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Chapter Four: The Keyhole
- Red Hen Press
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14 Chapter Four The Keyhole Unlike before, the upstairs bathroom door closes tight and Mom says she doesn’t want me to wash her back. I stand beside the door listening to rushing water fill the old four-legged bathtub, wondering how awful Mom could look-certain it’s not bad enough to refuse my back washing. Since the mastectomy, Mom has quit getting dressed on top of the living room register, the only warm place in the house. Now she dresses in her bedroom behind a closed door. And when a bra commercial comes on TV, she runs into the kitchen bathroom crying. I know her breast is gone but I’m too young to understand the importance of breasts. Quietly I bend toward the keyhole, relieved to find it isn’t covered by a towel. The water has quit running but Mom hasn’t got into the tub. I don’t know what’s taking her so long. All the sounds have stopped. If I hadn’t seen her go into the bathroom, I wouldn’t know there was anyone in there. I lean over and peek in the keyhole, the same way Dad does when Sue and I take a bath. When I look through the keyhole, I find Mom standing near the door, looking at herself in front of the mirror. I can see her fleshy back, sagging rump, and muscular legs, not her breast. The floor creaks as I move to the left a bit, trying to get a better view. Then I hear Mom crying. She lifts her arms over her head and squeezes her fists together, wrapping her head in a tight embrace. The more she squeezes, the louder she cries, yet it’s a stifled cry, one that she smothers by sucking the side of her arm. This is something she doesn’t want me to see. Something even she doesn’t want to see. She lifts her legs into the bathtub and sinks into the water, still crying . I remain crouched by the keyhole, staring at her missing breast, finally understanding the loss of so much flesh. Mom’s skin is red and raw, crusted with wounds that will become thick scars. Blood drips from the stitches. She looks bruised and off balance, but not untouchable. I can see she’ll never have another breast to replace this one. All that will remain is a bunched up scar and memories. She’ll look at my little Diane Payne 15 breasts and remember when hers were once like that. She’ll look at her scar and remember her mother. Mom’s been cut off from her womanhood and now wants to be alone with her body, which means cutting herself off from me. But I want to scrub her back again. I have never tried to crawl in the tub with Mom, as I do with Sue. All I want to do is wash her neck and back. When Mom’s naked, I’m a bit afraid of her. Her developed woman’s body is so unlike mine. It isn’t until she’s naked that I realize how different we are in age. She’s a woman and I’m a girl. With clothes on, we seem more the same. When she was in the hospital, I could only wave at her through the window. And now she’s home and I can only peek at her through the keyhole, unable to comfort her. I watch her cry and begin to cry softly, stifling tears by sucking my arm. I must be with Mom.That missing breast isn’t enough reason to separate us. After my tears are wiped away, I open the door and Mom screams, “I’m in here!” She holds a wash cloth over her missing breast. There’s not enough cloth to cover the wounds. “It’s all right, Ma.” Nothing else is said. The wash cloth remains clenched over the wounds and I pick up the bar of soap and wash her back. “Does that feel good, Ma?” “Yeah.” “You can take that wash cloth away. I still think you’re beautiful.” Tears roll down her cheeks again. “You’re too young to see this.” “I saw it through the keyhole, Ma. It ain’t that bad.” “Are you sure?” “Yeah.” ...