Page 7 of Hawk
I stand there and peer down at the splattering of green goop against the cold flooring. It gets thicker the colder it gets. After I finish with the most recent food tray disaster, I pass in front of Mrs. Calhoon’s room.
“You stink, Rhea. What did you bathe in, tequila?”
I take a step closer to the door, resting my hands on the handle of the mop and lean in so I can hear the muffled voices.
“No, Loa, it was scotch. Now come over here and help me roll her over.”
“Dad is going to be so pissed at you.”
“You think he’s really going to come here to visit her?” The voice grunts. “Does he even know that she’s been moved from community to here?”
“He has his reasons for not coming. You know as much as I do that mom isn’t the easiest person to be around.”
“It doesn’t matter. Dad knew who mom was when he married her.”
“Neither of us know that for sure.”
“I don’t understand how you can defend him time and time again, Loa. She’s your mom.”
“The fact that she gave birth to me doesn’t mean that I owe her anything, Rhea. She lost that right when she chose the bottle over her daughters.”
“Just help me with her, please.”
Their voices continue to get quieter until I’m unable to listen to them quarrel anymore without actually pushing the door open. Giving up, I turn my back on the door and step towards my cart. I place the mop into the soapy water and grab the yellow caution sign from the cart. When I turn around, the door to Mrs. Calhoon’s room opens, and a young woman comes stomping out. Her lips are pinched together, and there’s a scowl on her face. Her ponytail swishes back and forth as she rushes from the room, turning the corner and disappearing.
“Fucking perfect,” a voice hisses from the direction of the room.
When I turn my head back, the girl from the night before is standing in the doorway. Her arms are crossed her chest, and she’s holding the same scowl as the girl who just left.
“Can you help me?”
I blink, still holding the yellow sign in my hands. “I’m sorry?”
“Can. You. Help. Me?” Her tone doesn’t settle with me, and I let her know it.
“Can you ask a little nicer?” I ask as I drop the sign on the still-wet floor.
Her eyes dart, to the sign and then back to me. “I’m sorry.” She rakes her hands through her hair, “It’s been one hell of a day and my sister doesn’t make it any easier.”
“I’m sure the hangover isn’t helping.”
“Wait, what?” She narrows her eyes at me. “Were you eavesdropping on my conversation?”
“No.” I’m confused, but then it hits me. “You really don’t remember, do you?” Her face is full of confusion. I turn my head in both directions, making sure my supervisors aren’t coming. “Never mind…what do you need help with?”
“My mom… I need to clean her–”
“The nurses can do that.”
“Yeah, I know, but I’m here, and I like to do it. My sister walked out, and we were in the middle of changing her gown, and now my mom is half-dressed, and she’s not even conscious, so she’s laying there–”
“Okay, I’ll do it. Let me push my cart around the corner.”
She looks at the floor and shoves her hands into her back pockets, waiting for me. When I get the cart where I want it, I head back to the room. She steps back and lets me into the semi-darkened room.
“Let me turn the lights on so we can see what we’re doing.” She walks over and turns on the lamp that’s sitting on the nightstand. “We usually keep it dark in here so she can sleep. The sunlight seems to be enough, but I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”
When the room is illuminated, my gaze falls to the bed where Rose is lying. Her sheets are pulled down to her feet. She has one arm pulled halfway through a sleeve of her gown while the other arm is resting by her side. I see her chest rise and fall while her closed eyes slightly flutter.
