The Nursing Home

                                       The Nursing Home













I should have seen it coming when my son gave me a "Hurrycane" for Christmas. Then, sometimes I would go for a walk and have to call him to pick me up because I didn't know how to get home. At night, as I lay in bed without my hearing aids and glasses, my dead wife would whisper to me, and it would infuriate me because I couldn't hear a word she was saying. .

I told my son that I was on the waiting list at Little Sisters of the Poor. My wife did so much volunteer work there that they promised her a room when I croaked. I guess she didn't count on all the supplements I was taking. She left me the room in her will.

There was so much I had to get rid of. And everything reminded me of her. So it all had to go. Each week I threw away the records we used to share; the clothes she used to wear; the furniture; the glasses and mugs that reminded me of so many moments and places we shared together.

By the time my son picked me up, all I had was a suitcase and a guitar. My house was put up for sale and eventually it would fund my room and board. I didn't want to burden anyone, and I was ready to begin the final passage of my life alone and deathly afraid.

Sister Mary showed me to my room by way of the elevator-no more steps for me. In the hallway, railings were attached to both walls so you could hold on to, lean on, or rest your beer on. The room was more spacious than I thought it would be. There was stone tiled kitchen with a stove and a full sized white refrigerator with the freezer on the bottom. The living room came with a thick cream rug, a three-cushioned couch, and a Lazy-Boy recliner with a swing out foot rest. The bed had a crank, so I knew it was an extra firm hospital bed for cranky residents. I was offered cable for a 56 inch TV. I decided I needed sports and the Playboy Channel, so I signed the contract for that.

Sister Mary noticed my guitar case and asked if I played. When I told her I sang and played, she asked me if I would play a song before dinner. I said, "Sure." I unpacked my solo suitcase and put my clothes in the oak-polished antique chest of drawers that rested against the bedroom wall. I played with the TV controller until I could find the closed caption button. The previous resident didn't subscribe to the Playboy Channel but he did have the Disney Channel. It was better than watching the Steelers on Sundays. I hung my Hurrycane in the closet and applied a few globs of Ben Gay to my knees and then slapped some Brut on top of that. I washed my face and brushed my teeth and dabbed some white out on them to hide the yellow. I took my guitar out of the case and tuned it up with my Snarkie tuner. I had been practicing one song that I thought would impress all the beautiful old babes I would be meeting.







As we were all seated for dinner, Sister Mary introduced me as the new resident. They all clapped. Then she told them I was going to play a song on my guitar, and they all looked at me as if I was the new specimen in the fish tank. So I played, "Fairy tales can come true. It can happen to you, if you're young at heart. And if you should survive to 105, think of all you'll derive out of being alive. And here is the best part. You'll have a head start. If you are among the very young at heart."

The glaze left their faces, and they all smiled at me and applauded.

She sat across from me. She waved her finger toward me and I put my ear next to her mouth. She had a French accent and she said "you are cute; you look like Bill Gates". I sat back and I felt her foot creeping up my pants. "I am Linda, and you are?"

"I am Richard, the sauna singer." She waved her come hither finger again, and whispered, "My vagina is as dry as a desert".

And I said, "My tongue will be your oasis".

There was a motel across the road from the home. I guess since many family members were from out of state, a small ten-room ground level motel owner could make a decent living. The traffic was terrible though, and cars and trucks whizzed by going 50 miles an hour. The rooms sat back from the main building and the traffic noise wasn't so bad; especially for hard of hearing residents, like me and Linda.

We went to all the Friday night dances in the Social Room. Wolf man Mike was the DJ and I would play a few tunes too. When I danced with Linda she told me she could feel my knob pressing into her thighs. There was no privacy in the home. I guess no one believed that old people could fall in love and want to have sex. There were some married couples; but I later learned that the stallions had been led out to pasture a long time ago.

We talked about the motel across the road. I told her I could rent a room and say I was seeing someone at the home. Later she could walk across the road and come into the room. I told her I would call her and tell her the room number. We had to plan a time when no one would be looking for us. We checked that there were no fire drills planned, or field trips to the zoo, or some shopping trip to Ross Park Mall.

And then the day arrived. I locked my door and went out the back. I walked down the winding path to the main gate and hurried across the road while crazy drivers with fierce grimaces blew their horns and gave me the finger. My heart was pounding as I opened the office door of the motel and stepped up to the desk. "I need a room for the night. I am visiting from Florida and I have a relative I'm seeing at the home."

"Sure, pops" the attendant said.

I realized he was smirking because there were no cars in the lot at the time and I only had a toothbrush in my hand. I gave him my credit card and my AARP card to get a discount. I carried my toothbrush down to room 8, went in, took my clothes off and jumped into bed. I called Linda and told her, "Room number 8." Then I waited and imagined what was going to happen. I could hear the traffic and I worried about her crossing the road. Then I heard sirens and I panicked and tried to call her to tell her to forget it, but there was no answer.

The door opened and there she stood. Her smile drew me in and I gasped at the radiant beauty that somehow snatched back her tender youth she lost so many years ago. She slowly shimmied toward me taking her clothes off as if she were a stripper in an exotic show. She climbed on the bed and we kissed passionately, our tongues caressing each other and our lips warm on warm. Our bodies merged together and I'm sure the angels listened in. Afterwards, we lay together not speaking. I could feel a slight tension building between us. She didn't speak. She smiled sweetly at me and walked naked out the door. Did she think it was the bathroom? I hurriedly got dressed and gathered her clothes and threw them on the bed. I rushed to the door. She was gone. I searched up and down the lot and behind the motel. I sat down on a bench there, and tried to fathom how far she could have wandered until she realized she was not in the bathroom. I returned to the motel room and her clothes were gone. Was I losing my mind? I checked out of the motel. It was getting late. There was still no sign of Linda. She must have gone back for her clothes. Then seeing I had left; she must have gone back to the home.

I looked out on the road. There must have been an accident. The road was deserted but piles of straw were scattered haphazardly over a pool of dark red blood. It was getting dark and windy, and the blood- soaked straw swayed languorously with the wind. I walked quickly across the road back to my room. I tried to call her again, but there still was no answer. I paced back and forth until it was time for dinner.

When I went down to the dinner room, I could feel the somber mood. Nuns were crying, residents were blowing their noses and cleaning their glasses. I found out that the blood that the straw had been soaking in was Linda's. They couldn't understand why she tried to cross the road with all that traffic, or where she was even going.

The next morning, I washed my face and pulled out the toothbrush that had been my luggage and brushed my teeth. Since she had no family, they had the wake in the viewing room. I had ordered flowers but I didn't sign the card; I simply wrote, "We'll always have Paris." Her favorite movie was Casablanca, and she always sang the "Marseille" to me. It was our secret.

It was a closed casket, but placed on top was a picture of a young smiling woman; as young and beautiful as I remember her coming through that motel door.

It has been weeks since I lost Linda. My heart is broken. My spirit is spent. There's nothing left for me. She was my future and it has died with her. I cannot eat. I cannot sleep. I am drifting away and soon I will be with her. The nuns are kneeling around my bed, praying for my soul and talking about the weather.

Once again a door opens, and there she is, my radiant beauty. She reaches her hand out to me and we walk through bilious white clouds toward a golden gate that slowly opens to let us through. The path is covered with pink rose petals and on each side jealous old souls are lined up. They boo us and throw cloud rocks at us. We run through golden doors that suddenly open and close as we pass through. I realize we are in an elevator. And there is Saint Peter operating the control panel. He smiles at us and says, "Going up?"













                             Fines.



















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