Charmin'--My Dear

A LITTLE BEHIND

 

As usual, I walk behind her. Pretty soon she is way ahead of me. There's nothing I can do except cry loud enough, 'Mama, Mama, wait for me.' Her head turns. Her foot taps the curb. She puts her heavy grocery bag on the pavement and motions for me to hurry, hurry. Just as I reach her, the traffic light changes and we can't cross over. I can almost see her hand getting ready to slap my tush.

 

A tall man carrying a brown brief case won't wait for the light to turn green, pushes past us and accidentally kicks our grocery bag. It falls into the gutter. Our bananas fly into the street. Two jars of pizza sauce roll to the curb and break into bits of glass. Mama stands still, too upset to do anything. The man we never saw before reaches into his pocket and pulls out his wallet, hands her some money, and hurries to make the Third Ave. bus. Mama grabs my hand, and what's left of her grocery shopping, and pulls me as hard as she can to make the next light. 'Let's go, Let's go, Rhona. Street cleaners will take care of this mess before you get married.'

 

Everything changes. This time Mama needs me instead of me needing her. Mama's shoe slips in the pizza sauce and she slides on her rear, but doesn't fall. What she does do is limp. I can keep up with her, carry the twelve rolls of tissue paper myself. It isn't heavy but people laugh at me. Once Mama looked right at a laughing lady, pointed to me and told her, 'It's all for her. She's not trained yet.'The lady laughed too. I didn't think it was funny.

 

Mama is surprised to see my daddy's car in the driveway. I watch her and am happy her limp is a little bit better. 'Daddy, Daddy, come help me,' I call. Mama's voice is much louder than mine so she calls him too. When the door opens, he skips a step and runs down to help us, but stops half way, long enough to laugh his head off. 'Rhona, what are you going to do with all that toilet paper?' I tell him he can have some of it if he needs it.' 'Thank you. Do you need some help. Rhoda?' Without waiting for my answer, Daddy takes most of the big package into the house. Holding the remains of our shopping, Mama leans on me, leans a little too hard and I fall in the driveway, skin my knee. Still limping, Mama manages to get up our  wooden steps and into the house.

 

'Mama, Mama, help, help. I'm going to die.' Daddy runs out to me, tries to stop me from crying, but I am the center of his attention and cry louder. 'Daddy, look at my leg, it's bleeding, bleeding a lot.'
Oh, my god, Child. I will have to cauterize it, stop all of your blood from rushing out.' 'Don't, don't do that thing, ' I plead.

 

'Rhoda sit where you are. I'll be right back.' I sit. He's back fast and is hiding something behind his back. I just bet it is a cauterize. I'm wrong. Daddy tears open a brand new roll of toilet paper, dabs the blood off my leg and carries it and me into the house.

 

Mama is on the sofa, an ice bag on her knee. Daddy will set the table for dinner and maybe they will play a game of 'Fish' with me before I go to bed.