AWAKENING II- Bad Taste

Hello again, it's me, Jason.  I'm on a food run.

In my hands are various bags containing various energy drinks, candy, pork rinds, frozen chicken fingers, deli turkey, tea bags, vitamins, and beef jerky.  My hands are so overburdened that the flimsy plastic "handles" on them are cutting-off the circulation to half of my fingers, which are turning bright red, almost purple.  Still, I try to ignore the discomfort in my hands, and the sour smell in the hotel hallway, long enough to raise a few fingers up to touch the door in front of me.

I succeed in giving the feeblest of taps on the old, paint-chipped wood.  It is enough.  From behind that door I hear cursing, a shuffling of feet, the click of the latch, and the slow, rusty squeak of the knob.  Then I see Abeni's smooth, round, olive-tinted nose and bruised-looking skin surrounding stern, weary, severely sleep-deprived eyes.

"Come in already!" she hisses at me, pushing the door open just wide enough for me and my burdens to slip in.

Between the flimsy plastic, the metal cans, the confined entrance, and my uncanny clumsiness, I'm making SUCH a horrible racket.  I finally make it to the multipurpose kitchen/bathroom area and let my bags slump onto the small, round, crusty industrial table there, making even more noise.

The entire time, Abeni's glaring silently at me. 

I can almost hear her voice in her mind, muttering idiot idiot idiot idiot idiot...

I swear, one of these days she's gonna incapacitate me with basil and feed me to a rabid crocodile. 

And the whole time she'll be affectionately telling me what a pathetic, idiotic little worm of a human being I turned out to be.  That's the way she always looks at me, and sure it would be downright upsetting... if I didn't often respond with an air of complete and utter apathy, that is.

She in fact only stops glaring at me when the girl on the bed stirs.  That's when she starts to look thoughtful, concerned, even a little wary.

"Uhhhnfff," the child says, drowsily moving her head from side-to-side, side-to-side.

"Make tea," Abeni tells me before going over to the girl.

"Yes ma'am."

I fill a white ceramic cup with water, add a little cloth bag filled with crushed peppermint leaves, stick the whole thing in the microwave and nuke it.  While I'm waiting for the microwave to chirp at me I watch the two on the other side of this very, very small suite, because I'm totally curious about how this will all unfold...

The girl, waking up, starts with the typical: "What's going on?" and "Where am I?"

And Abeni, in true Abeni fashion, feels the girl's forehead and cryptically replies, "your fever's broke, child."

"Who?" asks the girl, fluttering her eyes in a weak attempt to open them.

Now Abeni has the softest, most concerned-looking expression on her face I've ever seen.  Someone could almost fall for that face right now.  Almost.

"Child," Abeni says to her, sitting on the side of the bed, "my name is Monica.  Monica Manteau.  But please, call me Madame Abeni.  And you are safe here for the time being.  So, feel free to rest as much as you need and we'll watch over you until you feel strong enough to move from this room."

"...Okay..." the girl replies feebly.  But she does not go to sleep.  She only slowly opens her eyes and stares blankly in the general direction of Abeni's face and the ceiling.

"Are you thirsty?" Abeni asks after awhile, "Hungry?"

BEEEEEEP.  I take the tea out of the microwave, let it cool and steep on the table.

After several moments, the girl makes a face.

"There's a bad taste in my mouth," she says.

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Salty.  Metal," she makes a guttural sound of disgust and nausea, "and rotten."

"Oh yes!  That's probably old blood you're tasting," I say cheerfully, bringing over the tea, "You may want to brush your teeth.  I brought a brand new toothbrush for you, too."

Abeni's look of absolute care and tenderness fades to annoyance for just a second.... before I help her raise the child into a sitting position.

"Here," Abeni says softly, giving the girl the cup and not even looking at me, "For your stomach, and the bad taste.  Be careful, though: it's still hot."

So in the complete silence that follows, Abeni and I watch the child sip the mint tea, and the child's face grows more alert by the second.  In complete silence she watches us as well, looking over the rim of the cup at our facial expressions, our hair, our choice of dress, our body language.  My crooked plastic glasses. Abeni's purple-stringed shark-tooth necklace. The dirty white Keds on my feet. Abeni's tweaked-out hair. My love of pastel blue, and Abeni's love of grey and black...

For a moment, I see just a hint of the rabid-looking pup from the other night in those sharp green eyes, and hint of whatever is was I saw as I timidly reached for the GLOCK on the ground between us, wondering if I'd live to see the sunrise...

And then...

"So," the child turns to Abeni and innocently asks, "he's your bitch?"

And I almost fall off the bed.

"Wow!  What a smart, astute young girl you are," Abeni says, flashing a rare, toothy grin, "with such a rich vocabulary, too!"

I click my tongue and leave the bedside to rummage nonchalantly through the groceries.  I try not to be phased by it. I try not to act all huffy about it.  I mean, it's not like I'm really her bitch.  I'm not her bitch.  I'm not her bitch.  I'M NOT HER FUCKING BITCH.

...I'm her bitch.

The child gurgles the tea and swallows.  I can imagine it feels soothing in her raw throat.

"So... why did I taste blood in my mouth?" she asks.

"Oh," Abeni says dryly, "you ripped a guy's ear off with your teeth.  That and you haven't brushed your teeth in the three days since."

The girl, in complete silence, gives Abeni a look of scrutiny and disbelief.

"Huh."

"Would you like to brush your teeth now?" Abeni asks her, standing up.

"Uh... yes, please."

Gingerly Abeni leads the child, still a little unsure on her feet, to the sink.  For the entire five minutes it takes me to rip open a package of jerky she's standing there, enthusiastically brushing, brushing, brushing away.  Trying to get the taste, to get the memory of the taste, out of her mouth, I imagine.  And I don't blame her.

Then she leans away from the sink, clinging at the edge for support, and sniffs the air with a look of interest and delight.

"Is that jerky?"

"Didn't you JUST brush your teeth?" I say, defensively clutching my bag.

"IT. SMELLS. SO. GOOD."

Her eyes open very wide and I can almost see her drooling.  It's a rather unsettling thing to see from such a little girl.

Then Abeni lays her hand on my shoulder, which is just distracting enough to allow her to pluck the bag from my hands and toss it to the girl, who in her hunger catches it gracefully.  The girl immediately starts happily chewing on a giant wad of the dry, salty, tasty bits of beef.

And then Abeni says the most she's said to me in quite some time...

"She's HUNGRY, Jase.  And it's a perfectly normal part of the process..  The jerky satisfies her base cravings but it's chewy enough to keep her from over-gorging and making herself sick.  Okay?  I didn't pay for the jerky for you.  Here, have some Twizzlers."

Later, we're all at or on the bed again. The girl's on her second cup of tea and third bag of jerky, and I have a mild Twizzler-induced tummy ache.

"Funny," the girl mutters through mouthfuls of meat, looking thoughtful, "I used to hate jerky."

"So," Abeni says to the girl, petting her like she's some tame dog gnawing on a rubber chew toy, "would you like for me to tell you everything?"

The girl nods absently, still chewing, chewing, chewing, chewing.

"Okay," Abeni says, and takes a deep breath, "here goes."