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Long white roots contrasted sharply with her dyed, red hair.
by Bobbi Lurie The bed was wet again. She had to pull off his pajama bottoms, change his diaper, change the sheets, dress him again, pull him up - straighten him up on the bed … “Damn it,” she muttered. The smell of urine overwhelmed her. The sun’s glare forced its way in through the slats of the shuttered windows. Striking beams of light mocked their indoor existence. The sound of radios, conversations, laughter seeped into their apartment. She could picture children on their bicycles, lovers holding hands. She walked over to the shutters and closed them tighter. Outside, people were walking along the beach, lying in the sun. She and her husband had moved to the beach after he retired. Within a month, he had a massive stroke. She chose to nurse him herself, unable to let him go. He was the only one she could speak to. She let him lay in his urine. She walked over to the chair which once was his. She buried her face in the olive green velvet arm of the chair. She could not cry. 1 The sounds outside and the stench in the room merged as she felt her heart harden against him. She sat until she could no longer bear the soft feel of the fabric against her cheek. She stood up and looked briefly in the mirror. Long white roots contrasted sharply with her dyed, red hair. She leaned over him and lifted his head off the pillow. It was a dead weight. His eyes looked blankly up at her, his mouth drooped to one side, spittle dripped down his chin. This once domineering man had found a way to torment her into her old age. It had taken her years to find the inner strength to assert her rights against his powerful rages and need to control every aspect of her life. She had finally made him understand. He had softened into the gentle man she knew during their courtship. Then fate struck its blow. Like a mockery of her constant wish for a more passive, tender man, he was paralyzed and helpless, totally dependent upon her for his survival. Her back ached as she managed to get him into a seated position on the bed, moving his hips forward, straightening out his legs, placing his good arm against the bed to keep him from falling. Saliva spilled from his crooked mouth. His head drooped forward. |
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