out
of her bag and started working again on the blue and white scarf.
She'd knitted it so many times she didn't have to look at what she
was doing, which was what she wanted. She stared out the window at
the circular driveway.
"You should not use a bridge chair
to knit," a voice said from behind her. "You could fall out and get
hurt." She didn't have to turn around to know it was caregiver
Cossie Ogg; the faint odor of pot followed her everywhere. And she
didn't have to look to know by the happy inflection that she was
back on drugs. She used to wonder where Ogg got them, but she'd
been here long enough to know that in a few days or weeks someone
would report they were low on medication or their pills had run out
surprisingly fast. Once she’d followed Cossie on her rounds and
watched her take a pill from one person, another pill from another.
She'd followed her again and again to make sure she was right. She
was going to say something when Britt complained, but Mullins said
he’d done it. She was sure Mullins said so because he owed Cossie
for not ratting on him.
"I should help you move to a safer
chair," Cossie said.
She turned to Cossie and her eyes
took in the fat little caregiver with the short black hair.
Cossie's black eyes stared at her. The druggy grin left her round
face. She was always smiling and laughing when she was on drugs.
When she wasn't she was too foul tempered to be around. Cossie
liked to tease, to play jokes when she was high, but not all highs
were the same. She had callous highs, laughing highs, and mean
practical joke highs.
Larry laughed. "Ut oh, she's in one
of her moods." He laughed again, a big mouth full of perfect white
dentures.
She glanced at Larry and saw in his
dark brown eyes that he could tell she was putting Cossie on, but
Larry wouldn't tell on her. If he wouldn't tell Richard was
cheating on him for fear of losing someone to play cards with, he
wouldn’t tell on her.
Cossie looked from Larry to Linda
with that ain’t-we-cute grin. The drugs really had scrambled her
brains. When she was high, she rattled easily.
When Linda's niece Claire had
visited, Cossie had filled her with lies to pay back Linda for some
slight and it must have worked. Claire hadn't been back, not that
she missed such a silly girl, but she did miss the connection to
family.
"Okay," Cossie smiled, "we'll let
you stay in that old chair this one time." Then Cossie bent over
and looked her in the eye. "You owe me."
“ So does God,” she said and Cossie
smiled druggily, “and you’d better hope neither one of us give you
what you got coming.”
Anger flashed in Cossie's brown eyes
and she whirled around and stormed away. She bumped Larry and he
looked at her, worried he’d done something wrong. Larry had been an
orderly, when a woman patient pushed a man in a wheelchair out the
door and they’d never been found and somehow Larry was blamed for
it. They said he should have locked the door or be at the
desk.
"What's her problem?" Larry
said.
"Probably going through the change,"
she said.
"Again?" Powell said as he lost
another hand. "How long does that go on? Wasn't she doing that last
month?"
She watched Cossie leave. She was so
easy to fool it was almost no fun screwing with her anymore. She
shook her head and went back to knitting. She glanced at the shiny
toy knight on the table, then looked out the window. The driveway
curved to the road and the road stretched into infinity. She looked
at the bushes moving in the breeze and longed to be outside. The
activity room started to fill with residents, many of them talking
loudly, and someone turned on the TV at the other end of the room.
She stared at the road.
"He won't come," Cossie said from
close behind her, making her jump. She had snuck up on her again.
Now her wide mouth had white pill dust on her lips.
"Who won't come?" Larry
said.
"Her knight in shining armor,"
Cossie said and with her middle finger knocked over the toy on the
table. "It's
Tim Waggoner
Rosie Claverton
Elizabeth Rolls
Matti Joensuu
John Bingham
Sarah Mallory
Emma Wildes
Miss KP
Roy Jenkins
Jennifer McCartney, Lisa Maggiore