The Rapture, Ch. 6: Her

~~ 1st  D R A F T . . .  free write  ~~

11/5/17

Her

She sat on the toilet and she screamed and she cried and she promised. 

“I’ll be good I’ll be good I’ll be good!”

Grandmother reached over her head to the brown cabinets above. The whole bathroom was brown. The old cupboards, built by Grandpa himself before they had money or jobs or anything but membership in the church and three small children, the painted walls, now streaked with water lines from steam rolling down, though Grandma scrubbed them regularly, the tiles on the floor and counter, the bathtub. The backsplash and the shower tiles were pink as was the broad sink, large like an open mouth, somehow both cheerful and frightening. 

Grandma pulled down the enema bag and turned toward the sink. 

She grabbed round her belly, though it made it hard to balance on the edge of the toilet seat — she didn’t dare slide off — pressed against where it hurt and squeezed in at her bottom. It hurt there, too, but she didn’t care so much anymore, as she watched the water run while Grandma waited for it to grow hot.

“Grandma,” she said over the rush of the water, “Grandma! I’ll go, I promise.”

And then the enema bad floating through the air, last thing she remembered as she sat on the toilet, tears streaming down, and she screamed and she screamed. Because that’s what scared children do. Children get scared. Just because they’re screaming doesn’t mean you’re hurting them.