He merely grunted, turned over and pulled the covers off me in doing so. "Eddieeee! Wake up! Did you hear that?” My racing heart pounded so loudly in my ears I couldn’t listen for further sounds that might indicate a burglar was in the house. “Eddieeee…!” I whispered more loudly, nudging him harder.
This time, the reply was an angry grunt.
I couldn’t just wait there to be murdered in my bed, so I quietly slipped my feet down to the carpeted floor and fumbling in the dark for a baseball bat.
I looked over at Eddie quietly snoring, his back to me, and headed toward the door. Tip-toeing down the hall, I held my breath, still listening for sounds. Nothing but the squeaking of the floorboards underneath the worn carpet… I realized that if there was a burglar in the house, he was either standing still holding his breath, or he’d already fled, having heard my creaking footsteps!
I flipped on the hallway light and entered the living room, the bat still held over my right shoulder, just in case. The living room lay in silence, empty, as was the kitchen. I checked the closets, under the tables, everywhere. Nothing.
I finally entered the kids’ room. No open windows… And then I saw what had awakened me. Nicholas, my five-year-old, had fallen out of the top bunk! And being the sound sleeper that he was, he had not even awakened. I had to smile.
Stooping down, I shook him lightly. “Nickle…. Nick-le..!” In response, a soft almost-snore whispered in the darkness. I thought about trying to wake Eddie to lift Nick back into bed, then rolled my eyes at the futility of the thought.
I carefully slid one arm under his neck, then, less carefully, wiggled the other under his knees. I struggled to balance his lanky, way-too-big-to-be-just-five body with my awkwardly crouched body so that I could lift him back into bed.
He sighed deeply, and turne
d his head to snuggle into my shoulder, allowing the light from the hall to fall across his face. He had blood all over his lower jaw and pajama top!“Nickle…! NICKLE...!” I shouted, shaking him awake.
“Nickle, are you okay. Wake UP!”
He whined and snuggled over, still half asleep, and hung both arms around my neck, smearing blood across my bare shoulder.
I laid him down on the lower bunk next to his sister, and inspected his face. His lip was split wide-open and gushing blood. He had apparently hit his face on the dresser on his fall from the bunk bed. I ran back to my bedroom.
“Eddie! Eddie! Oh my gosh! Something’s happened to Nickle! He’s bleeding all over! Oh my GOSH! EDDIE”
Eddie moaned and propped himself up on his elbow, shielding his eyes from the light in the hallway. When I told him again, he simply mumbled, “Well, do something about it. I have to go to work in the morning!” and rolled over and went back to sleep. (I guess I was really a single mother way before he left us! I just didn’t realize it.)
I quickly changed into jeans and a long- sleeve, pull over T-shirt, wrestling for what seemed like forever with the sleeves in the
darkness. I dashed to the kitchen, grabbed a bag of frozen peas and wrapped it in paper towels. Running back to Nick’s room, I scooped him up on one hip, his head on my shoulder and his lanky arms and legs dangling like a rag doll, and headed out the back door, grabbing my purse and keys on the way out.At the emergency room, they ushered us right in. The nurse lifted Nick’s groggy head from my shoulder, pulled the bag o
f peas from his face and shook her head, then walked away, making notes on her clipboard as she went. An intern came in and took a look, saying, “Lips always bleed the worst…” and left the room.Eventually they told me there was nothing they could do. I had done everything just right.
“Just take him home and keep an eye on him. You will want to wake him every hour through the night to be sure he doesn’t have a concussion. He’s gonna hurt for a day or two. And he’ll probably have quite a shiner there,” he said, pointing to his right eye, which was already beginning to purple.“
And you need to give him Children’s Tylenol if you have any at home. If you don’t, you’d better pick some up on the way home.”
So, I bundled him back into the car, propped with pillow and blanket, and headed home. But realizing I had no Children’s Tylenol at home, I swung by the all-night Albertson’s grocery store near my house.
Parking right by the front door, I locked the car doors, looked once again at my Nickle, sleeping soundly already in the back seat, the now less-than-frozen peas propped against his lip, and ran in
to the store.In less than a minute, I had the Tylenol and stood at the register, craning my neck to be sure I could see the car out front.
Sleep-deprived and still distraught over poor Nickle’s bloody face, I kept standing on tip-toes and craning my neck to be sure no one approached the car.
In line ahead of me, two obviously intoxicated men were trying to scrape together enough between them for another six-pack. Impatiently, I shifted from foot to foot, making exasperated sounds. They glanced at me, apologizing profusely, then continued digging in their pockets.
Irritated, I glanced at my watch, hoping they would notice. 2:38 a.m….
They were still twelve cents short. One said he might have some money in his ashtray. Wait, and he’d be right back…I cleared my throat impatiently.
“Uh… You know what….,” I butted in, exasperated. “I’ll pay whatever they are short. I’m kind of in a hurry…” I glanced back out at the car.
All three men turned to look at me. The two customers thanked me profusely, offering to wash my car windows, then actually looked at me and stopped in their tracks. The looked me up and down, grabbed for the six-pack in unison and left abruptly.
“Finally!” I said to the cashier, plunking my Tylenol on the counter. “I thought they’d never leave. How much do I owe for the rest of their six-pack?”
He looked at me, then averted his eyes and said, “Umm… twelve cents.”
I counted out twelve cents while he rang up my purchase, continuing to glance nervously out the window at my car. I gave him the change and commented on the two men who had just left.“
Man, I guess yo
u get all kinds in here working these hours, don’t you?” I said, shaking my head.The clerk raised his eyebrows and then looked me over once again before turning back to the register. He took my money, gave me my change, and shut the register drawer.
I headed for the door. What an odd man, I thought to myself as I walked toward the door. How rude to not even respond to me….
And then, as I neared the door, I caught a glimpse of my reflection. I just about died right then and there!
In my hurry to get Nickle to the hospital, I had not bothered to brush my sleep-tousled hair. My long-sleeved Camp Cedar Falls T-shirt had drying bloodstains all down the front and the left sleeve.
And to top it off, my shirt was not only on in side out, it was also on backwards!
And to think I had thought it necessary to comment on the poor drunks who had just left. At least they didn’t look like poorly-dressed axe-murders!
Just goes to show my mother was right. If you don’t have anything nice to say, you shouldn’t say anything at all!
Liz Carson Rosas
1 May 2009
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