copyright 2017 Chris Smith All rights reserved.
"The edge has a cold flavor."
Mom's been tired lately. It's no wonder with everything she has going on. Most mornings she'd wake up only to take a nap before juice. It seemed to be the routine for her. But she was still drinking the juices, which was encouraging.
Some days we all went to the office. I got tired of staying home. So it was a real treat for me when we all went to the office. Normally for a half day normally.
Our offices were in the second floor of an old warehouse. So we'd climb the two flights of stairs to the top, which was good exercise for Mom, and walk through a huge open room to an area that was walled off.
The offices were cold, surrounded in concrete. Our offices were in a smaller section with our desks and a few bookshelves filled with tapes filling up the small cubbyhole. The only heat we had were little space heaters. Luckily it wasn't winter yet.
Mom would work on her computer for a little bit playing solitaire and looking through her Facebook. Then she'd get tired and retire to the "Green Room", a large tent set up for production talent and to relax between takes and get their make-up done. It was about one hundred yards from our rented office space, situated in the storage area of the studio.
The Green Room had a few chairs and nice couch that Mom could lie down on. The owners were nice enough to allow us to use the it for Mom's naps when they weren't using it or when there wasn't a shoot going on.
Mom would go in and take a nap while Dad and I finished up our work. Then we'd collect Mom and all go back home at the end of the day.
This day was like all the others. Dad went back to check on Mom in the Green Room to make sure she was okay, like he did every time we brought her to work with us. But this time he seemed to be taking a long time.
So I went back to check on them. I walked on the concrete warehouse floor, thinking about the evening ahead. When I turned the corner to the Green Room, I found Dad on his knees, with his hands around Mom's adult underpants. They were around her ankles. The air prickled with tension. Too bad I couldn't pretend I didn't see them and walk back the other way. It was bad for me. I had walked right into a scene in progress and it was too late to leave. Uninvited though I was.
"Sweetheart, don't move," Dad said.
"I want to get the fuck out of here," Mom replied.
It should have been a funny scene if I hadn't claimed them as my Parents. Poor Dad, Mr. Gung-Ho-Combat-Warrior, had become a cleaning lady and care-giver to the love of his life, a woman who would have sooner bit his face off by the looks of things right now.
"Uhhhhh, Dad. What's going on?" I asked.
"Your Mother had an accident. And there's shit everywhere. We need something to clean it up and we need to get some new underpants for her," Dad told me.
He was pretending to be calm.
"Okay. I think we have some wet wipes and some anti-bacterial wipes," I replied.
"We need some trash bags too," Dad said.
"Okay," I said.
"Sweetheart," Dad replied to Mom.
Mom wasn't much for complying these days and you could tell Dad was at the end of his rope. If there was actual rope around, I wouldn't put it past him to hang her right there.
I ran back to our offices and started searching through drawers. I grabbed the extra t-shirt and adult underpants we had packed in Mom's bag. Then I grabbed the wet wipes and the cleaning wipes. I also grabbed the dish gloves that I had the smarts to have at the office in the first place.
"Okay, Dad I got everything," I told him as I walked into the Green Room.
"Great. I'm going to take her to the bathroom and see about getting her cleaned up. If you could clean up around here that would be great."
"Okay. So where is it?"
"Well, I don't think she got any shit on the couch, thank God. I think she had an accident during her nap and then was trying to make her way to the bathroom."
"Okay, so I'll look around," I replied.
"And be careful you don't step in any," Dad said.
I started looking around for signs of shit on the rug. I checked the couch and Dad was right, there wasn't any on it nor on the blanket she had used. Then I started taking a closer look at the rug and sure enough, there it was plain as day. Real, live, fresh and slightly warm, shit. But it wasn't a lot. So, I wiped it off with a paper towel. Then I took the cleaning wipes and scrubbed. I went through several wipes, piling the used ones in the trash bag I had brought.
When I had cleaned up everything I went into the bathroom to check on my Parents.
"How's it going?" I asked Dad through the closed stall door.
"Good. I think I got it all cleaned up."
"Great!" I said with a smile.
Part of me wanted to laugh at the whole scene. It was, after all, pretty damn funny. But Dad wasn't in the funny mood. I'd say he was the farthest thing from the perimeter of funny. I didn't want to push him. Not tonight.
We didn't have an extra pair of shorts, a problem I would remedy as soon as we got home, for her to change into. So we wrapped a long sleeve shirt around her waist and she walked through the warehouse and down to the car a-la-pants-free.
"Hey Dad," I said.
"Yeah," Dad said.
"You know what it is?" I asked.
"What what is?" he asked
"It's the juice. I bet. It's working through her system and everything is flowing," I said.
"Ahhh. That's probably true huh," Dad said.
"Yeah. I don't know why we never even thought of what it would do to her system," I said.
"A warning would have been nice," Dad said.
We'd made it through another day. God save us. God save us all.
YOU ARE READING
A HARD RUN INTO HELL Book 4 (EDITING) is the juice worth the squeeze seriesNon-Fiction
I was standing in Hell, burning. I looked over to see my Dad, standing right next to me. He was burning too. We had brought my Mom home from the hospital and care facility, after being diagnosed with Stage 3 cancer and decided not to do chemo, ag...