Chapter 3: Broken Neighbor

Mrs. Reynolds lay sprawled on the floor, her leg stuck between the toilet and bathtub, and her head turned to the side with a cut that gushed blood. The blood puddle spread out and soaked her hair. Her back, wet and covered with soap, didn’t move.

“Please don’t be dead, please don’t be dead,” I said as I rushed over and cursed my slow body. Images of dead people almost blinded me, but I didn’t slip and knelt in a puddle of pink, watery blood.

Her back barely rose and fell, which meant she breathed, which meant she lived, but she didn’t react when I touched her back. Cold, clammy, she could still die. I dialed emergency, then covered her body with mine in an attempt to use my body heat to keep her warm.

I had to hold myself up on my elbows so I didn’t crush her. I pulled up my shirt to get skin-to-skin contact between my belly and her lower back. The soapy water soaked into my shirt and felt gross between us, but I didn’t care. Mrs. Reynolds needed me, needed my warmth.

“Please, Mrs. Reynolds, don’t die. Please,” I whispered as my heat transferred to her to keep her alive. My spine tingled at the touch of her naked ass against my shorts, and her naked legs under my naked legs. I closed my eyes to keep the tears off the side of her head as I whispered and pleaded into her left ear. Except for the blood that streamed down her forehead, she appeared peaceful, with no muscle tone in her face, she had an almost smile.

“Please,” I whispered and prayed that the ambulance would arrive soon. The water pounded the wall and droplets fell on my back, shirt, neck, legs, and cooled me down. Even though I shivered, I stayed next to Mrs. Reynolds, skin to skin, body to body, to use my force of will and energy to sustain her.

“Please, use my heat to stay alive,” I said, I begged, I prayed that she heard me, that she didn’t have brain damage, and that she wouldn’t die on the floor under me. I loved Mrs. Reynolds, but not in the classic sense, not as granddaughter-grandmother, daughter-mother, or close family, or siblings, but something else.

English sucks at the word for love. Randy taught me that the Greek language has seven words for love. He said he felt agape, the purest, most godly love, but the fucker lied. I didn’t know what I felt for Mrs. Reynolds - storge, familiar love, a connection of friendship, but also something else, like ludus, playful love, the stirrings of infatuation, a silly, girly crush on someone older, beautiful. Something that I could never show or confess to her.