She was wise – there was a stack of them in the bathroom for just such situations. Dampened with a little cool water, she pressed the cloth to the gash now marring his forehead. He never realized how much blood there really was, because you simply couldn’t tell – it seemed to vanish into the washcloth.
I could see the blood in the kitchen, the first few drops on the floor, just next to the truck he had so proudly won in the battle with our other brother. The classic Tonka, with it’s all-metal construction, were the spoils and then the spoiler, it’s tailgate causing the wound.
Stitches were going to be required. Not unusual with this brother. I sat in the back seat, holding it to his head, as she drove to the pediatrician’s. Stemming the flow, hiding the quantity in the washcloth of the same color. We laughed at stupid jokes all the way there, his head on my lap, my hand on his head.
She always told me that not letting him see how much blood there was helped keep him calm. The Tonka Truck Incident. Backwards off the Couch. The Stick Just Above the Eye. He was our own personal patchwork quilt, and there was always plenty of blood. If he saw it, he was hysterical, so we just didn’t let him see it.
Now, as a mother of three myself?
I keep a stack in the bathroom for just such situations.
*This is the first post I’ve written to link up with the ladies over at The Red Dress Club. I’ve started reading a number of pieces, and will be linking up when the right mood strikes. If you are looking for inspiration and guidance, go there. Now.
This prompt: Give me a memory of the color red. Do not write the word 'red' but use words that engender the color red when you hear them. For example: a ruby, a tomato, fire, blood.