Foggy Memories #9

Ashlynne sat cross-legged at the kitchen table, ten years younger, her long hair a matted mess.  She drank rich chocolate milk – deep, dark brown, it slid coolly down her throat.  Summertime sunshine streamed in through the windows, curtains drawn and blinds down.  Birds sang outside – babies chirped to their mama, and the mama cheeped her response. 

Someone took her milk away and put it in the refrigerator.  She immediately felt hot again; the loud, humming fans did little to lower the temperature in the house.  They only blew hot air in her face.  She wanted her milk back.  Tears clouded her eyes.

It’s okay.  I’ll give it back later; you just need to do me a little favor.  A favor for chocolate milk wasn’t bad – he’d done little Ashlynne a favor by making the chocolate milk to begin with, right?  Do unto others.  It's nice to do something for someone who helps you; a way to say thanks.

That’s all he wanted – just a favor so Ashlynne could show him how thankful she was.  A quick favor and then she’d have her chocolate milk again. 

He grabbed her hand, led her from the kitchen.  He wanted to play – see, he’d made a blanket fort from the bunk beds.  It’s a magical fort.  A secret fort.  We can do anything in there and no one will ever know.  Don't you want to play?  Don't you want your chocolate milk?  We have chocolate pudding, too.  He’d make chocolate pudding if she played his favorite game.

Ashlynne – little Ashlynne with the matted hair and the mismatched clothes – crawled into the blanket fort.  Good girl.  Ashlynne’s teddy bear was there, but Teddy’s clothes were gone. 

My tummy feels funny.  Ashlynne sat on the tattered mattress.

Tummyflies – butterflies in your tummy.  It’s okay.  You’re just excited.  I’m excited, too.  Here.  He grabbed Teddy.  Do you like Teddy’s pretty skirt? It’s sparkly and purple.  Do you want a sparkly purple skirt?  Of course!  Purple was their favorite color – their special color. 

Jumbled scenes flashed in the blanket fort.  Her clothes lay in a heap out of reach; waves of sickness crashed in her stomach; little burps brought acrid chocolate milk to the back of her mouth; they dressed each other in pretend clothes; strange tickles made her stomach feel worse.  The air was hot and stale, a tiny room with a fever.

Mmmm.  Good girl.  So good.  Then she was alone in the blanket fort, left with a promise – a threat? – that they would pretend again later.  She put her clothes on – her real ones.  She didn’t see Teddy’s real clothes anywhere.

Ashlynne climbed out of the blanket fort and stood in front of a fan.  Her stomach felt terrible.  The fan provided little comfort.  Your pudding is on the table.  She stared at the fan; didn’t want pudding anymore.  I made you pudding.  His voice firmer now.  It’s mean to not eat the pudding when I make you a special treat.  I did you a favor.

Ashlynne stomped into the kitchen, sat at the table covered in putrid bottles of pickles, mustard, ketchup, and the big tub of melted margarine.  Saw the little roaches crawling around the bottles, crawling toward her bowl.  Hunter swept some of them away.  Take a bite.

And she did.  Ashlynne took a bite and then another bite.  It stuck in her throat and curdled in her stomach.  She had a little burp and chocolate stuff came up into her mouth.  I don’t feel good.  Hunter told her to finish.  It wasn’t nice to waste the pudding he made.  She ate the rest of the pudding, feeling sicker at every bite.

Her stomach squeezed and she gagged.  Jumped up from the table and ran into the bathroom.  Dark brown pudding and milk soon covered the sink.  It kept coming up.  It came out of Ashlynne’s mouth and her nose.  Chunks of vomit caught in her hair as it fell in her face.  Her stomach seized even after there was no more pudding or milk to expel.  She cried and coughed and cried some more.

Ashlynne?  Hunter was in the bathroom now and saw her mess.  He turned on the cold water, rinsed the vomit down the drain.  Soaked a washcloth in the cool water and put it on Ashlynne’s neck.  Sat on the toilet and pulled her onto his lap.  It’s okay, I’m here.  Stroked her back.  I have you, you’ll be okay.  Rocked back and forth.  Hunter’s here.  Ashlynne cried and cried and cried on his shoulder until snot flowed out of her nose and she felt so, so tired.