If I Fell

Prelude to Breakfast

The sound of clinking plates and laughter meets my ears as I step into the kitchen. I almost expect it to stop when I do, but it doesn't. One look at the scene before me and I almost want to laugh too.

Angela is laid out on her back in what looks like a pool of sticky syrup. A chair is turned over next to her as if it had been apart of her fall. One of the twins sits propped up against the stove a few feet away with an empty Aunt Jemima's bottle in his hands and a dumbstruck look on his face. The other is attempting to place a stack of plates on the table but is laughing too hard to do it. Over his laughter, I hear Angela speak.

"Joshua," she says in a low calm voice that lets me know just how upset she is.

"Yes?" the twin sitting down answers.

"Why is there syrup on the floor?"

"I bet Isaac that a person can slip on syrup like you can slip on water," he says.

"And you decided to test that theory on me," she answers more than asks, slowly sitting up until she can look at Joshua. Her hair is clumped in slimy strands that will be a real pain to wash out. The poor boy is having a hard time keeping a guilty smirk off his face as he tries to back away from his angry sister, but there's no more space to move. Isaacs laughter grows louder.

"N-not really. First I tried to get Isaac to do it, but he said it was dumb, so I was gonna wait till Dad came down to see if he would do it, but he hasn't come down yet, and Mom is always cranky in the mornings so-"

"Joshua," Angela says interrupting his fast explanation. The sound of her fuzzy pajamas stickily-separating from the floor as she leans forwards cause Joshua's eyes to widen.

"Yeah Angie," he answers, his voice trembling with either fear or a desperate attempt not to laugh.

"Run."

With that short warning, the boy is up and out the kitchen before Angela can even lift herself from the floor. Their shrieks of laughter and death threats can probably be heard all over this tiny suburban neighborhood.

I shake my head as Isaac finally manages to put the plates on the table, still chuckling.

"Is this a regular thing here?"

His chuckling stops when I speak, almost as if he had forgotten that I was here. By the look on his face, he's either scared to talk to me or really nervous.

After a long awkward pause, he nods.

"Interesting."

Another pause.

He starts playing with the silverware on the table.

Silence.

I count the number of chairs and plates about the table.

He drops a knife and hurries to pick it up.

I only count five of each which is wrong because there are six people who need to eat this morning. I close my eyes for a second and hope that this won't become an "Oh we forgot" situation. The last one still stings me when I think of it.

I hear a sharp intake of breath but all I pay attention to is the vision replaying itself on my eyelids.

An ornately decorated kitchen. Four blonde heads around a table. Four chairs with beautiful wooden carving. Four plates of steaming food. Mine hurriedly gathered as an after thought once I make my presence known. A foot stool pulled from the bathroom, barely high enough for me to sit on it and be eye level with the table edge.

I shake off the memory, telling myself that not everyone is always properly prepared for another person to live with them. They hadn't forgotten my existence they just weren't fully ready because I was their first. But then again I think Devyn told me that I'm the first here too.

I open my eyes and am met with the sight of smaller ones tearing. I'm confused for a second until I see the knife back on the floor and him clutching his hand. Isaac is crying silently and his his finger is bleeding as if it's been split wide open. He stands there, watching the blood pour down his little hand and drip onto the white linoleum tiles, without even trying to stem the flow.

Cautious that he might be scared of me, I slowly walk forwards, grabbing some paper towel from the counter, and kneel down until I'm at eye level with him.

My presence goes unnoticed until I call his name. His head jerks up and his eyes go even wider,

surprised at how close I am.

"Isaac, I'm not gonna hurt you. Looks like you've got that covered."

My sad attempt at a joke fails. I clear my throat and try to start again.

"Is it okay for me to try and stop the bleeding?" I ask in the gentlest voice I can muster.

He chews his lip for a little before giving me a slow nod.

I give him a small smile and slowly reach for his hand. Once I have the cut turned towards me, I'm a little relieved. The slit reaches diagonally from the top of his index finger, to just below where the first horizontal line that marks the joint location. It doesn't seem to be too deep and the blood flow has lessened, but it still probably hurt like hell. 

I tear off a piece of the paper towel and start dabbing around the cut. Once the area is free of excess blood, I lightly press another section against the cut. Glancing up for a second, I can see that he's still chewing his lip but the fearful look is gone from his eyes. That makes me feel bad about this next part.

"I want to put a band-aid on it, but I have to clean it first, so it won't get infected. Do you guys have a First Aid kit or something around here?"

From the way he tensed up and pulled away from me, I could tell he knew what I meant by "clean".

Again he nodded and pointed to the sink cabinet. I motioned for him to follow me over. Once there, I opened the cabinet and grabbed the kit which was right at the front. Next to it sat what looked like an emergency evacuation bag.

If not a person, they were certainly prepared for a disaster.

The cabinet was closed and the kit placed on the counter. Knowing the rest of the blood would need to be cleaned off his hand, I silently ask permission to set him on the counter next to the sink. After a hesitant nod and an awkward lift, he's able to reach the sink with no problem.

Silence stretches as the warm water washes away the red marring his skin. I let him to sit under the water for longer than is needed, counting to one hundred in my head while taking out a large band-aid, a few cotton balls and a mini bottle of alcohol. The alcohol comes out last and he winces at the sight of it.

I wonder if there's an age where you stop fearing the sting of disinfectant on a cut. I can't remember the last time I got scared at the sight of the stuff. Hell, I can't even remember the last time someone cleaned a cut for me like I'm doing right now.

The sound of him worrying over his lip is the only one in the kitchen. Somewhere in the house there is still faint laughter and the sound of a shower running but neither of us concentrate on it. The cleaning is quick; a small amount poured directly on it followed by a couple of dabs. The increased rate of his chewing and faint sizzle as the alcohol settle into the cut. Another set of dabs to dry the area. The inch and a half band-aid with some cartoon character, smiling at nothing, being wrapped around his little finger by my much larger ones. Finally, his sigh of relief as I take him off the counter.

"You good now?" I ask.

He stares at his finger for a minute before speaking to me for the first time since he introduced himself yesterday.

"Yes, I'm good," then after more chewing, "Thank you"

I smile at his answer then move to pick up the dropped knife. I wash it along with any traces of blood around and in the sink. He gets a rag from below the sink and asks me to wet and soap it so he can clean the floor. I raise an eyebrow at him but do as he asks.

By the time the rest of the Webers make it to the kitchen, everything is clean. Isaac sits at the table and I lean against the counter, a comfortable silence surrounding us.

I plaster a smile on my face and tell give everyone a good morning.

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