Slight Detours | Wattys 2015

(12) ALLY

"Another one," Jared moans, lying down as best as he can on the worn pleather sofa.

"Any more of these and your entire body is going to be numb." I tell him, wearing the closest to a disapproving look I can muster. I am far from being a doctor, but I was willing to bet that it was possible to induce hypothermia by the excessive use of ice packs.

"I think that's the point," he mutters.

A few seconds ago, I'd watched him hang out of a window enjoying himself, laughing and screaming uncontrollably. Then, just because he felt like it, he closed his eyes and received blunt force trauma to the head shortly afterwards. Oh, and his nose was bleeding too.

Contemplating on Jared's stupidity, I stand up for the ninth time (yes, I was counting) and head over to the mini refrigerator where Marvin and Tully keep their ice packs. I open the sleek silver door, checking for another blue compress about the size of a foot. After a minute or two of looking, I realize there aren't any.

Guess we ran out.

I search through more shelves one last time just to make sure, but instead come across the next best thing to an ice pack- a bag of frozen greens peas. Shrugging, I take it from the fridge and hustle back to a paralyzed Jared, laying the bag on top of his forehead.

"Thanks," he whispers.

"You're welcome."

He tries for another lopsided grin, but I stop him before he can, "You really shouldn't be doing that."

Arching his brow rather playfully, he asks, "Doing what? Smiling?"

"Yes, smiling. You just face-slammed on the side of a moving RV." I snort, "I'm surprised you didn't break anything."

He coughs. "Jared Steele never breaks anything."

I roll my eyes. "Well you nearly broke something, so if I were you, I'd rethink your standing." 

It was odd seeing Jared like this. For one, the bed-ridden act didn't suit him and second, he was a pain in the ass.

Ally, would you get me a glass of water? Ally, would you pass me a pillow for my neck? Ally, get me another goddamn ice pack!

Okay, maybe that was an exaggeration. But, if anything, being injured only amplified his smart-mouth attitude. To top it all off, it was almost as if his endless requests were justifiable just because of his utter stupidity.

I mean, the guy could walk. He was just choosing not to because I was being the kind person I was by attending to his every need.

"And I quote, nearly broke something," he points out, "That doesn't count."

He sits up and changes position, groaning as he does. I watch him without saying anything, recognizing him as the type of person that easily mistakes kindness for pity.

My dad often made the same mistake, and so did my mother. Before she died, anyways. I would like to believe that her death was for the best, but every single time I try to convince myself of it, I end up failing miserably. It's been five years and, yet, I still think for her almost every day.

She would have wanted it this way- dad and I moving on, trying to forget. My eleven-year-old self knew her as a mother that didn't care but now, I don't have a clue as to what to think of her. She was the quiet type- never shared, never intruded, but always cared no matter what the circumstances. I see that part of her now.

All I used to think about was how she never went to my ballet recitals, how she never asked me how school went, how she never even made it to my middle school graduation.