Her eyes are open wide in disbelief, but her jaw hasn’t dropped,
she hasn’t gasped. She understands.
“Pea,” I say, keeping my voice under control, “You need to call
911,”
She says nothing, but runs to the phone while I attempt to get
Leslie to the nearest chair: a holey, smelly thing that her last boyfriend
found in a yard somewhere. I sit in the chair opposite her, exhausted by
this new…realness.
I hear Pea in the other room, telling the operator her address just
the way I taught it to her, and I’m swelling with pride. A minute later she
walks back into the living room, finished with the call.
Slowly she makes her way over to her mother, almost scared to
take the next step, but finally she makes it to her and throws herself into
her, smelliness and stickiness and all. Now she’s crying and her mom’s
crying, and they’re holding each other. They sit like that for a while,
rocking back and forth and clinging to each other like their very lives
depend on it. And the thought comes to me that I can’t ever remember
seeing that happen before.
Minutes later, sirens mark the arrival of the ambulance. Pea
untangles herself from her mom and runs to the door, throwing it wide
open and screaming, “In here!”
She’s upset, but she doesn’t look as worried anymore.
The medics follow her in and I notice the woman with the curled
ponytail squeeze her face together once the cloud of vodka-stench hits her
square in the nose. She takes out her doctor supplies, grown up versions
of the ones in Pea’s room, and begins checking Leslie’s pulse and listening
to her breathing. A young, black-haired man is given the task of getting
her some water, which she gulps down. About half of it makes it into her
guzzle and the other half waters down the hardening crust on her shirt.
I guess they don’t like something that they checked, because now
they’re bringing in a stretcher. The woman with the curled ponytail helps
her up and onto it, and Leslie looks exhausted. You can’t get away with
that behavior without consequences.
Once Leslie’s all buckled in and corpse-looking, Pea runs over to
her mom and throws her arms around her again, tears rolling down her
face in lazy rivers. No more hysterics.
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