The Weight We Carry by Christina Consolino

Author:Christina Consolino [Consolino, Christina]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Black Rose Writing
Published: 2023-10-11T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 28: FRANK

Angie was nowhere to be found in the dimly lit room the next morning, and I needed to use the bathroom—badly. I pressed my arms against the mattress and tried to lever my upper body. A couple of scoots and shimmies in the tangled sheets, and eventually, my lower body edged to the side of the mattress. And now, the walker... Shit. It was in the opposite corner, as far away as possible. Who had put it there? It couldn’t have been Marissa. Had I done so in the night and forgotten about it? But how would I have gotten back to bed? Had I asked Angie to do so? Had this been a sign on the poster? Not remembering doing things and asking things and finding objects in odd places? Oh God.

The urge to use the toilet overtook my desire to understand if I had dementia. I had no choice—I’d have to call for help.

“Angie!” I yelled. Everyone had to be up already. Everyone being Angie and Marissa. The clock read 8:04 a.m. Marissa never slept late, and Angie rose at the crack of dawn so she could get moving on all the things she had to do. “Angie!” I called again, hopeful she’d hear me.

The seconds passed. Forty-five, forty-six, forty-seven—

Marissa rounded the corner, a concerned look on her face. Her gaze darted between me and the walker. “I’m not going to ask,” she said. “But I’m not going to see this again either, Dad.”

“This?” What did she mean?

“This.” She pointed at the walker on the other side of the room. “You have a walker for a reason. To. Help. You. Walk. You cannot get to the bathroom without it. What the hell is it doing there?”

She peppered me with her ire all the while we shuffled to the bathroom. An accident with my daughter in the room—nurse practitioner or no nurse practitioner—held no appeal. I concentrated on holding my urine while she castigated me. The toilet bowl’s cool porcelain met my ass, and I slouched in relief.

“Happy Monday to me, eh? I didn’t put the walker there, Marissa. Or maybe I did but I don’t remember.”

“When I left you at two in the morning, the walker was on your side of the bed. And just now, it wasn’t. I didn’t move it. Either you did or Mom did. If you can’t remember, I’m betting Mom is the culprit.”

“Why would she do that?”

“Why does she do any of the fucked-up things she does?”

“Marissa!”

“I’m sorry, Dad. I didn’t sleep well last night, and it’s true. Why was she smoking the other day? Why didn’t she come to see you in rehab more often? Why did the Metformin send her into a tailspin? Why? Why? Why? We can keep asking ourselves these questions and never get any answers. So why don’t we ask her?”

“Oh no. She’ll get mad at me.”

“That, she will. So I guess the conversation stops here.”

Marissa left me then. But I would have to get off the toilet, and I wasn’t sure if she was coming back or if she’d gone to get Angie.

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