweezers to fish shards from her skin. Thankfully, none of the cuts looked deep enough to require stitches, but she would have lots of scars. I made a mental note to pick her up some of that scar reducing cream next time I went to the grocery store.
At some point during my ministrations, I had to drag my mother to the floor so I could reach her backside. When she was cleaned and wrapped like a mummy, I turned her on her side, tucked a pillow under her head, and covered her with a blanket. I considered cleaning up the mess of blood and glass from the bathroom, but I was tired, my head pounded and part of me wanted her to see the mess she’d made when she sobered up.