She lay like a corpse, lily white from lack of sun, hands folded on her chest, watching a clock.  The hands clicked with each passing second, but only bumped in place.  Such that she could see, the walls were bare, the curtains to her right were drawn, and the shades to her left were yellowing as if by cigarette smoke.

            She could move her arms little, and her legs less, but all was stiff and creaky.  All of her teeth had been pulled, apparently, and she was missing her glasses.  She didn’t know where she was, her head was throbbing, the room was cold, and it was likely that beneath the dingy sheet, she was naked.

            The light flickered above her, little that it was, as the furnace kicked on, released a hot puff of air from the vent, then kicked back off, light flickering again.  She could hear no one beyond the curtain, but called out all the same.

            She managed a soft groan, as if from the underside of a thick pillow.

            With some effort she turned her head to look under the curtain, without her glasses she could only see what looked like lights flickering again.  Before she turned back, the curtain was thrust to the side and three people entered, one man, two women she guessed, by their size and the sound of their foot steps.  They didn’t say a word.  One threw down the sheet while the others grabbed her, one at her legs around her knees, the other at her arms around her elbows.  She was stabbed three times in the stomach, the last one burned of lingering steel.

            ‘Be fast about this,’ a woman said, ‘then report back to me, we have another new one, they told me she still fights.’

            With no more warning than that she was doused with cold water, and the remaining two, a man and woman she could tell for sure now, began rubbing her from head to toe.

            She tried to scream and thrash around, but they held her, and, she was certain, took the opportunity to feel her again, her chest, her thighs; she continued thrashing.

            The man hit her chest, pinning her down, his other hand on her head, ‘stop,’ he growled.  He held her still for some time while the woman continued to rub her.  They doused her again with cold water and began rolling her from side to side to dry her, then threw the sheet back over her.

            ‘She’ll get used to it,’ the woman said.

            ‘Or she’ll die,’ the man answered, ‘I hate this job.’

            Days later she found that this was a ritual.  Sometimes it was less involved but they always rubbed her, and never explained themselves beyond hating their jobs, which she could understand.  The next day they began bending her body into differing positions. This went with the rubbings, and afterward they would force something like cold, uncooked bread dough into her mouth and hold it there until she swallowed.  Sometimes she was sure there were pills.  The stabbings continued as well, and the burning injection.

            After what must have been a week, they wrestled her from her bed to a chair and took her down a long dim hall.  Many turns later she was taken into a room, equally cold as the other, and humming an electro-mechanical hum.  She was thrust back into a bed, this one harder than the other, and strapped down.  She tried to fight, but it was two men this time, and the straps.

            One of the men held her arm while the other put a needle into her bicep then strapped it straight.  The injection came hot, fast, continuous, and warmed her like she had to pee, another abuse, she thought.

            With her blurry sight she saw several large objects pass close over head.  She tried to tell them she was going to throw up but couldn’t.  She heard it hit the floor, and a man cussing in another room.

            ‘Could you tell us next time please,’ she heard.  He sounded annoyed.

            They changed her position again.  Apparently needing something under her legs, one lifted while the other slid a large hard something under her knees.  She was certain he had kept his hands to long, felt too much.

            She threw up when he touched her.

            ‘Fucking tell us, shit.  Let’s get this done,’ he said to his partner.

            Again she saw the large objects over head.  Again he felt too much when removing the hard pillow.  And again she was roughly thrown into the chair.  She heard him under his breath, ‘disgusting.’

            They returned, as far as she could tell, to the same hallway her room was in.

            ‘Sit her there until I get back, she threw up all over the machine and I get to clean it up.  I’ll deal with her when I get back.’

            She found, while he was gone, that she was in a wheel chair, and that her arms were strong enough that she could get around a little.  I’m getting stronger, she thought, and they don’t know it.

            She was able to get around the table to what she thought was a window, but rolling up to it, she found that it was a door.  She pushed.  It opened.  She backed away to the table.  There were others in wheelchairs, watching her.

            He returned after several hours to find her sitting at the table, smelling faintly of urine.  He sighed a heavy sigh, ‘it never ends.’  He took her down the hall and threw her onto a toilet.  She didn’t remember soiling herself.

            ‘Did you want her?’ he asked someone walking by.

            ‘Yes,’ a woman answered, ‘just leave her there.  I’ll be able to get to her easier.’

            She feared what the woman meant.  This one was the worst by far; smelling bubble gum sweet and singing soft-like, ‘Jesus loves me,’ while feeling entirely too much, like the man in the throw up room: her chest, her stomach, intrusive fingers.  This was more than rubbing.  ‘Will you gel that up for me, and hand it – thank you.’  She jumped and thrashed her hardest as she felt something hard and plastic go where hard plastic things shouldn’t go.  ‘Aww I warmed it up for you,’ the woman said.

            The bubble gum sweet washed over her and she threw up again.  She fell to the floor screaming as hard as she could.  She was thrown back into the bed, held down.  Two stabs, one injection, the bending, the rubbing, then the lights were out.  She was strapped to the bed.

            Down the hall people were yelling…always yelling.  Woman and men.  Sometimes laughter.

            Not long into what must have been night, she lost her bowels.  She couldn’t control them.  She felt it creeping up her back, heard it dripping on the floor.  There was no control, she tried to call out but no one heard her whispered groans.  She managed to get herself on the floor, realizing she had gained some strength in her legs, but was unable to catch herself and smashed her face into the floor, cracking her nose.  Her bowels continued, she was unable to get up.

            In what must have been morning they found her, and with no comment, threw her back onto her bed and began the rubbings.  After which came the cold doughy whatever, then another trip to the machine.  She had a plan.

            After the injection, she threw up all over the machine.  Again he touched her and she threw up without meaning to, having come to fear his violations.  But she was leaving today.

            He wheeled her back up to the table, cussing the whole way.  As soon as he disappeared she wheeled over to the door and pushed.  No one came so she wheeled through.  She could tell it was grass beyond a patio, and could hear cars in the distance in front of her.  Locking her chair she stood, and excited that she could do so, took one step.  After several slow steps she found that she could walk shaky, and picked up her pace.  Ten feet past the concrete, she thought, and in ten more she heard the door open behind her and voices calling.

            She started to run, such that she could, gown flowing around her.  He knocked her over, and while the others were behind, he laughed in her ear and she was certain she felt his pelvis force forward into her backside.

            Before the injection blurred her to sleeping, with one last heave she pulled her head free and looked up to see a sign not far in front of her.  It read, ‘Shady Oaks Nursing and Rehabilitation Center.’

            When she came to, she was sitting in her chair.  She felt someone release her as she woke.  ‘Go ahead and call, she’s awake enough to hear.’

            From the receiver she heard a phone ring. ‘Hello.’  The voice on the other end was familiar to her.

            ‘Yes, hello my name is Sonia here at Shady Oaks.  I’m the nurse taking care of your mother today, do you have a moment?’

            ‘You should probably talk to my dad, he’s not here.’

            ‘It doesn’t matter, I’m just calling to let you know that she tried to escape today.’

            She couldn’t hear anymore from the receiver.

            ‘Well she’s been getting regular baths, and meals suitable to her condition.  We took her for a CT scan and it showed nothing.  She’s been getting Lovenox injections, along with the glucose, and physical therapy.  She fell the other night, we left a message. We sent her for another scan but everything came back ok. 

            ‘The pain meds have stopped her up so we gave her an enema, her stomach felt tight, but that night the enema must have worked.  We’ve been assessing her broken ribs and they are healing fine.

            ‘Yes, it’s normal after a stroke to have intermittent hearing loss.  We’ve explained everything to her. 

‘I just don’t think this facility is right for her. She may do fine with a home health aide, one of our staff here are qualified, that would make the insurance paperwork much easier and the whole process faster.

            ‘Yes he’s really good, caring and attentive.   Your mother seems to like him very much.

            ‘Oh that’s good you’ve been talking about it.

            ‘Well it’s nice to have someone she already knows.  I’ll get the paper work started for your father and he can come meet him this evening if he likes.’

            The man smiled at her from across the counter.  She began to thrash and scream, such that she could.

Rubbings

(Winner of the Editors Choice Award)
By: Rick Crabtree III