Barbara

 The card players assemble. Pat, Bonnie, Sue, Anna, and me.

The donation table is full tonight.  Rice Krispies, eggs,  

Campbells Noodle soup,  tuna,  bread, a watermelon.

 As she scoots her chair in,  Sue looks at the food, shakes her head. ” Barbara’s son  been shopping for her again?”

“Yeah He wasn’t gone a half hour when she brought that stuff down.”

"Was she angry?"

"She was muttering."

"Is this the son who was dead last week?" 

 No one responds, general soft laughter.

Sue shrugs, “I’m taking the watermelon. Anyone want half?

Tonight will be Sue’s last night. She has been accepted by Medicaid and is moving to  an assisted living residence tomorrow. They have meals. And a bus trip every day. Sue is excited and the other players are excited for her. 

The elevator bell rings and Barbara gets off and heads out the front door.

“Anybody got a roll of quarters?  “

“I do,” Bonnie says. “And I’ll take half the melon.”

“Is she okay? Should she be outside?” Pat asks,

“She’ll be back,” Anna says, “If not, I’ll go get her in a minute.” 

Melon and quarters are exchanged and set aside.

Bonnie deals. Sue finds a Hershey bar behind the cereal. "Eureka." she whispers, grinning.

In a long conversation on a bench out front years ago, Barbara  told me her life story.  She was friendly and welcoming and I, still new and feeling like an outsider, basked, and began to feel more at home.

She had been married to a minister– divorced, maybe dead. She said she had eight kids and none of them spoke to her. I didn’t ask questions then, just listened. In the last two years Barbara has mourned the deaths of two different sons, Both later turned up to visit her.

Barbara comes back in the front door and heads off down the B hall. The  women at the card table pause, silently watching Barbara.  

“She needs to be somewhere more structured,” Pat says. 

“She’s probably better off here than anywhere else they might send her.” Bonnie says. “With us.” 

 No one disagrees. 

Barbara returns from the B hall and rings for the elevator.

Play resumes, silently.

Before we quit Pat decides to take the cereal and the crackers. “Well, I feel bad for Barb,” she says, “but if she won’t eat it somebody else ought to.” Sue pats her on the back as they head aross the lobby. “Bye, everybody,” Sue calls to us as she turns into the C hall.

 

PART OF A LIFE OF TRAVEL SORTA LOST IN SPACE

I go down the three flights of stairs, headed for the Boston downtown library to see the Japanese miniature exhibit. I saw an ad for them in the Globe last weekend. Turn left on our street. Pass the lady on the other side of the street sitting on her steps smoking. Turn right toward the harbor to the T-stop.  It is down only one level here to catch a train to Boston. Thank goodness. When I come back from my meanderings this evening I will have to climb three levels to the street and I will be tired. It is an exhausting climb, and by then I will be beyond thought.

After checking the T map on the overhead I sit in an empty seat, pile my bag of books in front of my feet, and lean against the window watching the walls go by. I clock Au Bon Paine and then I guess I fall asleep.  

I feel an elbow in my side and a guy next to me says, “Your stop, Lady."  He coughs. “You goin’ to the library?”  I get up half asleep still.

I lurch to the door and step down onto the platform of the EL. Follow two ladies down the steps and exit the station.

Right in front of the Harold Washington Library. My favorite. Fairly new I think. I cross to the front doors. Head for the elevators. I can’t remember what I was looking for in particular, so I pause to look at the bulletin board while I think. I feel half asleep–or drugged. Dang.

At five I’m ready to head home. I decide to just walk north on Dearborn to my apartment and not deal with the EL.

I haven’t walked in days and really need the exercise. And to wake up. I have yet to feel alert today.

I walk and walk and walk. Van Buren, Jackson, Adams, Monroe, Madison. It’s farther than I remembered.

New York, Vermont, Michigan. Finally.

I check with Dennis at the desk before I go back out and enter the main door to Building One at Riley Towers. I pause in front of the elevator doors. I feel dizzy and kind of nauseated. I can’t recall my floor number. I sit on a bench in the lobby and close my eyes. 

I must have dozed again. When I open my eyes again, it is dusk outside. I am sitting in a booth at Martin’s Drugstore at the corner of State and Lexington. I can see the hardware store lights across State Street through the window behind the fountain. 

Only two blocks to go. North on State to the alley behind Fletcher. Left in the alley. Behind William’s Grocery. What used to be Margie’s house. The next yard is 1643. The next yard is empty. The house is gone. What to do now.

I know there must be more. Cuba, Georgia, Costa Rica, Florida, New Orleans, Mobile,Holy Spirit. All float around in there, dim, in and out, fade out again. I lie down beside the coal shed, which, surprisingly is still there. I’ll just sleep a while until I’m back at myself.  

The Scot girl artist plays in pastels

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bMojA4WHYxU&t=356s

Mary

Mary had a tiny dog. It was called Peanut. Mary loved her dog, as old ladies do.  Peanut was old too and he sickened and then died. Mary was friends with Larry, who lived in the C hall. Larry had a car. He and Mary ate out together a lot. Larry had diabetes and ate anything he wanted–mainly doughnuts– and his diabetes worsened. Larry’s diabetes got so bad he had to move away to a nursing home. He possibly had an amputation of one leg, but we aren’t sure about that. Mary was sad. Before long, Mary decided to move back to Mississippi, where she was from and where one of her daughters still lived. Mary had other children living in other places. Mary left messages on the phones of all her children, announcing her plan to move back to Mississippi. Mary told us all that she would be moving back to Mississippi. 

 

At the card table we discuss Mary. 

“I wonder why she decided to move away. I thought she was happy here.”

“Maybe because Larry moved away.”

I said, “and because her dog died too.”

Anna, “definitely because Larry moved.”

The talk moved on to the new woman with the long blonde hair and Sue won the hand and the quarters.

Juanita, who was a close friend of Mary, was sitting in the foyer alone, so to start conversation, I said to her, “I bet you are going to miss yor buddy, right?” She knew I meant Mary.

“If she goes,” Juanita muttered. Nothing fazes Juanita, who turned 92 last month. Juanita is also from Mississippi. Maybe that’s why she and Mary bonded.

“Has she changed her mind”, I asked.

“None of her kids called her back”, Juanita sounded angry. 

I understood the anger. And the sadness underneath it. Poor Mary.

Time passed.

At the card table Sue said, “I guess Mary won’t move then.”

“No, None of her kids called back.”  Anna the realist spoke.

We agreed it was very sad, and that day was another of Sue’s lucky days at cards. She won a second hand and the quarters. 

Mary didn’t mention Mississippi again. She stayed in her apartment for a week or so, then began to come out. She and Juanita were soon a regular sight in the foyer again.  

The lady with the long blonde was called Ada. She had started going around with Ronnie. 

We had to skip cards for a week because Pat’s sister-in-law, Bootsie died and Pat went to stay with her brother for a few days after the funeral.

From Wait, But Why

The fun thing about being a blogger is you can write about whatever the fuck you want.