This is one of my competitions. I hope you enjoy it.
I am a caregiver, a hand-holder, nurse and maid. I run my homes as tightly as the bun in my hair. From my starched white shirt to my silent rubber-soled Rockports, I am a strong, quiet force. I don't allow my charges to play victim, but I'm no drill sergeant. I balance tenderness with responsibility. When my patients die; either with my help or better still, the families'-everyone sighs. Sometimes though, they're more stubborn. Take Mona. PLEASE!
Mona is afraid to die and angry that she will anyway. She sees me as the Angel of Death. She barks at me with her raspy voice through the billows of smoke from her heavy, dark cigarettes. Her lips are pursed so much, they disappear into her scowling face. At night when she finally sleeps, I sometimes watch her; expecting spindly-legged spiders to seep from that gaping cavern of a mouth. She messes on purpose and scratches me with her gnarled nicotine stained talons. Her eyes are stormy gray; constantly glaring over her steel horn-rimmed glasses.
She may look tiny or frail but Mona is a tank and just as destructive. As badly as she treats me, she is worse to Travis; her son. He loves her; doesn't want to send her way to a home but she's wearing him out. She flings insults and food at him with equal ferocity; both causing stains. It kills me to watch since Travis is such a kind, gentle man. I'm in love with him. I adore his caring hands and ache for him to hold me in his strong arms. My lips tremble when I hear him whisper. My body burns to feel his skin. Surrounded by death, he brings me to life. The greatest moments come when that old crow teases us by sleeping heavily. Bitch. He's mine though; after midnight.
For over a year, the nightly ritual is Travis putting Mona to bed, enduring her venomous barbs and closing the door to a hideous soul-searing cackle. After midnight, he comes to me. Sometimes I hold him. Sometimes we laugh at her. He confesses his hatred and I confirm it is right. I brush his jet-black curls out of his handsome angled face. I wipe the stinging tears from his lonely blue eyes. I taste bittersweet love for her and for me on his soft lips. I feel he longs to be free. We wish her dead. I encourage him to do what is necessary to be rid of such a horrible burden. I support Travis in every way. I even help him with ideas. After midnight, we plot her death.
It began like any other night; with tears, hate and nastiness. She is such a bedsore of a woman. I held him, kissed her ugly words from his wet, sad face and hated Mona. I prodded him again.
"It's time" I whispered. "You deserve to be free." I felt his breath hot against my shoulder. He whispered my name admitting I was right. I knew he had finally come to the correct decision.
I hugged him and watched as he paced back and forth; clenching his fists, pounding them together. I encouraged him as I always do...every night for these last two years "You must save yourself."
He argued with himself, raked his hair, pleaded with the chandelier; but finally his tears stopped. His face calmed and he turned the knob; walking straight into Hell.
Eons crashed by on that stupid hall clock. I walked the miles to her door and listened. I heard the flow of conversation rush to shouting. I heard the gunshot. I bit my lip and waited while my heart thumped in my throat and my knees regained strength. I heard sobbing and wanted only to go to my Love. It was over-no more midnights.
Elated, I ripped at the knob, flinging the door open. The air was heavy, smelling of copper. The bite of gunpowder snipped my nose. I gasped. Travis was hunched at the side of Mona's bed, the gun dangling in his hand. Her blanket was a blotchy, angry crimson. I reached for him.
Mona blew smoke at me.
"He's free all right." She huffed. " But the horrible burden in his life was you." A cackle seared my soul.
I am a caregiver, a hand-holder, a nurse and a maid. After midnight, I must clean up this mess I've created.
