All We Had Read Online Free Page A

this time was different. Her mouth was bleeding and the pain went all across her face.
    She stuffed napkins and toilet paper inside her cheek. She stopped the car and lay across the seat with her head upside down out the door. We bought her bourbon and Advil—a combination, according to her, that could cure almost anything. But nothing could stop the bleeding, and the pain was only getting worse.
    My mother found a gas station, parked the car, and pulled me into the dingy bathroom. She held the edge of the sink, squeezed her eyes shut, thrust her wide-open mouth at me, and waited there. I had no idea what she was doing until she opened one eye, then both, and said, “Don’t just stand there. God help me and pull it out.”
    Except to say things like “God, this sucks!” or “God, I hate this,” the only time my mother ever mentioned God was to say that he’d given her good teeth. Now it seemed she was losing even that.
    â€œRuthie,” she pleaded when I didn’t move. She grabbed my hands and held them. “Please. I can’t do this myself.”
    Her face was swollen. Her cheek throbbed in and out. Hereyes were bloodshot, her skin blotchy and red. There was a scab above her brow, from what, I couldn’t remember.
    She dropped my hands, opened her mouth, and squeezed her eyes shut again. And I realized I had no choice. I had to pull her tooth out and I had to do it fast.
    I held my breath and looked inside her mouth. It was wet and red and her tongue was swollen. It smelled like cigarettes and bourbon and blood. My knees shook. My vision blurred. Her mouth zoomed in and out of focus, the scale of it shifted. It felt as if I might lose my balance and tumble deep down inside my mother’s throat.
    I steadied myself on the edge of the sink, closed my eyes, and swallowed. A bead of sweat rolled down my forehead and settled in the corner of my eye. I pushed my sleeve up and like a farmer reaching inside a cow, I stuck my hand into my mother’s mouth. The tooth was in the back. It was loose and slick with blood. The stench of someone else’s bowel movement lingered in the stifling air.
    â€œI’m sorry, Mom.” There were so many things to be sorry for. But this was how we lived—with pain and foul smells.
    I clenched my jaw, held my breath, and dug my fingers underneath her gum. The tearing of her flesh was audible. My mother moaned. But I knew I couldn’t stop. I braced a hand on her shoulder and yanked. The tooth flew out behind me. She stumbled backwards, hit the wall, slid down, and landed with her legs spread-eagle on the floor. Her eyes rolled back, her head fell forward. She took one long gasp of air. A line of bloody saliva ran down the corner of her mouth. The back of her head started bleeding where she’d hit the wall.
    â€œMom!” I fell to my knees in front of her and shook her, butthere was no response.
    I took her head and with my bare hand, applied pressure where it was bleeding.
    â€œWake up, Mom. Please.” I cradled my mother and rocked her.
    I did not believe in him, but God, they say, is everywhere. I looked around this nasty bathroom. “Please,” I prayed to him. I lived in fear of losing her. Every time she closed her eyes to sleep, I worried she’d stop breathing.
    I was tough. I almost never cried, but when my mother groaned I started weeping.
    â€œIt’s okay,” she said. She reached a hand up and held my cheek. “I’m here.”

    I folded up some paper towel into a tight square and had her bite down hard on it. When the cut on the back of her head stopped bleeding, I helped her up and washed her hair.
    She splashed her face with water and I rinsed mine, too. We braced ourselves on the edge of the sink.
    â€œCome here,” she used to say when I was a kid. Pressing our cheeks together in front of a mirror, she’d first pucker up and examine her pout from all angles. Then