[ WP ] At the age of 93 , you can feel dementia setting in . Times , places , and faces get jumbled . What you did n't expect was the immense rush of power that comes with slipping beyond the fabric of this reality .

I sit at the precipice, hung in the balance, my head filled with the dizzying thrill of anticipation and topped with a helmet. It ’ s all lead to this, the moment of freedom, and thank god that bitch Sharon isn ’ t here to stop me. I inhale and release, and I ’ m off -- 
 
 And the world goes black. 
 _________________________________________ 
 
 “ So you ’ ve had a fall, Mrs. Henderson? ” the doctor says, and I highly doubt he ’ s gone through puberty. 
 
 “ Are there any older doctors available? ” I say, and the doctor laughs at Sarah where she stands cross-armed beside me. She doesn ’ t laugh back. 
 
 “ Why don ’ t you tell me what happened? ” the doctor asks Samantha, but I find this disparaging ( especially coming from a middle schooler with a stethescope ) so I answer that I was trying to break light speed. The doctor laughs again, the son of a bitch, but Sabrina interjects. 
 
 “ She was trying to slide down the stairs on a mattress, ” she says. I think she ’ s mostly jealous because menopause made her too fat to do anything fun like break light speed. “ she was always afraid of heights, but -- ” 
 
 “ I ’ m not afraid of anything, ” I say, and it ’ s true. I ’ m not afraid of anything anymore. Heights, mice, dying; everyone ’ s counted me out already, so what do I have to lose? The doctor smiles a tight little smile at me and then flips through his little clipboard. 
 
 “ Well, Mrs. Henderson, it looks like you ’ ll be fine this time. And while I wish I were as fearless as you, I would maybe suggest a little less mattress surfing, though, ” his smile fades a bit as he looks to Selena. “ and maybe some live-in help, just to help you keep an eye out. ” Little shit. 
 
 She nods behind me, the traitor, as the doctor walks from the room. 
 
 “ Come on, Stella, let ’ s get the hell out of this joint, ” I say, and as she walks across the room to get my walker I start to wonder how I can sneak out the back door when we get home without the stupid tennis balls making enough noise to alert her. I want to go for a run. 
 
 “ It ’ s Sylvia, mom, ” she says. 
 
 “ Sylvia? ” I say, “ what kind of horrible mother names a child that? ”
