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“Mrs. Wilson… Rachel Wilson? Your X-rays are back, will you come through–the doctor will see you now.” The receptionist’s voice drifted into her consciousness.
Just when she’d got herself comfy on this very awkward chair, damn it.
“Come on, love,” a nurse smiled at her, “come through–we can give you something for the pain now.”
As Rachel slowly shuffled through the swing doors hugging her arm, she felt so… foolish. Painfully, she made her way to the railed bed in the curtained-off cubicle. When faced with a climb, she gratefully accepted more than a helping hand from the nurse–in the state she was in, there was no way she’d have got up onto the bed. After the nurse settled her, she was left alone and the silence enveloped her; not too quiet–as when Billy was festering a temper. She could hear the friendly buzz of subdued conversations in the A&E department. Soothing, like bees on a summer day. Really, she couldn’t understand how she’d let things get to this. How many times had she ended up here? She tried to remember and count up.
Too many, she decided.
“Now then, Mrs…Wilson,” said a brisk voice, as what looked like a fourteen-year-old schoolgirl whipped the curtains back and appeared suddenly. Rachel jumped; she must have dozed off. God! It seemed they got younger every year; Billy said that was a sign of getting old. He must be right.
“Okay, Mrs. Wilson… Rachel; do you mind if we call you Rachel?”
Rachel slowly shook her head; at least that would be respectful. It was much better than some of the things Billy called her. The doctor began her examination. Words were exchanged with the nursing staff; X-rays were looked at. It was decided–the arm was broken.
“Okay, then, Rachel… you’ve broken bones in your left arm–right?” The teenaged doctor raised her voice and spoke slowly at her. “We are going to pin them together, then plaster it–you’ll be a lot more comfortable afterwards. Apart from that, you’ve got a fine collection of bruises. You’ll be all colours of the rainbow tomorrow. But we’ll start by giving you some painkillers now. Nurse?”
Why is this little girl shouting at me, for Christ’s sake? I’m not deaf, thought Rachel. Grumpily, she watched the doctor write up the prescription.
“Do you have anyone at home, Rachel–to look after you–or would you like me to book a bed for the night?” The doctor exchanged a glance with the nurse. “It might be best to keep you in overnight–is there anyone you want us to contact, who’ll be worried about you?”
Was there anyone? Rachel thought: Well, there was Billy, out in the waiting room. He wouldn’t be happy about her staying in–even for one night. Who’d get his breakfast tomorrow?
“Well, if you think it best, doctor, then I’ll stay in.”
Relief made her mouth wobbly, and she thought: It would be like a little holiday; and who knows, maybe I could even stay in longer? Mrs. Wilson closed her eyes on a weak gush of tears. You never think it will happen to you, and when it does you make excuses–he’s tired… or he’s disappointed… it was my fault, I didn’t think; I made him angry. I fell over.
It was like a bad dream. She’d had enough of it from her husband for all those years; now she was getting it from her son–his son, too.
Well, like father, like son–so they said.
Avis Hickman-Gibb lives in a small market town in Suffolk, England. She lives with her husband, son and two cats. She is the only female in the house and it makes her feel so special.
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19 Responses to “MRS. WILSON’S BREAK • by Avis Hickman-Gibb”
Comments
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January 25th, 2008 at 1:05 am
Such a subtle, powerful and convincing portrayal of mother-love and its various perils. Poor Rachel, I really felt for her. You write with such emotion, but never sentimentally, and the impact is tremendous. Thanks for a great read.
January 25th, 2008 at 2:47 am
“Mrs. Wilson closed her eyes on a weak gush of tears.” The sheer economy and impact of that line is stunning, Avis. It is a heart breakingly realistic piece.
January 25th, 2008 at 4:42 am
An excellent flash with a novel twist on abuse in the family.
Well done Avis!
January 25th, 2008 at 4:46 am
A sad tale, well told. I wondered if there would be a twist, and it was executed nicely.
From a writing viewpoint, I wasn’t sure about the silence not being too quiet – silence should be total lack of noise. Also, bees buzzing in the summer may not be that soothing to some people!
January 25th, 2008 at 5:46 am
Avis, very nicely handled. Like your way of backing into a sore subject (no pun) without going sociologic or psychologic. Like a good wabi-sabi painting, less is more. I’m a sucker for punch lines, so yours made this one even better.
January 25th, 2008 at 6:32 am
Vivid and moving. The knifelike twist at the end was surprising and convincing.
January 25th, 2008 at 7:00 am
Short but crammed with tension. We look for the resolution – a conversation with the surgeon and hopefully a knock on Billy’s door by the social services accompanied by a policeman. Avis is sensitive to the ordinary and has a nice touch with the mundanities.
January 25th, 2008 at 7:52 am
I liked this. I hated it, too. But that’s why I liked it. Nicely done.
January 25th, 2008 at 7:54 am
Bravo, Avis. You took what I thought was already a good, well-written story and pushed it to an even higher level with that subtle, awful (but in a good way!) twist at the end.
January 25th, 2008 at 8:00 am
Well done, Avis. Strong writing, clearly portrayed, with the “ahhhhhhh” type of ending I love. Thanks.
January 25th, 2008 at 9:47 am
Sad, but so well written and with an unexpected barbed twist.
Cheers
Mark
January 25th, 2008 at 10:40 am
a barbed twist I’ll say too. Dang! Nicely written Avis.
January 25th, 2008 at 11:20 am
Very realistic, unfortunately.
January 25th, 2008 at 11:27 am
“Why is this little girl shouting at me, for Christ’s sake?”
A powerful thought after being beaten by a son. Well written, Avis Hickman-Gibb.
January 25th, 2008 at 1:33 pm
Absolutely heartbreaking. Rachel was very real to me. I can’t get over this story. Outstanding. Incredible.
January 25th, 2008 at 1:54 pm
You have taken my breath away – whoever you are! Thank you so much.
Avis
January 25th, 2008 at 2:00 pm
Thank you all so much for all your comments – they do mean so much.
G money – I find there are all sorts of qualities in a silence – not just the lack of noise.
Avis
January 25th, 2008 at 6:57 pm
A powerfully sad story–and all too common, I fear.
January 26th, 2008 at 9:23 am
Agreed – I meant that I read it as if you were saying that there was silence but also with some noise, which isn’t possible.