Oops, I've Fallen

Also, why? Why is he shaving his fucking balls? What on earth could a seventy-five-year-old man be doing that requires that kind of grooming?

Fuck. Don’t even go there. Ignorance is bliss and all that.

“And what in the hell has you bursting through goddamn doors like the Hulk?” he questions, still shaving. Still. Fucking. Shaving.

“There were loud noises,” I, for some unknown reason, try to explain. “I thought you were hurt.”

“I dropped the vacuum getting it out of the hall closet. Jesus. Now, would you get your ass out of here? Or should I have you reach the tough part in the back?”

No, no, God, no.

“I’m going!” I shout over the noise, closing my eyes until I’m backed all the way out of the bathroom and then moving like my ass is on fire just to get out of his bedroom.

And I don’t look back. It’s going to be a long-ass purgatory, staying here with him.

But look on the bright side, my subconscious taunts. At least now you’ve got a fun neighbor to play tricks on and a bedroom door to fix.

September 11th, Friday

Carly

“Hi, Tok-ers! Ya girl Stella here!” are the first words I hear upon waking up and making my way into the living room this morning.

Good God.

I’m starting to think it shouldn’t have taken a tailbone fracture for my sister and me to start keeping a closer eye on our mother.

My mind starts to show traumatic flashbacks of her “WAP” dance video, and I shut my eyes for a brief moment before passing her by and heading straight for the coffeepot in the kitchen.

It’s going to take me years to get over that. Like, I’m pretty sure I’ll be on my deathbed, and that video will be one of the last things I see before the lights go out.

I grab the bag of coffee from the cabinet, a spoon from the silverware drawer, and get to making a fresh pot.

Once I have the water in the canister and the lid closed, I pull my phone out of my pocket and shoot Willow a quick text. I meant to do it last night after the whole garbage debacle, but Stella was on a tear about doing manis, pedis, and facials. And seeing as she’s kind of limited by her broken ass, I had to do most of the work. By the time we were done, after chasing my mom around for the entire day, I passed out on my mattress made of stone and forgot the rest of the world existed.

But this is probably for the best anyway. Willow is normally in bed by eight thirty, latest. She’s evidently one of those people who thrives in the mornings. If it weren’t for her, I wouldn’t even believe people like that exist.

Me: Did you know our mother is on TikTok? Or that she has over 200,000 followers?

I can’t not tell her. It’s too good and too insane. She’ll stress out about it, but if I can’t share this kind of shit with a sister, I don’t want one.

Willow: What the hell is TikTok?

Her response makes me grin.

Me: A social media app that would make your head explode.

Willow: And what is Mom doing on there?

Me: Dancing.

Willow: What?

Me: Just trust me on this, you don’t want to know.

Willow: It’s that bad???

Me: Yes, Will. It is. And I’m sending you my future therapy bills because the only reason I had to be subjected to it is because you were too busy to come to Tampa.

Willow: LOL. Whatever.

Me: Also, Stella is a PAIN IN THE ASS. She ages like Benjamin Button. Only getting more energy with each birthday that passes. She won’t sit still. Doesn’t want to follow doctor’s orders. It’s a whole thing.

Willow: Wow. Carly Page actually wants someone to follow the rules? I can’t be reading that correctly.

I roll my eyes.

Me: This is different. She’s hurt. I don’t give a shit what she wants to do normally.

Willow: Uh-huh. How long are you staying down there? If it stretches into November, I might be able to take over.

November? That’s, like, a lot of weeks away. Some help she is.

Me: Gee, thanks. Seems super helpful.

Willow: Sorry, but I can’t miss this case. At least I’m being a good sister and thinking about the possibility of her care coinciding with ski season.

Me: Well, I’m hoping it doesn’t take that long. The doc says at least three weeks, but with the way she is, it’ll probably be five or six. I don’t know. I can’t think that far ahead. Especially when you’re not going to be any help.

Willow: Very funny, you bitch. I already feel guilty enough, you know.

Me: I know, I know. It’s all good in the Sunny Creek hood, sis. No worries.

I glance at the time on my phone and see it’s just after eight a.m. It’s early, and I desperately need this cup of coffee.