The Old Folks Home

“This is the way I remember it happening. I’ll tell it as best I can. “

“After all these years of visiting at Parkview Manor, you wouldn’t think it would still bother me, but it did. It was the smell, as soon as I reached the corridor. They’d gotten the front lobby under better control, so the first thing to hit you were cooking odors; but by the time I reached the hall where Harry was, the urine and bleach stink took over. I pulled the hanky out of my purse, which I always kept well saturated with Chanel, and held it under my nose as I opened the door.

He was lying in bed as always, and that day he opened his eyes a little when I called his name. He had that sleepy, lazy smile he’d always had since he was a boy, the one that made girls think he was sweet and boys want to punch his face. There was a time when I found his smile comforting, reassuring, after our sister died. I hadn’t been around him much then, at least not since we were grown. But it was a cover up. It meant he was trying to look friendly so I’d be nice to him and overlook his faults.

I don't think he even remembers my name any more, so I don’t know why I keep doing this. Still, he’s my brother, and I’d hate myself if I didn’t make the attempt." A small cloud of sorrow crossed her face, then passed on by.

“’Look what I have for you today, Harry,’ I said. His benign smile never wavered from my face. ‘Look at what I’m holding.’ I extended the old leather catcher’s mitt toward him. “It ‘s yours. I found it while I was cleaning out the attic. Do you remember it?” There was no sign he knew what it was, not even a flicker of recognition. I don’t think he even saw it. I reached for his hand and tried to slide it into the glove, but I may as well have been trying it on a baby. His hand hung limply in mine, and he made no effort to help. I’d have had better luck getting Tommy’s kitten to crawl inside, I remember thinking. The thought of that playful little bit of fluff made me smile.

"Then I reminded myself that Tom is now a grown man and the kitten is long gone. Funny, how that little kitty-- Airhead, we called him-- floated up in my mind more sharply than I could bring up a picture of my own cat.” She pondered that for a moment and tried to summon her own cat’s name, but it didn’t come. How exasperating! she thought, to forget such common things.

“I put the catcher’s mitt back into my bag and pulled out a book by Zane Grey. ‘I’ll just read to you a little while.’ I told Harry, and he smiled. ‘Remember, we were at a crucial place where Dan was trapped in the barn that somebody had set on fire,’ I told him. I knew he wouldn’t remember, but he looked happy when I read. Besides, I discovered I enjoyed his Western stories, and treating myself to a daily installment was one thing that kept me coming back. “