by DC Alexander
If I could cover it I might be able to get loose. I tried to hold on to that thought. I had a little clarity, I could think a little. I couldn’t afford to blow it. I needed to keep it from touching me. I needed to stop the smell from getting to me. I looked around the bathroom for something, anything, to cover it. A towel hung on the bar by the sink. Washcloths were in a stack under the sink. They didn’t look like they would do it.
The stupor was coming back on, it was easy to just let myself go, ease down and rest for a second. I had another blank spot, the faucet hurt where it pressed hard against my forehead. I raised back up and saw the trash can sitting by the tub, there wasn’t a better place to keep it and it was always in the way. It had a plastic liner sticking out of the can. That was important for some reason.
The bag, the fetish, it had magic powers. I needed the trashcan liner to cover the fetish. I reached out and almost knocked the can over. I managed to snag a finger in the loop on the liner and dragged it to me. I couldn’t hook it very well, but it was coming out if I didn’t lose my grip. There were a few pieces of paper in it but that didn’t matter.
I heard knocking and banging, it was insistent, it was someone beating on my door to get in. I hollered come on in, break it down if you got to, I would have welcomed anybody coming in to help me but I didn’t have the breath, I squeaked a little and that was it. Nothing I could do about that.
I got the bag out of the trashcan and ran my hand into it to make a rough glove. I caught the fetish with the glove and smoothed the thin plastic up around it. I managed to turn the plastic bag inside out around the fetish, covering it. I twisted it closed to stop the vapors from escaping. My bowels gripped savagely, I cried in frustration, there was nothing I could do. I felt completely helpless. Cool water ran over me, I left it on as I struggled up, getting as clean as I could. I used one of the towels off the towel rack and left it lying in the bathtub. I flopped out on the floor and tried to turn the water off. My hand was working a little but I couldn’t manage it.
After a lifetime of struggle I found myself in the door to the bathroom on my side braced against the doorway. I couldn’t chance crushing the bag under me and squeezing juice out of it. I was done.
I didn’t quite pass out. I just lay there for a bit and caught my breath. I was scary weak, wet and naked and unhappy. I had blank moments where my thoughts wandered, and then I would catch myself and come to with a snap that was almost audible.
My chest burned just below my neck where the bag had hung. It was reddened and raw looking. Not life threatening, I could ignore it. I crawled a little ways toward the kitchen and rested, and did it again and again till I got there.
I pulled myself up on my chair, staggered over to the counter and got my sharp knife out of the drawer. I reached up and cut the string holding the bag. It fell off me into the floor. Why didn’t I just pull the damn thing over my head? Now I had to bend over and pick it up and I might keep on going and fall. I could see Earl telling me “Don’t touch it”. I didn’t want to step on it with my bare foot. It was poisonous as a snake. I squatted and leaned on the cabinet to support me and scooped up the string with a paper towel and dropped the whole mess in the sink. That was a massive relief. It was hard to believe I had it off of me. I’d worried it might do something to keep me from getting it loose.
I struggled and wobbled and slowly put the makings for a pot of coffee on, I had to sit at the table and rest. My head was heavy and hard to hold up. I put my head down on the table for a second.
I come to sitting naked at the table with drool running out of my mouth onto the table, the smell of coffee filled the kitchen, my god it smelled good. I tried to stand and my legs didn’t want to move. I had trouble lifting my head. I was thinking slowly, I needed some coffee, I had an overwhelming desire to get a cup, I could already taste it.
I heaved and struggled and got me up part of the way on the table which wobbled badly, I was surprised it didn’t break. I got my legs straightened out and I could move them stiffly. I waddled to the counter and pulled a cup out of the other side of the sink away from the fetish. I poured the coffee in the cup and it didn’t steam. The light on the pot was off.
I stood there and took a swallow. Even half cool, no sugar, it was like drinking life. My mouth and throat were dry as dust, lips cracked, I couldn’t taste with my tongue, it was a dry stick. I tried to hold the coffee in my mouth but I couldn’t keep myself from swallowing it. I turned the cup up and chugged it.
I put some sugar in the cup and poured the coffee on the sugar to mix it. I lifted that up and tried to go slower and taste it, midway through that cup I felt it all coming back up, I just barely made it to turn my head and hit the sink. All the coffee came back up and maybe some internal organs with it, I’m pretty sure more came out than went in.
I had spilled the second cup and it was all over the place, dripping off the counter, I was getting tired of this invalid shit and it was making me mad. I grabbed the pot and poured another cup and turned and staggered to the table to sit down. Where I had sat before I saw my shape outlined, my arms and head and where my chest was against the table left a track, oily, with a rainbow sheen. I really looked at myself and I reached up and drew a finger down my arm, I had a coating of oil on me, no, it wasn’t oil, it was the shit out of that bag.
I wouldn’t get right till I got that off me, I drank a little coffee and thought about the mess I was gonna make in the kitchen if I poured cooking oil on me in there. How hard it would be to go to the bathroom trying to drag a gallon jug of oil with me. The back door was right there, if I could open it, I could go in the back yard but there was no way I could open it.
A wave of despair swept over me, I was just finished, I couldn’t do any more. Alright, I guess I just going to sit here and die. And Earl will come over here and find me, and maybe I won’t be dead, and he can play with me. I can be his toy.
I got madder and madder and I welcomed it, come on and let’s get it done.
I just ignored the weak legs and the trembling and the hurt when I moved. I stood up and staggered to the cabinet and snatched the jug of cooking oil out and dropped it. I gritted my teeth, half hoping I’d bite my lip, wouldn’t that fit just so damn good. I stood up, determined not to give in to this weak shit any more, kicked the jug of oil toward the bathroom, and made it in there kicking and scooting and cussing. I bounced off the wall a couple times and it wasn’t a problem, I would knock the damn walls down if I had to.
I grabbed one leg and lifted and drug one foot into the tub and dropped the jug in there, then I put the other foot in and collapsed down in the tub on my ass, I welcomed the impact, cussing the tub and my ass and the oil, and the water that splashed out. I muttered “Come on you son of a bitch, bust that ass wide open, I don’t give a SHIT! If this bastard goes through the floor that will be just fine, I’d like to see what’s under here anyway, come on, I dare you, let’s go to the basement.” I lifted the jug over my head and it took the last of my rage-inspired strength, then I smashed me in the head with it, “of all the stupid, pitiful upside down and backward ass smelling idiots I ever seen, I got to be the queen and all the damn congress and two senators.”
“Opening the damn jug might be a good idea, you think, you drooling moron? Or you gonna rub the friggin thing on yo head till it wears out and starts leakin? What we talkin bout wearing out, the head or the jug?” I had to watch out I didn’t start a conversation with me and get tickled; I’d lose all my steam then for sure. I grabbed the lid and wrenched at it with exaggerated motions. My hand wouldn’t close on the lid right, the fingers wouldn’t bend. I observed all this action from a detached point of view, like watching a rabid dog in a cage, but totally nonjudgmental.
“THIS is how the damn fingers supposed to bend, you shithead worthless hand” I forced the hand against the side of the tub and bent the fingers way back, then I jammed my fingers straight into the side of the tub, hard as I could, and damn that hurt! It broke through
the fog damping my sensations with a sharp immediate pain, maybe a broken finger or two.
I put my hand back on the jug and it still didn’t work right. I tried to bite the lid and twist it off with my teeth, growling, with my lips way back out of the way, I couldn’t get a grip and my teeth slid off the plastic.
I held the jug between my legs and used both hands to grip the lid, one on top of the other, panting with fury and exhaustion. It made about a quarter turn and the little plastic childproof safety tab hit the stop and it stopped turning.
I laid the jug over and fell on it as much as I could with the lack of space in the tub, maybe the lid would pop off from the pressure. It didn’t give up, the lid didn’t pop off.
I stood the jug back up between my legs and caught the tab with an unresponsive finger and pressed it in, of course when I tried to turn it the fingernail snagged and hurt, I growled “Damn a fingernail, son of a bitch don’t wanna come off it shouldn’t a got in the damn way” and I give it all I could. The lid turned past the catch, the fingernail came about halfway off so it could snag on anything it went by, and I grabbed the lid and took it the rest of the way off.
“Now let’s get this nasty shit done” I picked up the jug and it slipped and poured a big gloop on my chest. “That’s what I want to see, that’s how I gone do it, maybe I accidental like get a half ounce on where I want it” I was going pretty good, teeth gritted, and shouting but I was so weak it was more like whispers.
I lifted the jug again, gripping it as hard as I could, sloshing all the way and got it over my head, I turned it up clumsily and poured it out in my hair. It ran down my neck and my face and spread on my shoulders.
I moved it around to make sure I got covered good, then let it fall, it hit the side of the tub and fell in the floor on its side of course. I expected it to pour in the floor and make a helluva mess but it was mostly empty and didn’t get but a drop or two in the floor.
I scooted down and laid back in the tub to coat my back, I scooped up handfuls and hit my pits and tried to make sure I had oil everywhere on me. I rested a second. The water wasn’t taking the oil off. Of course it wouldn’t mix; it was oil and water for god’s sake.
The floor was soaking but I couldn’t reach the shower curtain. I just laid there and let the water wash over me.
I got all of it off me I could, which left me coated with oil from head to foot, and got out and made my way back to the kitchen. It was slow going but the rage helped a lot. When I got there I poured another cup of coffee and sat down at the table, I had drug a towel with me and I tried to sop up some of the water and oil.
I put sugar in the coffee a couple times so it was way too sweet,” but that’s just damn fine, damn it, I just eat the damn sugar if that what I gotta do to get some damn coffee in me so I can puke the damn stuff up.” I wished I could of put a couple more ‘damn’s in there, I felt like cussing might fuel enough anger to keep me breathing. I by god did not feel good. At all, not even a little bit.
I sagged, too tired to move my eyeballs, I’d never been that tired before. I forced me to drink the cool coffee and tried to generate some anger that it had cooled off. I lay my head down on the damp towel on the table.
I was dreaming, I was in a field with cows, there was a fence around it, I could smell cow shit strong. It didn’t smell bad. It was more like cut grass, actually pleasant.
One of the cows was a bull. It had some bad looking horns and it didn’t like me, it was pawing its foot and getting ready to charge me and stick me with the horns. When it pawed the ground it was hitting something that made a noise like a hammer on a piece of wood. It got faster and faster, I opened my eyes and it was somebody hitting the front door. They were serious, they had decided they would either bust the door down or somebody was gonna answer it.
My mouth was dry, I tried to shout but I couldn’t get a croak out. I fell out of the chair and made a hellacious racket with it. I was hurrying as fast as I could to get there before whoever it was went away but I couldn’t stand up and walk, I had to crawl. My frigging idiot torn fingernail reached out and caught on the flat linoleum of the kitchen floor. I hurried to the door and tried not to notice it. What the hell, though, really? Flat linoleum snagged my fingernail?
My knees rubbed the floor as I went. I was glad it wasn’t carpet. That would have taken the meat off me and probably deboned my finger as well as tearing off all the remaining nails. I heard a male voice through the door, “you home?” The beating stopped and I could hear somebody talking, there was more than one of them.
I made it to the door and managed to reach up and catch the deadbolt knob, they started beating again. I turned the deadbolt, for once it unlocked without sticking, wow! I caught the doorknob with the last of my strength and twisted.
The door came open an inch or two with the force of the blows, somebody noticed and pushed the door on open, except it hit me in the face and the knees and pinched the skin of my knees between the floor and the bottom of the door. Honestly, I was grateful as I could be to be rescued, but shit that hurt! It pushed me back, knee skin bunching up and pinching under the door, which bopped me in the head till the door wouldn’t go any further.
I was screaming about the bunched up knee skin, “Ouch mother fucking shit that hurts!” which came out as a low muttered ‘ooooooo’ when Carl stuck his head around the door and said “You al… Good god amighty!” and his head disappeared around the door. “Momma, see if you can move her, I hit her with the door. She’s buck ass naked and stuck under the door, she’s pretty messed up!”
Wanda stuck her head around the door cautiously and looked in at me. Shocked, she looked around the room, I was sagging off to the side, she decided she hadn’t interrupted some sort of grease wallowing naked Satanist ritual I guess, she pushed past the door and caught me under the arms and helped me back from the door. My knee skin hurt so damn bad but it didn’t matter. She dragged me; I wasn’t doing anything to help. She said “Carl, come on in here and help, just pay no mind to what you see, I need your back and no lip at all.” That woman took charge.
Carl came in and tried not to look at me. Wanda said “Go back there and find something to cover her with” and he went, grateful for a chance to get out of there. He showed right back up with the blanket off the bed and throwed it over me, head and all. Wanda pulled it off my head and pulled it around me and they got me up on the couch.
“Rosalee, this don’t look good. Honey, tell me, you on some kind a dope? Did somebody do this to you, is there somebody here?” she looked alarmed at the thought the oily pervert was lurking, waiting for a chance to jump out and grease her and do something awful to her and Carl.
I tried to talk to her, my mouth was dry “no. need drink.”
She sent Carl to the kitchen to get me some water, I heard him filling a cup. Wanda held it up to my mouth and tilted it. I got about half of it in my mouth and held it there to soak my tongue. I seriously thought my tongue might never get wet up again, it felt damaged, dry and stiff.
The cup was empty all of a sudden. “More?” was about all I could manage.
My guts seized up with a painful, gripping, rumbling cramp and my bowels almost let go. I looked at Wanda, said “Oh, oh, oh.” She got the idea what I needed, and she and Carl drug me to the bathroom and propped me up. That motherhood thing with Wanda was a profession. I guess she had seen it all. She held me up to keep me from falling over and said “I got seven kids, you aint gone do nothin I aint dealt with before, don’t worry about it” answering my unspoken humiliation. I wasn’t that worried about it though, I was too weak and sick to care.
Wanda picked up and cleaned up in the bathroom, she picked up the cooking oil jug and looked at me holding it in her hand. I said “bag” and I guess it all came clear for her.
She said “You been outside?”
“no. door, screws in it.”
“Want to open it up?”
“Yes.”
She hollered for Carl and
told him what to do. We went back to the bedroom and she laid me on the bed, I was impressed with how easy she moved me, I never realized she was that strong.
She said “you rest a little, I’ll come back and we’ll get you fixed. It looks like mostly what you need is rest and food and water. Carl will stay here and keep an eye on you. I’ll be back in just a little while. “
We got a sheet wrapped around me. I drifted away. Wanda brought me some water and I got it down. I was so tired. I lay there on the bed and it was comfortable. Next thing I knew it was dark again and Carl was setting by the bed in my big old kitchen chair. His head was tilted over on his chest and he was snoring, fast asleep.
I made enough noise he woke up and leaned over me. Carl got up close up in my face, “Miz Rosalee, you feelin better?” He handed me a cup of water he had ready. When I couldn’t hold it, he took it and held it too my mouth so I could drink. “You been gone for seven days, it’s Sunday and you didn’t answer the door or the phone all week. What happened? Oh shit, your eyes are funny, that man done hexed you like Stephanie. What we gone do?”
“Carl, I gotta, I need….” I just couldn’t figure out what I was trying to say. I was so tired, something was wrong, damn I felt bad, sick, my guts were aching. “Outside, back yard” It was all I could do to get it out.
I must not have been clear, Carl leaned over and asked, “you want to go outside? I unblocked the door for you and we can go if you want.”
The idea of touching the ground made me feel like I might have a chance to live. Especially if I got some water, cool running water would make me feel better, I needed it bad. “Yes, and water.” Carl run his arm under my legs and the other arm under my shoulders, I tried to tell him that aint gonna work, I was too heavy, wasn’t any way he could lift me off balance like that, but he stood on up with me like I was a little baby. My head hung down backwards, it was so heavy I couldn’t lift it, and I was mumbling, I couldn’t even talk, and the weakness pissed me off a little.
