talking him down, so I went with silence as my next best option. The least I could do was not make things worse.
Three and a half excruciatingly boring and embarrassing hours later, we were pulling back into the driveway. I’d been given a clean bill of health and a list of concussion precautions. Barring any complications from the knock to the head, the ER doctor assured me I’d be fine.
The one positive was that Dad was on his best behavior. At some point on the quiet drive to the hospital, he’d realized that his anger was misplaced and that what I needed was some TLC. And, believe it or not, when TLC was needed, Dad was actually a pretty good source. It’s just that he rarely ever thought it was needed. On the odd occasion when it was called for, though, I basked in it, just as I was doing now.
We’d already stopped for take-out on the way home. Dad had also run into the store for my favorite ice cream. While he was in there, he’d picked up a movie that I’d wanted to see. Movies were another “silly” thing that I seldom got to enjoy, but since the opportunity had presented itself, I wasn’t going to squander it.
After seeing me safely inside, Dad went back out to the truck for the food while I went to the bathroom to clean up. I had gotten a glimpse of my reflection in a sink mirror at the hospital and I’d taken quite a tumble, leaving dirt and gravel and dried blood in several highly visible places.
One thing I’d always been grateful for was Dad’s insistence that wherever we moved, we find a home that had two full baths. He always gave me the master suite and he took another room and used the spare bathroom. It was his one concession to my gender.
I hobbled past the living room and through my room into my bathroom and shut the door behind me. I stripped and grabbed a washcloth with the intention of a sponge bath-type cleaning. When I saw that I’d have to clean most of me anyway, I decided to run a hot bath and soak my sore spots while I cleaned. Dinner could wait.
I poured some shampoo under the running water (the poor man’s bubble bath) and sat on the edge of the tub to await the result. When the tub was half full, I stepped in and slid down beneath the thin froth that had covered the water’s surface.
The instant water touched my skin my entire right side began to burn. I held my breath and waited for the stinging to stop. Finally it did and I relaxed onto the cool ceramic at my back.
I slid down to wet my hair, the sloshing suds just barely covering my ears. I never went completely under; I’d always had a fear of water. Since I was a child, I felt as if I weren’t alone, like someone or something was in the water with me, waiting to drag me into oblivion. There had even been a few times when I’d gone under accidentally that I thought I saw a face in the water, hovering, watching. Waiting.
“Carson? You alright?”
Dad startled me, though I was far from displeased that his concern had interrupted my disturbing thoughts.
“Yeah,” I answered.
I heard his footsteps fade as he walked away and I relaxed once more against the tub. Clearing my head of all thought, I soaked for a while. When the water that lapped at my chest became decidedly cool, I lifted my hand and noted the distinct pruning of my fingertips, a clear indication it was time to get to work cleaning all my various scraped and soiled body parts then get out.
I wet my washcloth and lifted my right leg out of the water. The outer side was covered in road rash, from calf to hip. I gently scrubbed away the dried blood and black smudges. I picked off bits of skin and dug out small pieces of gravel. As I rinsed the grime away, a speck of something shiny on my calf near my knee caught the light.
“How’d I get glass under my skin?” I asked no one in particular.
I rubbed at the fragment with my washcloth, but it didn’t budge. The location made it hard to get an up-close look, but I was positive it was glass; it’s the only thing it could be. I decided that time would work it out