A Daughter of Light(A Light onto the World)

Chapter 16

Marimar  

Chapter 16

I’m sitting on the couch watching TV.  I just came back from the hospital.  I spent two whole days there so that they could keep me under observation.  The report is that the splitting headache was caused by a concussion.  I now have thirteen stitches and a bald strip about a half inch wide and four inches long just right of the top of my crown.  I also broke my left pinky.  I’m right handed so that won’t affect me much.  Other than that, all I have are bruises and sore muscles.  They say that I was extremely lucky.  It’s hard to appreciate that fact when I feel like I got the crap kicked out of me.  Every menial task say, trying to get to the bathroom, makes me feel like I’m being beaten with a stick.  To make matters worse, nobody saw me being thrown down the stairs and they think that I’m losing it.  I heard my “supportive” parents talking amongst themselves — when I was pretending to sleep in the hospital — about sending me to a psychiatrist.  And I thought all I had to worry about was Papa making jokes about my fall.  You’d think that if they didn’t want me to hear anything they’d at least have enough sense to leave the room.

Psychiatrist, sure, like that’ll help; like I would actually talk to a shrink.  If I started telling him the truth, before I finished, I’d be surrounded by orderlies while the Dr. advises me that the white jacket with all the straps they are holding is for my own safety.

I’m resting on the couch; my head on a pillow, a warm blanket strewn across me, the remote in my hand.  This is where I plan to sleep for the next few days.  It’s easier to get around.  The bathroom and the big screen TV is down here.  And, with the fact that I was nearly killed twice upstairs, I feel much safer down here.  An added bonus is that I can sleep with the lights on without bothering anybody.

My family has been treating me to whatever I want.  Still, that doesn’t change the fact that they were talking about me like I’m schizo.  Mama and Papa have given me as much ice cream as I want — that only helps for tonsils, but who cares.  Ice cream is ice cream.  Sweet little Sunshine has been at my every beck and call.  I try not to ask too much of her.  Only the essentials, like a glass of water or another blanket.  I don’t even have to lift a finger.

Having my own personal slave should be enjoyable, but I am so highly medicated that I’m practically comatose.  The upside is that it eases the pain; the downside is that I have trouble thinking straight.  I have to take the medication every four hours.  I’m only lucid for the last half hour before my next pill.

“Ay Dios mío!” Mama screams, causing me to jump.

“Ooh.”  What happened?  “Mama are you all right?”  I turn my head by habit.  The slight movement leaves me writhing in pain.  I let out a quiet whine.

Marisol runs towards her while shouting on a continuous cycle, “What’s wong, Mama, awe you all wight?”

“Yes, I’m all right.  Don’t anybody use the downstairs bathroom.”

“Why?” I ask.

“I’ll tell you when I get back.”  I hear her rushing away.  Tick-tock, tick-tock.  I hear her light tread past the living room.  Two minutes pass.  After another minute passes, she returns.  I hear the shuffling of feet heading towards me.  Mama stands in front of me blocking my view of the TV.  Her face is as white as a sheet; her eyes are dilated in fear.  Yes, finally someone else saw something!

“What happened, Mama?  What did you see?”  The questions bring her somewhat back to life.

“I was in the bathroom washing my hands when a cockroach dropped from the ceiling into the sink.  Then several cockroaches started to pile out of the drain.  I looked up and there was a swarm of cockroaches on the ceiling.”