Barely had the adrenalin infusion of my dawn coffee filtered to the tips of my fingers before we were on our way. Worried neighbours had not seen the elderly occupant of the top floor apartment since Friday.
“She’s in the bedroom, but hurry” pleaded a youthful officer in the doorway.
Lying propped up, seemingly drowning in two enormous pink pillows, was the ghostly outline of a tiny, pitifully frail, old woman. Within moments we had her hooked up to a drip, electrolytes pulsing through her veins. The young policeman at the door had followed us in; his hands now pumping away at an Oxygen bag The merest hint of condensation formed on the inside of the mouthpiece: she was still with us – fighting.
Tension gradually gave way to relief as colour returned to once pale, lifeless, wrinkled cheeks. As the young, ruddy faced policeman continued to gently push air into aged, weary lungs the panic seemed over. For a brief second I allowed myself to relax. It was only then that I noticed: the bedroom was crammed with old pictures, the railing next to the window alive with a glittering array of dresses. A feather boa wrapped itself seductively around the back of a pale blue Lloyd Loom chair.
On her bedside table sat a framed cutting from the local paper. In it was a young, beautiful woman wearing a flowing silk dress, just like one of those on the rail. With shafts of sunlight beginning to pierce the slatted blinds, the old woman suddenly sparkled into life. As she continued to suck at the oxygen she gripped my hand – a wicked glint in her eye. She had seen me looking at her bedside picture; it was then that I knew who this was. It all came together: the pictures, the clothes, the mischievous look.
I almost blushed; she almost cracked a smile.
If my Dad could see me now – he’d have a fit. His son holding hands with the ‘Tush of Tulane’.
These 333 words, based on the third definition of the word ‘tush‘ , form my entry into the Trifecta 106 writing challenge.