Sly and Doris aren’t hungry, which I know because as soon as
they walk in the door, I offer them food and water (BAM! THAT, Sly and Doris,
is how it is done) but they do want to see the house, which, upon thinking about
it, is an odd custom. “Come, person who does not live here! Let me show you the
private areas of my home, which may or may not be company-ready and on which
you will judge me!”
I don’t want to show them what’s behind my doors because
they I have never seen their spare room, the room where Primo slept the very
first night. Fair’s fair, I say. But I am distracted by events and so
surrender.
Doris makes it up the stairs very slowly. She shuffles
around the upstairs slowly. There is not much ground to cover, but it still
takes her a very long time.
She walks down the stairs very slowly. I walk ahead of her,
thinking that if she falls, she will at least land on something soft.
I know! I don’t really like her that much, but she is fine
with me when we are alone – which is almost never – and I do feel sorry for
her, having to live with Sly. I have seen how he treats her when there are
witnesses. I shudder to think what he’s like when they’re alone.
Just after I step off the last step and move away from the
stairs, Doris…
Slips.
Falls.
Falls down the stairs.
She is not drunk.
(I don’t think.)
(We have not given them any booze. Maybe she drank on the
plane?)
She is an exhausted old lady and, in her defense, our stairs
are kind of weird. The banister ends before the stairs do. If you’re not paying
attention, you’ll miss the last step. The tread is also narrow and the stairs
are slippery polished maple. Pretty, but slippery.
She screams.
I turn just in time to see her falling.
Even if you do not like a person, it is a horrible thing to
see her falling.
You do not want to see someone falling down the stairs in
your house.
She falls forward, face down, arms flailing. There is a
horrible thud and then she lies (lays? So many stupid people who don’t use the
proper word! Oops – if I don’t use it properly, I guess I am beneath Sly’s
contempt) sprawled in the hallway like those chalk
outlines of murder victims. Her right arm is underneath her and her head is
turned to the side.
I run to her, kneel, reach for
her.
Me: Oh no! Doris! Doris !
Are you OK?
Primo pushes past Sly as he runs down the stairs. He kneels
by his mother.
Primo: Mom, are you all right?
Me: Should I call an ambulance?
I wring my hands.[1]
I don’t want Sly and Doris in my house, but I also do not
want them injured. For their own sake, but also because I do not want Doris with a broken hip and unable to travel staying in
our bedroom for the next four months.[2]
The nightmare looms: constant requests for help to the
bathroom or for a drink or for something to read or just to talk because she is
bored. I will have to divorce Primo [3]
and move out just to avoid it.
Doris: Just wait.
Primo: Let me help you.
Doris: No. Don’t. Touch. Me. Let. Me. Stay. Here.
Primo gently examines her arms and legs. Everything appears
to be in the proper place with respect to the joints and bones; it doesn’t seem
like anything was broken. She is conscious and lucid. There is no blood, either
on her body or coming from her mouth as she exhales. She can breathe. If there are
other things we should look for, we don’t know about them.
Primo: Mom, I think we should call an ambulance. Or at least
take you to the emergency room.
Doris: No! I. Don’t. Want. To. Move.
She closes her eyes.
Sly hovers, unable to do anything. Even though at 260
pounds, he weighs more than twice as much as Doris, he has bad shoulders and
knees and can’t lift her. Plus he’s old.
Doris: Just. Leave. Me. Alone.
We move into the kitchen where we can see her.
Me (whispering): Shouldn’t we call an ambulance?
Primo: I don’t know! She said she wants us to leave her
alone!
Me: Yeah, but how would she know? What if she’s hit her
head? She could have a concussion.
Sly: Leave her.
Primo and I look at each other uncertainly.
Me (whispering): Your dad has your mom call an ambulance
every time he falls down drunk and he doesn’t even fall down stairs, but we are
supposed to leave your mom after she has actually fallen from a height?
Sly: Leave her alone!
Primo looks at me and shakes his head. On Sly’s head, I
guess.
[1] Yes. I
actually do that. I didn’t know it was a thing, but it is an atavistic response
to a Bad Thing Happening.
[2] And for
our homeowners insurance.
[3]
Actually, just not marry him.
PS This is a comment in real time. If I had to do this again, I would totally call an ambulance. What on earth were we thinking?
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