I checked on her, but she hadn’t moved. Eyes open, not sleeping, but not responding.
When the bath was ready, I rolled her over to face the middle of the bare mattress, got behind to hug and pull. Already, in less than a day, we had pathways repeated over and over. A thousand days did seem terrifying. I didn’t want to know what her life had been like then.
I eased her into the tub, arranged her limp legs and arms and head, and she stared down into the water but didn’t look like she could fall.
The chili was warm, and I brought her a bowl. She didn’t raise her arms. So I fed her spoonful by spoonful and she moved her mouth just enough to open and chew, some zombie come partially to life. Normally she would have been at work right now, in the snow and lights, an outpost of clanking metal and revving diesel engines run nonstop day and night all year. A place where she was no longer herself but only a body performing tasks, a kind of robot that looked like a person. But now she was the opposite, dead on the outside and lost somewhere inside what could only be her, remembering.
When she finished her bowl, I went out to the kitchen to eat. I was trying to see my grandmother. We had no photos. My mother had erased everything. The silence in the house, no speaking for days. I saw her older. I couldn’t see her my own mother’s age. Wrinkled face, and I couldn’t make her cruel, only sad. She would smile to say she was sorry about dying, sorry to leave and not be there for all that would happen in later years, sorry for all that was being taken away. This was the only grandmother I could imagine, sorrowing and still filled with love.
~ ~ ~
The bathwater had already lost its heat, so quickly, and she was sitting in it, probably getting chilled now, but not saying anything. It was worse than when she yelled at me.
I have to get you out of here, I said. I’m sorry. I had meant to soap her more carefully, but the soak in shampoo suds would have to be enough.
I tugged but she was entirely limp, so heavy. I couldn’t dry her off but dragged her dripping back to the bed made with our last clean sheets, laid her on my side and toweled her off, crotch last, a few small brown smears, then rolled her over and tucked her in with a top sheet and comforter.
You’re clean now, I said, and warm. Just sleep.
She closed her eyes and said nothing.
When I lifted the lid of the washer and sniffed, the sheets seemed clean. I smelled only laundry detergent, but I poured in more, with bleach again, added the towel, and washed a second time. Then draining the bathtub and rinsing it, wiping up the floor. Then dishes.
I was so exhausted. I went to my own bed, not wanting to wake up ever again next to shit or piss, and I must have fallen asleep instantly, then woke to knocking.
I looked at my bedside clock and it was already six thirty in the evening, dark out, the day gone and someone knocking at our door.
My mother wasn’t answering. I struggled to wake up, pulled myself out of bed to go check on her. She was lying on her side just as I’d left her, unmoved, her eyes open now.
Should I answer? I asked.
No response from her, so I went to the door. Who is it?
Steve.
The sound of his voice the most enormous relief. He could break the spell.
Where’s your mom? he asked when I let him in. He looked like a normal person, friendly, talking, not pretending to be someone else, dressed and clean, not pissing himself. He was carrying a bag of groceries and a rose.
In bed.
In bed? Can I see her?
I pointed to her room and he set the bag on the kitchen counter, then went to her. I followed.
It smells in here, he said. Like shit. What happened?
My mother hadn’t moved. Leave, she said. Caitlin and I are spending the weekend together.
You weren’t at work today, he said. I went by at lunch, and they said you called in sick.
Just leave.
Not so easy. I decided I’m not leaving, that I won’t let you drive me out. Because I know you want me to stay.
Caitlin, my mother said. I need to pee.
I dragged her naked from the bed toward the toilet.
What’s going on? Steve said. What happened? Can’t you walk? His voice so quiet it was only air. He was afraid.
She’s fine, I said, struggling to talk as I dragged her. She’s just showing me what it was like to take care of her mother.
What?
Caitlin doesn’t believe my life was real. She wants her happy grandpa time, and she doesn’t believe any of what happened when he left. So I’m showing her.
That’s crazy. And you’re naked.
Get the fuck out.
Not this time.
I had my mother on the toilet seat finally. She peed as Steve watched from the doorway.
What? she said. Years of taking care of her. No one will ever know what that was like, but knowing a few days can’t hurt.
How long has this been going on?
Since yesterday, I said. In the evening. After she destroyed his car with the tire iron.
You saw your father?
You should hear the plans, she said. They’re making plans now. We’re supposed to move in with him, a happy little family. Our sugar daddy, saving Cinderella. He goes back to work as a mechanic, watches fish with Caitlin, and I go back to school and skip around meadows with all my free time. You get to be the prince. Caitlin has it all planned out.
What?
I know he would work again, I said. And he already told us we could live with him and not pay rent. And she could go back to school.
That’s a lot to think about, Steve said.
I’m not thinking about it, my mother said.
Well why not? You hate your job, and I know you could do something better if you had a chance. Maybe you should at least consider it.
Wipe me.
I wiped my mother and then grabbed her from behind again.
Stop it! Steve yelled. What the fuck are you doing?
Oh, so upsetting, having to drag a healthy person to bed. Try someone whose body is turning to rot.
Steve followed us into the bedroom. Why does it smell so bad in here?
It’s not the right smell. It really was sulfur, day and night, as if the bowels of the earth were breaking open, as if we lived in hell. When I hear fire and brimstone, that’s what I think of, my mother’s bedroom. And always some new wicked torment from her, saying something crazy, how I had made her sick or driven everyone away or didn’t love her.
I pulled my mother onto the bed and rolled her over, covered her with the sheet and comforter.
Now leave me alone. Make dinner, Sheri.
You’re calling her Sheri?
Yep. I’m trying to break into that selfish little skull.
Caitlin isn’t selfish.
She’s a child. All children are selfish. And what would you know? You’ve never raised a kid. So I’ll tell you. We aren’t real. We don’t have any feelings or thoughts that aren’t about her. She can’t believe we existed before her. So I’m making her live that time. It will become a part of her own memories, and then she’ll believe.
That’s crazy.
You call me crazy one more time and I will cut you open with a knife.
Look, I’m sorry. But please stop. Why can’t you just stop?
Because I didn’t get to be selfish.
Steve knelt beside my mother where she curled in bed, put his arm over her. Sheri, he said. I love you, and I won’t leave you. And Caitlin will always love you more than anyone else. She watches you in every moment, and whatever you’re feeling in that moment determines whether the world is good or about to end. She’s your daughter.