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Kristina
For what seems like hours, we run back and forth to get clean water and towels to wash away all the blood on the stranger’s body, disinfecting his injuries as we work from his head down to a nasty gash on his foot.
“This here is a flesh wound.” Grandma explains when the cut on his neck catches my eye again. “The bullet only grazed his skin but I guarantee you it hurts just as much.”
Even though I don’t question her, I wonder how she knows so much about bullet wounds, and the proper way for caring for them. Today, I’ve seen another side to Grandma Rose I didn’t even know existed and I’m not sure whether that’s a good thing.
My brother, Steven, and I came to live with Grandma Rose when he was ten and I was seven. My parents were victims of a hit-and-run, which resulted in their deaths and being that our grandparents were our only next-of-kin, they were awarded custody of us. Growing up, we had a good life. There was plenty of love and attention to go around.
Four years ago, Grandpa passed away after a massive heart attack. Grandma wasn’t quite the same after that. It took her a while to recover. I can’t imagine losing her partner of forty-eight years was easy. I think she still mourns him to this day.
As different as she was right after Grandpa’s death, she’s like a new person now. Should I be afraid, or proud? I don’t scare easily, but this hasn’t been an ordinary day. There’s a wounded, half-naked man in the bed and that doesn’t seem to faze her at all.
I’m ignorant of many things, and I thought she was as well. Unless you have experience in the medical field or specialized training, knowing how to care for bullet wounds isn’t something you’d know how to do well. Last I checked, she has none. So what’s going on?
Grandma fills the void by talking. I pitch in when needed and run off when I’m not. Grandma Rose recounts some of her old stories as we dab here and there—I think she does it to keep me calm—but I’m not really listening.
My interest has shifted to the man. I find myself taking in his physique and wondering what his story is. He’s tall, lean, with broad shoulders, long legs. Fit. Muscled. Not the I-go-to the gym-every-day kind of muscled. But the I-lead-an-active-lifestyle kind of muscled. His hair is long enough in the front that it covers his eyes, but doesn’t go past his chin. He’s handsome, too. Had we met under different circumstances, I would have liked to get to know him better, but his story is obviously a complicated one.
Once he’s as blood-free as we can manage to get him, we clean up the room. That task complete, Grandma then has the bright idea to remove his pants. I protest. It’s one thing to work on him while he’s half naked. It’s an entirely different thing to work on him while he’s completely naked.
“It’s not like we’re going to violate the man.” Grandma pins me with a stern look. “Those pants are soaked and we don’t get them off, he might catch pneumonia or something.”
“Grandma...”
“Come now, I need your help.” She urges me forward as she walks over to the bed. “I got a bad back and can’t hold his weight up,” she adds, killing any hope I had to bolt out of the room. “Climb onto the bed and turn him on his side. I’ll pull the pants down.”
“Do we have to?” She doesn’t answer and after a few minutes of tugging and pulling, of struggling with his weight, balancing him from side to side as best as I can in order to make it easier for her to get them off, he’s finally lying face down on the bed in all his naked glory.
I scurry off the bed and turn my head away. Thankfully, Grandma has the good sense of mind to cover him with a quilt that had been folded neatly on top of a rocking chair sitting next to the window.
The bed sheets are wet and soiled with some blood, but in his unconscious state I don’t think he will mind. He’s completely under. Or so I think. Every now and again his eyes flutter a little so I’m not sure, but since he doesn’t move I’m going out on a limb and assuming he probably won’t wake up ‘til morning.
“Go on upstairs and take a bath.” Grandma makes a ball out of the stranger’s wet pants before glancing in my direction. “When you’re done, join me in the kitchen for some coffee and apple pie.”
Apple pie is what I wanted all along. “Do you think he’ll sleep for a while?”
She spares a glance in the man’s direction. “It looks that way.”
I nod. “Give me thirty minutes, then.”
In much need of freshening up, I run upstairs to my room in search of a pair of pajamas before hurrying into the bathroom to shower.