Page 76 of Too Old for This
Not a child’s cartoon.
Footsteps.
No, footstomps. Norma isn’t happy.
She’s in the foyer. I peek through into the study. The door she has been banging on doesn’t look good. Norma bashed through one of the center boards; it’s bent forward into the room. A stupid choice on her part. She should have chosen a board closer to the lock and handle.
Now my door is ruined.
I give the washing machine one more bang, drawing her all the way around, then walk through the study and open the broken door.
Norma has no idea she is moving in a circle. Yet.
My living room is a mess. She knocked over the coffee tableand broke everything on top of it. My knickknacks are ruined. Her wineglass shattered on the floor, the remains of her gin splashed all over the place. Including on my recliner.
Enough. I have had enough of this woman.
I tiptoe back into the study and yell through the doorway.
“Norma!”
Footsteps in the kitchen, then the laundry room.
She gasps.
It’s followed by a breathy “Oh my God.”
Yes, Norma. There is another door in the study, and the one you were trying to break through is now open. Now she gets it. She realizes she is stuck in a circular maze. And she keeps walking, coming right toward me.
People always do this in the movies, too. It’s like they can’t help themselves.
I put down my knife and hold the cane with both hands, flattening myself against the wall outside the study. And I smile.
Norma has reminded me how much fun this used to be.
—
The sound of hitting a skull is always the same. Doesn’t matter if it’s the side, top, or back of the head. It’s always a sharp crack.
I hit Norma as soon as she walked out of the study. The brass handle of my cane struck the center of her forehead. Shefell straight down, landing on her back, and I had to hit her twice more to make sure. That’s when the sound changed a little. The second hits were closer to whumps.
My adrenaline surged, making me feel all lit up inside. I feel it every time. Always have, going all the way back to Gary.
It makes me feel invincible.
This is the only time I do, and unfortunately, it never lasts long. The worry comes quick, along with the lengthy to-do list in my head.
Now that I’m older, the worrying and the list have been joined by fatigue. It is overwhelming, and I fall onto the couch. Every muscle and joint in my body has something to say, and none are happy. They all yell at once.
Two minutes. I give myself two minutes to rest before heaving myself off the couch. First, I grab a plastic bag and wrap it around Norma’s head. The floor in the study is wood, and I wipe away the blood before it dries, then dribble hydrogen peroxide over it, wipe it away, and repeat. Unlike with tile, I can’t let that peroxide sit for too long on this floor. It’s a quick, manic process to get the blood up before it soaks into the wood.
Next, I grab Norma’s bag and find her phone tucked away in a side pocket. I try to wake up the screen, but it stays dark. The battery is dead. I can’t even turn the phone on. No way to know if the battery died before or after she arrived at my house.
I put on Norma’s jacket, along with a hat and gloves, and grab her handbag. After wiping a spot of blood off my face, I walk out of the house.
—
ADo Not Disturbsign hangs on the door. As soon as I walk into Norma’s hotel room, I know why. She smoked in here. Even with the window open, I can smell it.
