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shower water running down on my side. It finally coagulates and stops and I bring my palm containing the tiny puddle of blood up closer to my eyes. I dip my index and middle fingers of my right hand into the pooled blood. Bringing the now bloodied fingers up to my eyes to closely examine them. The blood seeps slowly down towards my right palm as I hold my hand up. It flows purposefully in such a way down the pad of my palm heating up my skin as it makes its way down my right hand. It’s an odd tingling sensation which starts heating up when it reaches my wrist, and it marks around my slight birthmark, filling, painting and darkening it. When the birth mark heats up, it makes me feel as if I’m getting branded with a hot iron, burning, I automatically shake my hand and let the water wash out the blood immediately. I will examine the holes in the mirror when I get out. 
                  I scrub myself and get lost in my thoughts. I let the water run on my head, and then turn my back to let it run on my back tilting my head up slightly. That’s when I see the bloody hand-prints on the shower wall! Bloodied fist marks imprinted on the glass wall and the fresh blood is trickling down to the shower floor. As my eyes get wider, I see a fist landing on my shower wall with such a force, it appears to have left another bloody fist print, then another, then another then another. “ No! Alexander! No, please! ” I whisper automatically, my hands covering my mouth to mask my horror. But the fist marks appear to be landing relentlessly over and over and over again. No sound. Just the impact... Blood trickles down mixing with the shower water. I bite into my hand trying to smother a scream which comes out anyway. Two people run into my bathroom simultaneous, but upon finding me still in the shower, they turn their backs in embarrassment, and just don’t pass beyond the bathroom door. I continue to scream, but for a different reason now since I am mortified with the unexpected company in the bathroom.
    Sarah,   the woman I have a hard time calling ‘mom’ , and Uncle Gabriel stand by the bathroom door awkwardly, their backs turned to me, and Uncle Gabriel shielding his eyes with both hands manages to mutter, “I’m terribly sorry. I thought something was wrong!”
    A third and a much shorter person enters into the bathroom with her eye mask pushed over her head shoving the other two aside, muttering “nothing to see here,” and approach es the shower grabbing the large bath towel holding it up for me. 
    I turn the water off, still not able to take my eyes off the shower wall where the bloody fist prints first appeared, and now disappeared as if they have never been there at all. I’m still shaking, fearful that my dreams and my reality are overlapping. Stella wraps me up, handing me another towel for my hair.
    Sarah and Uncle Gabriel are still standing with their backs turned to us by the bathroom door. “Coast is clear,” grumbles Stella.
    When I stop shaking, and wipe my eyes off with the back of my hands very unladylike, the steady stream of tears continues rolling down. But I still manage to notice that Stella is wearing two different color leg warmers, a pink one and a fuchsia under her cotton shorts, with an XL t-shirt that says “ Born to be Wild ”, and her silk pink eye masks with the embroidered words “ Do Not Disturb ” written which incidentally was the only thing pushing her curly graying blonde disheveled hair back which is hanging in two uneven pigtails. Her hands are wearing socks while her feet are bare. 
    For a moment I forget what I had just experienced and ask her between sobs, “Stella, are you wearing socks on your hands?”  
    “Yes!” she scolds me, “I didn’t get a chance to take ‘em  off since I heard you scream bloody murder, and I fell off the bed. I just ran here! What did you expect me in, a ball gown?” 
    But she still pulls me in a hug and tugs me out of the