the toilet and grabbed the bucket from under the sink.
When Mom gets sick, she gets clingy and doesn't like me to leave her sight. That's why I started keeping a mobile medicine cabinet (i.e. the bucket) close at hand, always stocked and ready to go.
I kept it filled with supplies in case of emergencies of the inebriated variety. The bucket itself was invaluable, especially when we couldn't quite make it to the bathroom in time. But inside it was a washcloth, some baby wipes, Tylenol, a bottled water, a sleeve of saltines and some mouthwash, all things she'd likely need and all in one container that I could grab on the fly. Sadly, it had served me well on far too many occasions.
I wet the washcloth as she vomited into the commode. Her brown hair was short so I didn't have to worry about holding it out of the way. I just wiped her face and forehead with the cool rag until she was finished.
When it seemed she'd gotten it all out, I helped her stand, got her cleaned up and took her to bed.
"Don't go, Ridley. Stay and rub my back. Just for a minute," she pleaded.
"Ok, Momma," I said, crawling over her to lay down behind her.
I rubbed her back until I heard her breathing become deep and even. Slowly, gently, I crept off the bed and tiptoed to the door.
Just as I was pulling it shut behind me, I heard her stir.
"Ridley," she called, struggling to roll off the bed.
"I'm right here, Momma," I whispered, hoping she'd quiet and go back to sleep.
"Help me to the bathroom."
Hurrying back to the bed, I draped her arm over my shoulders and supported her as we made our way to her en suite bathroom. Unfortunately, we weren't fast enough, though. Mom started throwing up just before I got her head in front of the toilet. As luck would have it, it landed right on the H in the middle of my uniform. The H happened to be white.
After I got Mom situated in front of the commode again, I went to the sink to put soap and water on my top. It was no use, however, as she must've had red wine. I knew I'd have to treat the stain and wash it right away or it would never come out, and the origin of the stain was something I didn't feel like explaining to every Tom, Dick and Harry at school.
Dreamy thoughts of escaping to Stanford rolled through my head for the thousandth time. Although I worried about what would happen to Mom when I went away to school, it always made me feel better to visualize that tiny ray of light at the end of the tunnel, and at times like this, that speck of hope far outweighed my guilt over leaving.
With a sigh of resignation, I took Mom's dirty clothes hamper out of her closet then stripped off my cheerleading uniform and tossed it on the pile.
Might as well do a full load while I'm at it, I thought, carrying the basket down the hall to the washer.
I poured some detergent under the stream of water and loaded Mom's clothes, paying special attention to treating the new spot on my uniform. When the lid was closed, I made my way down the hall to my room to put on some pajamas and collect my dirty colored clothes. I'd do them as well.
My hamper sat just inside the door of the jack-and-jill bathroom connected to my bedroom. I dumped its contents onto the floor and separated the whites, putting them back into the basket.
With my arms full of colored jeans, shorts and t-shirts, I turned to walk back the way I'd come. I had only gotten a few steps when the nightlight in the next room caught my attention as it so often did.
Shifting directions, I went on through the bathroom and walked into the adjoining bedroom on the other side. I took a deep breath. It still smelled of gardenias, but just barely. The scent was fading. One day, it would be completely gone.
A poignant feeling of melancholy washed over me. I looked at the perfectly made bed and the perfectly placed vanity items. It was almost as if Izzy still slept in there every night and got ready in there