Ether Read Free Page B

abandonment. The most frequently used
word in her vocabulary is ‘irresponsible.’ It’s not until my headache eases up
and my stomach quiets that I notice large, drying splotches of vomit on my
shirt. Ugh.
    I
turn the shower onto its hottest setting and sit in the bathroom waiting for
the water to warm up to near scalding.  I strip off my clothes, leaving them in
a pile on the floor and step into the steaming shower. The water chases itself
in little rivers over my body. I breathe the moist air in deeply, as I trace a
soapy hand over the long red lines on my right arm and the wide raised scar on
my upper thigh. I let the water rinse me clean. Lathering shampoo into my fine
brown hair, I let my fingers skirt the smooth, shaved patch at the base of my
head that edges the fissure in my skull. Just a week ago my neck had been sore
to the touch. Now the gash is completely closed and healed over. It’s amazing
how quickly my body healed. 
    I
touch the edges of my scars, where the skin is still rough. There’s no doubt
that I had a close call but now that the punctures are closed and the blue and
purple bruises on my skin have faded to patches of shallow yellow I looked
almost the way I did before. Fully dressed, with my hair down you’d never know
how close a thing it had been.   
                I step out
of the shower, shaking wet hair out of my eyes and groping blindly for a towel.
When my eyes clear I looked up at the mirror and see the word, “Hello” written
across the mirror. My heart does a 360 spin in my chest and I lunge for the
lock on the bathroom door. It’s still locked. Hands shaking, I check it again.
I retreat from the door. It’s a small bathroom, just shower, sink, toilet.
There’s nowhere for someone to hide. I try to calm myself, trying on all kinds
of rational explanations. Trying to get a grip on things I take a hand towel
and scrub the word off the mirror. It’s easier to be calm once it was gone.
                At least it’s
easier to be calm until the mirror starts fogging back up again. I watch
trembling, naked except for a bath towel, as letters begin to form on the
mirror. Don’t be afraid.  I have never found any words less comforting.
I scream, fling open the door and hurl myself through the house.
                I clutch
the towel to me as I dive through the front door and race into the yard. Buick
comes bounding over, his eyes shining at the fun of it all. He looks up at me
with sparkling eyes, tail pumping like crazy, as I stand panting and half
crying. Buick’s tongue lolls out to the side, greatly amused by my antics.
Standing in a towel, on my front lawn, next to my big black doodle, I feel
absolutely ridiculous.
                I need to
calm down and think, but not almost naked in the front yard. “Come on Buick,
let’s go around back.”
                I skirt the
house, still not ready to go inside, and settle into the lawn chair on the
deck. With the warm afternoon sun on my skin and the familiar sounds of birds
chirping and trees rustling, the possibility of words appearing on my mirror
seems far more remote. “Let’s think about this boy.” I say to Buick, who is
still regarding me with keen interest. “Either my recent blow to the head is
causing me to hallucinate, or something is trying to communicate with me by
writing on my mirror.”  Buick looks at me with sympathy and turns his head to
the side, “which is impossible of course, but it’s still damned creepy.”
                I knot the
towel around me and force myself to lounge on the chair, figuring if my body is
relaxed my mind will relax too. I spot my diary lying under the little wooden
drink table, with my pen still tucked in from yesterday. At least now I know
what to write. I open it and hold the pen in my hand, mentally composing my
first sentence. I stare at the whiteness without really seeing the page, until
a tiny spot of black appears on