The Smell

WC-3,176

    The smell filled the small, closet sized bathroom with enough power to make Sissy step back. She threw her head to the side in an effort to escape it, but there was no escaping the pungent odor of urine. For the past three years, ever since her mother moved in with Sissy and her husband, that rank smell attacked the senses. She was even becoming an expert at recognizing when her mother, Edna, had a urinary tract infection, like now. 

      She had to go in there. There would be puddles on the floor to be wiped up before her husband, Ken came home. He stepped in a few over the years, and his complaining about the situation was a non-stop droning in her ears. Which was worse? Listening to Ken bitch at her, or facing that acid plagued odor?

      Bravely she entered the bathroom. With her foot she pushed a washcloth across the floor. Bending over hurt her back, she was after-all an old woman herself. She turned sixty-four on her last birthday, but she also felt herself growing older faster than at any other time of her life. She was aging rapidly due to the constant care and responsibility for her mother.

    When she was sure the floor was puddle free, she picked the cloth up with her grabber and carried it to the laundry basket. She sprayed the floor with disinfectant and using a fresh cloth, her foot guiding, scrubbed the floor. Then she checked the seat, wiped it down with santi-wipes and took out the trash. The final step was to spray air-freshener and turn out the light.

      In her thirties, Sissy and her husband were foster parents. During one particularly hard year she had a girl, sixteen, who had a four month old daughter. There were times when Sissy took care of the child as well, and the smell of urine filled diapers made her wretch. She had sworn never to care for a baby again, then her mother moved in. God had a funny sense of humor, she was sure of that.

      She stepped into her mother’s room. Edna was sitting on the side of the bed, waiting.

      “Are you okay?” Sissy asked. Her tone was soft and showed no sign of the weariness she felt. She sat beside her mother and put her arm around the white-haired woman.

      Edna laid her head on her daughter’s shoulder.

      “Mom,” Sissy gently moved against her, shaking her, “are you okay?”

      “I’m fine,” the woman answered.

      “Here’s your headache pill,” she offer Edna a small white pill.

      “Are you going to get rid of me?”

      Sissy tightened a squeeze on her mother’s shoulder.

      “No, Mom, I am not. I’m afraid you are stuck with me.”

      Edna took her headache pill. Sissy stood, lifted Edna’s legs up, placing them on the mattress and pulling the covers over her.

      “Good-night,” she offered a weak smile.

      Edna closed her eyes without a reply.

    Saying it was hard was not enough, saying it was going to get worse was an understatement, and Sissy knew that there was no future. She was watching her mother die, piece by piece. She closed the door to the bedroom and headed for her chair on the porch. Her sanctuary boasted of comfortable cushions to sit on, an ashtray next to her chair, a bright moon peeking at her from behind slow moving clouds, and fresh air; the best commodity ever invented.

It was moments like these when she dared to speak openly to God. She prayed for her mother’s death, a release from her pain, her torment and eventual demise. Never before had Sissy understood mercy kills than she understood now.  Before she didn’t understand how someone would kill their loved one, but she could understand it now. What she couldn’t quite figure out yet, was, would she be doing it to end Edna’s pain, or her own?

She stared at the moon. It was paled by passing clouds making it dull, like a hazy light bulb.  She lit a cigarette, surprised at how wonderful it tasted. She could remember when she started, forty-five years ago.  She was young, pretty, and ready to get away from home; away from the house of hate. It was her mother who had saved her so many times; a favor she returned now, but was that woman lying in the bedroom still her mother?

Sissy stared at the moon. She scooted back into the thick cushions on the chair allowing her head to rest against the back of that chair. She peered through the porch screens and blew her smoke at the moon.  She missed her husband. Ken distanced himself from her at the very moment Edna arrived.  Her friends disappeared just as quickly. Her social life dwindled, and after the first year she had to leave her job to stay home with Edna full time, further alienating her from the outside world. She felt she was being punished, she just couldn’t figure out why.

“I love her,” she told the moon, the face of God, or saying it out loud to convince herself, “she doesn’t deserve to suffer like this.”

There was no reply to her statement, there never was.

She smoothed her hand down her bathrobe to the pocket for her cigarettes. She was putting on weight. Working kept her active and alert, being at home, cut off from everyone made her dreary and dull-- and gaining weight. 

There was always a plus to the destruction. It wasn’t enough that she was alone in her fight, she also had to be fat during the battle.

Her cell phone rang; it was in the other bathrobe pocket.

“Hello,” she answered the call.

“Hey,” her husband’s deep voice blasted back. Sissy pulled the phone from her ear; she could hear him from a distance. “Just wanted to let you know, I’m going by the club for a little bit and say hello to the guys.”

She managed to keep emotion from her reply of okay, what she really wanted to say would have inflamed another battle.  Before Edna moved in, Sissy and Ken were regulars at the Country Dance Hall every Thursday evening. She loved dancing, they even took some lessons at the community center to spice up turns and add in some line dances. Ken still went. His life wasn’t over, just hers.

Sissy suddenly realized she had forgotten the baby monitor. She stubbed out her cigarette, pushed her cell phone back into her pocket, and trudged into the house to check on her mother. Edna was sleeping soundly, wrapped in four blankets and a quilt-- pulled tightly around her and tucked under her chin, her white hair poking out at the top.

She smiled at the roll of blankets, she waited for the movement, there, the gentle rise and fall. Assured her mother was still alive, she picked up the baby monitor and headed back to her chair on the porch.

It was a warm summer evening in June and yet, her mother lay wrapped in blankets to stay warm. She complained bitterly about the air conditioning being too cold.

“Did we move to Alaska?”

“No mom, we are still in Kansas.”

Sissy settled in her chair again, placing the baby monitor next to the ashtray.  As she passed through the kitchen, she grabbed a diet coke from the frig and now opened it. The fizz sound countered the noisy crickets, if just long enough for her to hear another sound; one that seemed out of place. She peered across the yard to where the corn field started, a mere fifty feet from her porch view. The corn was still young, barely thigh high. She could easily see across the field of blowing and swaying stalks. She scanned the horizon for an intruder, even jumped a little as the scarecrow came into view.

Her mother had insisted that every field must have a scarecrow, just as she insisted with each snow fall one must build a snow man. Sissy stuffed him and Ken put it up for her by hanging it from the close line. His effort created another argument that ended with him riding away on his motorcycle.

She saw no one and settled back in her chair. It must be her imagination, long days of stress and that child-like fear of being alone. The closest neighbor was a quarter mile away, Ken was ten miles away at the dance club, and the police/rescue department was twenty miles away.  She loved the country, begged Ken to buy the house and sixteen acres.

There it was again. She leaned forward and listened as hard as she could, passed the song of the crickets, there, a dragging sound. Something was moving through the corn field. She stepped inside the kitchen and turned on the flood lights illuminating ten feet into the field, and the entire back yard, shed, entrance to the barn and several of the farm machines. She saw nothing. They had two hunting dogs, usually tied out by the shed, but tonight they were at the vet’s over-night for their yearly checkups. She wished the dogs were there. She left the light on and went back to her chair. She lit a cigarette before the smell reached her senses. It was the foulest smell she’d ever encountered. She gathered her cigarettes, her drink and the baby monitor rushing into the kitchen and closing the door tight. She peered out the kitchen window; still she saw nothing in the field. That smell, what the hell was that smell? It was worse then skunk, it almost smelled like rotting urine, dried feces, and hot puke. It must be a wounded animal. Sissy automatically ran a list of animals that she knew might be in the area. It would have to be low to the ground, so a raccoon, a coyote, maybe even a possum? 

“Poor thing,” she mumbled, “it must be suffering to smell that bad.”  She left the window and went into the living room, flicking on the TV in time to catch her favorite show.  The smell outside was quickly forgotten.  A ten-thirty the local news went off and still Ken wasn’t home. She decided to call him and tell him about the possible wounded animal outside.  His phone went to voicemail; she left a message warning him to be careful when he got out of his car. She loved him, even though he was acting like a brat. There was no need to let him walk into a trap, so to speak. She turned off the TV but left the lights on for Ken. She peered in the bedroom at her mother, waited to see the blankets rise and fall, and then went to bed.

As she settled under the sheet she heard a noise, she froze, listening intently, what was that? Scratching, something was scratching on the screens on the porch.  She went back into the kitchen and turned the porch light on. She saw nothing and now the scratching sound was around front, on the front windows.

Sissy went into the living room. Ken had guns in the house, but she never touched them, even if she knew how to use a gun she could never shoot a human being—she just couldn’t, but an animal? She wished she had let Ken teach her when he wanted too. Why is it attacking the house? She knew that wounded animals were the most dangerous, but something that smelled that bad must also be evil. She reached her hand out and turned off the table lamp. A few steps and she reached another lamp and turned it off. As the room got darker, the porch light illuminated the outside view, but to make the room darker she had to keep walking straight at that front window. What if that thing lunges at the window shattering glass into her face?

Her heart was beating heavy, another fact of her age. She hated the constant reminders that even the inside of her body was aging. As a child she feared her father, the very sound of him pulling in the driveway would make her heart race. She could remember being young and what a racing heart felt like, how it pounded in her ears, but now, her heart beats were heavy thuds coming quickly and stealing her breath.  Her eyes never left the window as she approached the final table lamp. There was a slight shadow on the front porch, just under the porch light, or was it a shadow from the chimes? She’d know for sure when she could turn off that final table lamp. Her breaths were becoming raspy gasps as she sought more oxygen. Her hand reached the lamp; she stood facing the window with its lace curtains and view of the front porch. The scratching on the window screens continued. It sounded like nails, or claws, she wasn’t sure.  She clicked off the lamp. The scratching stopped cold. She peered out the window; there was a shadow there—in the corner of the porch, by the potted plant and the porch swing. It didn’t move, but she was sure she could see something there. She was wishing she had put a seventy-five watt bulb on the front porch instead of that sixty watt as she strained to see into that far corner where shadows linger.
Her cell phone rang. It scared her so bad she jumped against the table, knocking the lamp to the floor and shattering the ceramic base into pieces.

“Ken?” She almost screamed into the phone. Realizing her anxiety was showing, she calmed her voice down, “When are you coming home?”

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“There’s some kinds of animal out here, it’s scratching on the screens and it smells b—a—d!! Like worse than skunk bad.”

“Maybe it’s a big foot,” he laughed.

Sissy could hear the music in the background. He was showing off for his friends. They were probably sitting right there ordering another round of drinks and laughing at the silly housewife, who’s afraid of the dark and the bogie man.

“Honey, I’m scared,” she whispered into the phone.

“What? I can’t hear you,” Ken yelled above the music.

“I love you and I miss you so much,” she answered, barely above a whisper.

“Look, it’s too noisy in here to talk. I know it’s time for you to go to bed so I just wanted to let you know I’ll be home soon. Don’t worry about some animal; it can’t get into the house. Stay inside and you’ll be okay. Okay?”

Sissy didn’t answer. She just held the phone to her ear listening to the background noise remembering when she was there, dancing, drinking, and laughing, so long ago.  She heard Ken just before he hung up, cursing dropped calls.

She lit a cigarette, calming herself and trying to clear the fear from her head so she could think. She could go outside with a baseball bat and chase it away from the house. Poor thing, it’s probably hurt really bad, she could call the police and have them come out, maybe they could help it, take it to the vets or something. That’s what she’ll do. Call the police.

The police operator for 911 calls was not impressed with the description of sound and smell that Sissy offered. The dispatcher assured her that someone would be out, ‘in the next few days’ to check on stray, injured animals.  She knew that meant no one was coming.  Just like no one was coming to help her in any other area of her life, now she couldn’t count on the police to rid her of this smelly, half-dead animal.

Edna sat up in bed, screaming. Sissy rushed to her bedroom. She sat on the bed, shushing the woman to calm her down.

“Shhhh, Mom, shhhhh, I’m here. I’m here,” Sissy assured the woman.

“Where are the children?” Edna cried. “Did their mother come and get them?”

“Mom, there are no children here,” Sissy comforted her. She urged her mother back into bed and smiled at her. “There are no children here. You were asleep, dreaming.”

“No children?” Edna struggled to understand.

“No, Mom,” Sissy smiled at her, “just a dream.”

Edna allowed her daughter to ease her back against the pillows. She tucked the covers up as Edna closed her eyes. The old woman fell back to sleep muttering, ‘no children here’.

Sissy sat there, on the side of the bed, watching her mother’s beautiful face as sleep took her once more.
“I love you so much,” she whispered.

In the darkened living room, she sat in a chair and cried. She was so tired.  “Please, God, please, I don’t understand why she has to suffer any longer. She’s done her time. Years of being poor, of being married to him, of struggling, and she’s always believed in You…” her voice trailed off. She cried for another ten minutes before reaching for a cigarette. This was nonsense, it had to stop. She lit the cigarette. There must be a way to end this suffering for everyone. Her mother would be out of pain, she would have a moment to enjoy life again, even Ken would be happy to have their old life together again.  She allowed herself to drift away in hopeful day dreams about the future, after Edna’s departure from this world. She and Ken could travel. She’d always wanted to go to Vegas and see the big shows, or the Grand Canyon, or just a simple camping trip to Colorado would be nice. It would be nice to feel life again.

The smell hit her like an ambush cologne-sprayer at the mall. She turned quickly and caught the shadow of something entering her mother’s room. As she stood to run, her legs failed her, collapsing under her and spilling her to the floor. She looked at the room, saw the shadow cast against the far wall suddenly appearing to be six or seven feet tall, and appearing more like a person than an animal.

She pushed herself to her knees and then up to her feet. She reached the bedroom door moments later, but no one was in her mother’s room. She stood there for a moment watching the blankets, but the rise and fall did not come. She moved closer to the bed, still the blankets did not move. She moved to the head of the bed and looked at her mother’s sleeping face, until she finally acknowledged that Edna did not sleep. Her time was finally over. Sissy’s prayer’s answered; she fell to her knees sobbing.

The police did come to inspect the property several days later, but as expected, they found no wounded animal, but there was a slight odor lingering on the breeze. One officer identified it as the smell of death and they surmised that the animal must have crawled down to the creek to die.