My two neighbors, Mary and Dolly, have lived side by side for fifty years. They raised their children together, watched them move away, and then, later, they grieved the loss of their husbands. Mary, slightly older but much frailer, was the first to give up her car keys. From then on she depended on Dolly to bring her food. I’ve known them both since we moved to Acton in 1983. Yesterday, I left work early to visit Dolly.
“I’m here to see Margaret Smith.”
The slim young blond woman with dark eye-liner scanned her list of residents.
“I don’t see her.”
I moved to the side of the desk for a view of the list and touched the correct name.
“That’s her. I’m sorry, its Elizabeth, not Margaret. She’s always been, Dolly.”
“She’s in Wing 1, room 422. Walk down that hall and take a right.”
I’d followed those floor tiles quite a few times. Flo, Diane’s mother, rehabbed her hip in this nursing home and stayed in a room near Dolly’s. I pushed the swinging doors open and as I approached Wing One’s nurses station, I saw two choices. I could take a left or walk straight ahead. Acting as if I knew where I was going, and not wanting to be questioned by the nursing staff, I sped straight ahead, glancing about at women seated in chairs along the hall. I continued until the room numbers petered out at 406, and as I returned a woman wearing a blue striped shirt and pink-patterned pajama pants, with stockings bunched at her feet, piped up, “I said to myself, I know that man.’ ”
“Dolly, there you are.”
“Yes, I am.”
“What are you doing here? And when did you move?” I sat down in the chair next to Dolly and her companion, a lady whose eyes had an odd, distant look, as though she could only focus on the past.
“This is my friend, Shirley.” Dolly turned slightly to the woman sitting to her right.
I stood up, introduced myself and then sat back down.
“Dolly, why are you at Rivercrest?”
“I don’t know. One day they moved me here. Debbie, my daughter, lives in Texas and I might move there, but I don’t know. When I ask how long I’m going to be here they just say, 'hmmm, hmmm.' “
Dolly always had good posture. Like the posters in Health class, you can see the beach ball sitting atop the tennis balls, all in a perfect column. When Dolly talks, she keeps her head straight and mostly moves her eyes, which gives her a regal bearing. Dolly looks better now than when she lived across from my house. She has lost weight, yes, but also those layers of pancake.
“Dolly, you look great.”
“I feel okay, but I don’t know what I’m doing here, and its so dead. There is nothing to do. I just sit.”
“I think I’ve heard that before. Hey, lets walk around. Isn’t there a community room nearby?”
“I think so. Its down that hall.”
“No. I’ve been there with Diane’s mother. I think its this way”
As we stood up Shirley said to Dolly, “But your coffee is coming.”
“Save it for me,” Dolly replied.
We shuffled along until we approached the end of the hall and the exit door, but no community room. "I guess you were right, Dolly.” We walked back past the nurses station, grabbed Dolly’s black coffee Shirley had been protecting, and continued onto the community room, where we sat down next to a round table covered in blue Formica.
“Dolly, who’s taking care of Mary now that you’re here? Remember, you used to bring her milk.”
“Oh, Mary is here too.”
“She is? I didn’t know that?”
“I saw her here one day. I think she’s in the basement.”
“Let’s go find her. We can walk to the reception desk. They’ll know where she is. You lead the way.”
I thought Dolly might object to leaving her wing, but she appeared unfazed, and we chatted as we neared the blonde, who smiled as though old friends were approaching.
“Hi again. This time I’m looking for Dolly’s neighbor, Mary Hill.”
She's in Wing 2, room 509. Go back down the hall past Dolly’s room.”
“Dolly, Mary’s not in the basement, she’s right down the hall from you. We have to pass the nurses station and Shirley again; maybe she’d like to come with us?”
Shirley declined our invitation, and as we shuffled into Mary’s room, she turned and instantly seemed to recognized me. She smiled broadly and said, “Well, I’ll be, aren’t you something?”
We hugged, which wasn’t a simple maneuver. Mary is now impossibly small, and if you painted her pink you could place her out on your lawn. Her legs are as narrow as croquet mallet handles, and the osteoporosis in her back has folded her into that pelican shape. It’s hard to know what to hug, but her eyes gleam, and she shows none of Dolly’s irritation with her new home.
Mary and Dolly sat together on Mary’s bed while I sat in a chair facing them. Mary began again, “Well, I’ll be," and then followed with a string of unrelated sentences. If you locked her head in a vice and forced her to look only at you, she might stay on topic. But every time her eyes drifted she’d add another thought. “I can’t believe you came to visit, you know the lady over there just reads all day, and I’m not sure about the person behind the curtain, and its not too warm out is it? Aren’t those trees lovely, and oh my, aren’t you something, but I’ve got things I have to do, and Dolly how many children do you have?” Each phrase delivered new and crisp, like a freshly starched shirt.
“I have one, and you have two children,” Dolly answered.
“Well yes I do, and there is Bill on the dresser and my daughter Evelyn with her..., hmm, lover, and the boys and I don’t know about this new lady behind the curtain. Isn’t this something? And you know what? I’m almost ninety.”
“You are not.” Dolly looked down at Mary.
“I think I am,” Mary replied.
“Dolly, how old are you?” I asked. Mary had conveniently raised a subject I wanted answers to.
“I don’t know.” Dolly said.
“When you were born?”
“In 1921.”
“That means you’re eighty-four and so Mary could be ninety.”
“I guess so.”
I suspected that I hadn’t reunited two close friends. Maybe Dolly would remember Mary lived a short stroll away, but I knew as soon as Dolly walked away, Mary would have no idea where she went.
We talked for a bit longer, and then I said, “Iv’e got to run Dolly, but why don’t we all walk back and you two can visit with Shirley?”
As we left the room with Mary in tow, I turned to Dolly, “Are we sure this is safe? That Mary will know how to get back to her room?"
Dolly slipped me a very familiar, down-the-nose look. One I had seen moments before when she struggled to understand how Mary could be asking how many children she had. “Don’t worry, Ill take care of her.”
Flawless. You once again manage to prove both how compassionate and how stupid you are, though almost sidehandedly for once ... The dialogue flows, the visual details just enough to place us there, and nods given to heavy subjects without naming them. Great story, well-written, and you're maybe one of but a few who would have placed themselves in a position to write it. Hoo-aah!
Posted by adam.Flawless. You once again manage to prove both how compassionate and how stupid you are, though almost sidehandedly for once ... The dialogue flows, the visual details just enough to place us there, and nods given to heavy subjects without naming them. Great story, well-written, and you're maybe one of but a few who would have placed themselves in a position to write it. Hoo-aah!
Posted by: adamat August 12, 2005 09:09 AM