‘Judith, get up!’ I hear her but don’t want to get up. My mother, her apron already tied around her waist, comes into my room. She pretends she doesn’t see me rolled up in a ball under my pink quilt. I start to giggle and her hands go under the cover, grab my legs and pull me out of bed. ‘Mother, I don’t feel good, really I don’t. Look, my homework is done. I feel hot.’ Mother leans over me, puts her soft lips on my eyelids, thinks a minute and does it again. ‘You do feel warm, Judith. I’ll get the thermometer.’ In a flash it’s in my mouth, under my tongue. Mother stares at her watch. ‘Okay, Judith, let me see.’ The window shade is up so she holds the thermometer where she can see the mercury more clearly.
‘Oh, dear, Judith. You are right. You have 99. Get back in bed. I’ll bring you a cup of hot tea with a lemon wedge. Daddy will go to the drugstore and bring Brown’s Mixture for you before he heads to work. If you promise me you’ll take it every three hours, I’ll tell him to bring a pint of vanilla ice cream too. I’m going down the cellar to bring up the bed pan for you. Don’t get out of bed until your temperature is normal. Hear me?’ As much as I don’t need, don’t want, the bed pan there is no use arguing.
The merry whistle of the tea kettle warns me that Mother is just about ready to smother me with love. ‘Here you are, Darling, hot brewed tea with toast, smothered with raspberry preserves. If you want anything else, don’t yell. Just clap your hands and I’ll be right up.’ I’m not yet finished with the tea and toast when Mother brings me the bed pan, still wet from the good washing she must have given it first.
Dad’s horn honks and Mother hurries down the stairs again. He hands her the Brown’s mixture and vanilla ice cream. As soon as she closes the front door, she puts the treat in the ice box. I hear her thumping upstairs again. ‘Judith, Dad told me to take your temperature again and if it is up, I am to call Dr. Krause. Mother shakes the thermometer until I fear the mercury will fly out of the end. It is thrust into my mouth. While we wait the three minutes, I make silly google eyes at Mother. She laughs and laughs. I hand it to her. Bells ring. An alarm goes off. Mother looks white. ‘Judith, you are sick. You have 100 now. I’m calling Dr. Krause.’
Before she can take a step, I grab her apron strings and hold tight. ‘Mother, Mother, I just drank hot tea. Of course, my temp went up. I’ll take it again about ten. O.K.?’ ‘O.K.’ she replies, smiles and goes down the steps again. 5 of 10 my mother stands before me, the thermometer ready. ‘You are sick. You now have 100. All in one breath she asks if I want the bed pan. ‘Mother, ‘ I plead. ‘Please don’t call Dr. Krause yet. Honest, I don’t feel real sick. Let me take the Brown’s mixture and see if that helps. I’m not throwing up, sneezing, coughing. I’m just a little bit nauseated., that’s all.
Mother goes downstairs and I hear her working in the kitchen. By 2 the wonderful smell of her chicken soup wafts towards my nose. Mother brings in a tray. The soup is overflowing with noodles. There are Sunshine crackers and a salt shaker too. ‘Mother, your soup is always perfect. What’s with the salt? ‘You don’t want salt? I’ll take it off the tray. My words stick in my throat. I jump out of bed and rush to the bathroom. Mother is right behind me but I am fast and kick the door shut. Just barely I make it to the toilet and upchuck the soup. A headache forms right above my eyes. I call her ‘Ma’ instead of Mother as I cry out, ‘I’m sick, Ma. I’m really sick. And I’m scared. I’m bleeding. Am I going to die?’
Mother starts to laugh out loud. She holds me close and tells me I’m not going to die. ‘At least,’ she says, ‘if you ARE going to die, you won’t die as a child. Remember I told you that some day soon you will be a woman. Well, Honey, today you are.’ She gives me a sweet, tender smack on my face, a kiss on my cheek and a bear hug. Mother leaves me there not sure of what has happened, what I have to do. Before she gives me what she has had ready for me, Mother calls Daddy at work.
‘Harold, we lost our little girl.’ I can hear him scream. ‘What happened? What are you saying? Don’t make jokes. Where is Judith?’
Our daughter is our daughter, will always be our daughter, but now she is a woman and we still have much to tell her about.
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