â€œRuth.â€ I hear a manâ€™s voice from the other room.
The bottle slips from my hands and shatters on the floor.
â€œWho is it?â€ I turn my head from side to side as my eyes flutter.
â€œWhat was that?â€ A man screams over a commercial on Titleist golf balls.
â€œIt fell out of my hand.â€ I look down. Look at all the pieces. â€œI found the pieces!â€
â€œAw, geez, Ruth,â€ the man says.
â€œI found my pieces! I found them.â€ I stomp my feet. I feel a cool pain on the bottoms of my feet. Then they burn. I keep stomping my feet â€˜til my feet slide away. I reach for the counter but canâ€™t grab hold. My feet sweep out from underneath me, and I pound the floor with my backside. I try to lift myself up and grab at the pieces. But I only slip and my hands begin to burn. â€œHelp me. Please. Help.â€ The floor turns pink as my blood mixes with the brown liquid on the floor. My hands and feet continue to burn as I crawl with clenched fists into the living room.
The man looks at me with raised eyebrows. I can see the whites of his eyes. â€œRuth. Are you all right?â€ He turns the sound down on the TV.
â€œHelp me,â€ is all I can say. â€œI donâ€™t understand: the pieces hurt me.â€
â€œDamn it, Ruth.â€ He reaches for the phone beside him. â€œNow Iâ€™ve gotta call for a nurse.â€