“Treat Her Like A Lady”
“How could you, Misha asked me, as soon as I crossed the threshold into her hospital room. The sound of the air purifier, purifying, and the aroma that filled the room, made me smile; at least she was comfortable.
“Baby, I didn’t mean for this to happen. You know this.”
“You’re always playing.” Misha pouted, and I smirked in return. “See?” Her eyes rolled as she gripped the railings of the bed she occupied. “I’ll call the nurse right now,” she threatened. Misha and I always played games together, pulled innocent pranks; and this time was no different, at least on the surface.
On random weekends, our thing was to take a road-trip. It never really mattered where to, as Misha was an extrovert who enjoyed a getaway, however small. Country stores in small, out of the way towns were her favorite; as an antique collector, she was always on the hunt for quirky trinkets that she could refinish or refurbish. The challenge of making something old, seem new and exciting. And I began to take a liking to the quiet streets we would end up on, at a quaint restaurant, as eating was my thing. She had good taste in many things, and food was something we both enjoyed more together; finding places that only locals of the other surrounding towns knew.
On this particular weekend, before her accident, we found an adults-only store, that, if you didn’t know it was there, you certainly wouldn’t ever think that it held anything important or worthwhile inside. The store looked like an old home; paint chipping off of the wood siding, with a faded sign that simply read “Jelly’s.” Inside, the owner, Crystal — an older woman with fair, smooth skin, and a pixie cut hairstyle, colored pink — smiles and welcomed us. As Misha and I took in the variety of items meant to heighten pleasure and bring two beings closer, Crystal offered us her famous — as she noted, with a sly smile — spiked half & half; a mix of moonshine, lemonade, and homemade sweet tea. She noted that her husband, Dan, made the best moonshine, this side of West Virginia. We graciously accepted and the three of us made a toast to health, long life, and lasting vitality. Just then, Misha’s eyes darted to mine.
“Oh, you like this one?” Crystal and Misha spoke without talking.
“Yes, I’m interested. How does it work?” Crystal picked up the package and opened it; inside, a remote, and a shiny glass ball.
Crystal demonstrated where the ball went, but held it in her hand, pressing the remote. The ball began to vibrate vigorously, jumping in the palm of her hand. “I’ll take it,” she said, rubbing my chest, a smirk on her face, and a glow in her brown eyes.
“It doubles as an exercise ball, when not otherwise used,” Crystal gave a final word on the product she and Dan had fun with, still.
On this day, Misha went to a concert with a longtime friend of hers; some Jimmy Buffet tribute concert. I was at home, watching football, when I got the call from Deb, her friend.
“Thomas, Misha is in the hospital. I don’t know what happened,” she was trying to answer my panic. “We were walking back to our seats, before the end of the intermission. “We ate a couple of mushrooms, and barely got into our first bottle of wine; and as we were walking down the stairs, Misha froze and her legs buckled. She went tumbling down to the front row, hitting her head on a seat. She thinks she broke her arm.”
Misha reached underneath her blanket with her uninjured arm, wiggling her hips, and pulled her hand back out, ball in hand.
“I thought you lost the remote?”
“Huh? I did.” Then, I remembered we tested its strength and function, making out on our sectional in the downstairs great room. I also remembered that, while sitting on the same couch, in my usual spot, Misha wanted my attention during halftime of Monday Night Football. She would grind on my lap. I lost control of the remote and it had fallen between the cushion and armrest.
“I came so hard and unexpectedly, my eyes rolled and I screamed, falling down the steps.” Her face was scratched above her right eye. I kissed it.
“Well, not all bad, right?”
“I sprained my shoulder and have to wear a sling for six weeks,” she said, this time, laughing through the discomfort and slight pain. “You mother…”
“I bought you a gift,” pulling a hand from behind my back.
“It better not have a remote control.”
“Come on. Let’s go home. I have some making up to do.”
