Susan Senator

While cleaning up the pantry, I cut my finger on a cardboard box. “Ahhh!” I yelled. “I hurt my finger and it’s bleeding.”

“You okay?” asked Ned.

“Mommy get a band-aid,” suggested Nat. He got up and said it again.

I was rinsing the finger and it really stung. Blood kept pooling up. “Yeah, Nat,” I said, “I think I do need a band-aid.”

He came into the pantry and opened the middle drawer. He rooted around and pulled out a box of band-aids I didn’t even know we had there. He drew one out.

I could have taken it from him but I was feeling lulled by his competent, decisive actions. Ever since I was little I have always experienced a small sleepy pleasure in watching someone else do something they are good at, especially when they are doing it for me. I felt that familiar soft drowsiness settle over me as I said, “Nat, will you open it for me?”

His deft fingers parted the paper edge. I was surprised by all of this, because I find band-aids really tough to open the right way. With me, it’s just rip open anywhere and hope you don’t tear the band-aid. Holding my finger out towards him, I said, “Will you put it on me?”

He did. I loved feeling him hold my finger and tamp down the band-aid around the cut. It is the first time ever that I felt Nat taking care of me, I think.

It held up through dinner and several dish-washings. Thanks, Swee-Guy!