just you and me." A cruel smile crossed her soft face.
"Forever."
Mrs. Moon couldn't stop the tears
from coming. She didn't want to cry, didn't want to show weakness
in front of this dreg, but she couldn't help herself as the tears
dripped down her face. She turned to the window and buried her face
in her knitting.
"There, there," Cossie said and
patted her shoulder.
She angrily shrugged off her
hand.
"How many weeks or is it months,
you’ve waited and your niece won't even visit you?"
"Shut up," she growled doing her best to hold
the flood works back.
"There, there," Cossie
said.
"Go away," she shouted.
"Say please," Cossie
whispered.
She closed her mouth and locked her
jaw. She would never do that. Instead, she looked at her blue
knitting needles. Britt had done that. Cossie had been especially
cruel to her and she had poked her fat ass. No charges had been
filed, no action taken. Britt wasn't kicked out of the nursing home
like Cossie said, but a few days later a cup of water slicked the
floor outside Britt's room and when she slipped and fell; her cry
was heard throughout the nursing home. Cossie had said Mullin’s
mopping was at fault and he was too drunk to remember.
"Leave her alone," Larry said, but
he would not do anything. His deep voice echoing in the activity
room was the only thing he'd do. A few of the residents turned to
them with concern on their faces, the others acted like it was
nothing; it was always nothing unless it was about them.
"Can't we learn to get along?"
Richard said as usual, he who couldn't get along with
anyone.
"Hey, come on now," Powell said.
Mrs. Moon knew he wouldn’t do anything, but he was new and
therefore was sort of an unknown factor and Cossie looked at him
with concern.
"You take care." Cossie marched out
of the room like the queen of hearts.
Linda Moon couldn't return to her
knitting. She stared at her shaking palsied hands for a long time.
Then she heard a sound; like a powerful engine roaring.
Up the street came a motorcycle.
There was so much chrome on it the sun reflected off it as if off a
thousand shining chariots. It turned up the drive, the chrome
absolutely blinding.
It stopped in front of the canopied
entrance. Linda remembered when Claire first brought her here.
Claire said it would only be until they could straighten everything
out at home and she had told her the entrance reminded her of a
funeral home. Linda looked at the motorcyclist. What was he doing
here?
When the motorcycle stopped out
front, many hurried to the window to look. Someone said it was
their nephew. Another person said it was Julie's son. The biker set
the kickstand, stepped off the bike, took off his helmet, and
revealed a head of white hair. Someone said it was Margaret's old
boyfriend; they must've forgotten Margaret passed away a month
ago.
Carrying his black helmet under his
arm, he started for the front door. Cossie came out the entrance
like a mother chicken shooing away unwanted roosters. They
exchanged a few words and he shoved past Cossie and headed
inside.
"Who is he?" Powell said.
"I don't know," Richard said.
Larrry shook his head. "I don't
remember him.” Which was strange. Larry remembered everyone.
Sometimes he got the name wrong, but he remembered them.
There was a commotion in the hall
and everyone turned to the double door. With the gray double door
closed, no one could understand what was being said. Everyone in
the activity room quieted to listen, but they could only hear Nate
King Cole singing that song on the CD.
Suddenly the double doors burst open
and caregiver Alex stumbled backward into the room and, like a
knight errant in black leather, the stranger stepped into the
activity room. He was tall and lanky, but moved as though he had
arthritis in his knees and hips. He had white hair and a trim white
goatee and yet there was something elegant about him that reminded
her of a drawing of Don Quixote. He looked around. Everyone was by
the window. His
"Forever."
Mrs. Moon couldn't stop the tears
from coming. She didn't want to cry, didn't want to show weakness
in front of this dreg, but she couldn't help herself as the tears
dripped down her face. She turned to the window and buried her face
in her knitting.
"There, there," Cossie said and
patted her shoulder.
She angrily shrugged off her
hand.
"How many weeks or is it months,
you’ve waited and your niece won't even visit you?"
"Shut up," she growled doing her best to hold
the flood works back.
"There, there," Cossie
said.
"Go away," she shouted.
"Say please," Cossie
whispered.
She closed her mouth and locked her
jaw. She would never do that. Instead, she looked at her blue
knitting needles. Britt had done that. Cossie had been especially
cruel to her and she had poked her fat ass. No charges had been
filed, no action taken. Britt wasn't kicked out of the nursing home
like Cossie said, but a few days later a cup of water slicked the
floor outside Britt's room and when she slipped and fell; her cry
was heard throughout the nursing home. Cossie had said Mullin’s
mopping was at fault and he was too drunk to remember.
"Leave her alone," Larry said, but
he would not do anything. His deep voice echoing in the activity
room was the only thing he'd do. A few of the residents turned to
them with concern on their faces, the others acted like it was
nothing; it was always nothing unless it was about them.
"Can't we learn to get along?"
Richard said as usual, he who couldn't get along with
anyone.
"Hey, come on now," Powell said.
Mrs. Moon knew he wouldn’t do anything, but he was new and
therefore was sort of an unknown factor and Cossie looked at him
with concern.
"You take care." Cossie marched out
of the room like the queen of hearts.
Linda Moon couldn't return to her
knitting. She stared at her shaking palsied hands for a long time.
Then she heard a sound; like a powerful engine roaring.
Up the street came a motorcycle.
There was so much chrome on it the sun reflected off it as if off a
thousand shining chariots. It turned up the drive, the chrome
absolutely blinding.
It stopped in front of the canopied
entrance. Linda remembered when Claire first brought her here.
Claire said it would only be until they could straighten everything
out at home and she had told her the entrance reminded her of a
funeral home. Linda looked at the motorcyclist. What was he doing
here?
When the motorcycle stopped out
front, many hurried to the window to look. Someone said it was
their nephew. Another person said it was Julie's son. The biker set
the kickstand, stepped off the bike, took off his helmet, and
revealed a head of white hair. Someone said it was Margaret's old
boyfriend; they must've forgotten Margaret passed away a month
ago.
Carrying his black helmet under his
arm, he started for the front door. Cossie came out the entrance
like a mother chicken shooing away unwanted roosters. They
exchanged a few words and he shoved past Cossie and headed
inside.
"Who is he?" Powell said.
"I don't know," Richard said.
Larrry shook his head. "I don't
remember him.” Which was strange. Larry remembered everyone.
Sometimes he got the name wrong, but he remembered them.
There was a commotion in the hall
and everyone turned to the double door. With the gray double door
closed, no one could understand what was being said. Everyone in
the activity room quieted to listen, but they could only hear Nate
King Cole singing that song on the CD.
Suddenly the double doors burst open
and caregiver Alex stumbled backward into the room and, like a
knight errant in black leather, the stranger stepped into the
activity room. He was tall and lanky, but moved as though he had
arthritis in his knees and hips. He had white hair and a trim white
goatee and yet there was something elegant about him that reminded
her of a drawing of Don Quixote. He looked around. Everyone was by
the window. His
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