Part II: Journeys (Chapter 34)
We
pull up to the door of Happy Haven, Phil and Sal behind us.
I don’t like going inside these
places. Shel knows it, so he stops the engine and runs inside to the reception
desk.
Way Stations to Death.
How can death survive in such
clinical, antiseptic environments?
Nurses and aides in their
bright whites, ammonia and cleansers in the air, gleaming floors, bland food, boring
activities.
Death is sanitized, disguised
as happy face posters and Bingo games.
Shel leads a young aide, no
more than 21 or 22, as she wheels Nana out to the car. I get out of the car and
arrange the passenger seat so that Nana has enough room to stretch and put her
seat back if she gets sleepy. I’ll sit behind Shel.
“I thought you forgot me,” she
says, yanking the plaid blanket off her lap. “Don’t know why I need this. It’s
at least 100 degrees.” She tosses the blanket over her shoulder, hitting the aide
in the face.
The aide jumps back, obviously
taken aback by the flying blanket. “Okay, Mrs. Mallory,” she says, peeling the
blanket off her face.
“You okay?” I ask the aide.
“Fine,” she says, folding the
blanket.
“Sorry about that.”
“It’s okay,” she whispers.
“It’s part of the job.”
“Look, I’ll take that with us,”
I say, taking the blanket. “It might cool off at Winnehaha.”
Nana starts to climb out of her
chair.
“Wait, Mrs. Mallory,” the aide
says, taking Nana’s arm. She guides Nana into the front seat, and snaps on the
shoulder/seat belt. “There. Comfortable?”
“It’s too hot.” Nana scrunches
around in her seat and bunches up her sleeves.
“The air’ll be on soon,” the aide
says. “Have fun, Mrs. Mallory. See you later!” She waves goodbye to Nana and
disappears inside the building.
“I’m hot!”
“I’ll start the engine,” Shel
says, turning the key.
“I want my wheelchair with me.”
“There’s no room in the car,” I
say. “Sal’s taking it in the van.”
“But I want it here!”
Sal jumps out the van and pokes
her head inside Nana’s window. “What’s the major malfunction?”
“I want my chair!”
“Ma, we’re going to be right
behind you.”
“What if there’s an accident?”
“We’ll all drive carefully,
won’t we?” Sal says, looking right at Shel.
“You bet,” he says.
“I hate being old and sick,”
Nana says to no one in particular.
“But you’re looking real good
today,” Sal says.
“I’m dying, and everyone knows
it.”
“Oh, Ma...”
“Let’s get this show on the
road,” Nana says, wagging a finger at Sal. “Time grows short.”
*
As we head for I-29, Nana folds her arms
and scowls. “Heard you got in last night.”
“That’s right. About seven,”
Shel says.
I brace myself for what’s
coming next.
“Well, you’d think you’d find
some time to visit an old woman instead of cattin’ around town all night.”
“Oh, Nana...”
Nana turns around and glares right
at me. “Mark my words, little missus. When I’m buried up in Calvary, you’ll be
sorry you weren’t nicer to me.”
“Sal said you were tired,” Shel
says, merging south on I-29.
“So, what? I was waiting for
you.”
“Sorry. We thought you were
asleep. Besides, we were tired, too,” I say. “We had to make the trip here in
two days.”
“I had some last-minute clients
I had to see,” Shel says.
“I don’t understand all that
old shrink stuff.”
“Nana!”
“Well, I don’t. In my day, you
were expected to get your head on straight yourself. None of this spillin’ your
guts to an outsider. Family business stayed in the family.”
“The world is different now,”
Shel says. “The pressures are worse.”
“I’m glad I’m dying.”
Shel and I don’t say anything. How
does one respond, especially it’s true? It’s no use sugar coating things.
“You all went out last night,
didn’t you?”
I sigh. “Just to North Sioux
for a few beers and to play a few slots. We didn’t stay long. Shel and I went
to bed early.”
“I still think you could’ve
visited an old woman first....”
I can see that this
conversation is stuck in a loop, and so I search my brain for the
“Ctrl-Alt-Delete” button that will shut this subject off.
Now for another hot topic, one that I have been rehearsing for weeks:
“By the way, Nicole sends her love.”