Their Last Story

1

"And finally our elderly wing, These ones can be crazier than the crazies in the north wing, so my advice, don't get too close. Know what I mean?" The question fealt rhetorical so I didn't answer. Maybe that was a mistake because my tour guide looked at me as if I was simple and continued. "Anyway, so, you know what your job is, right?" Before I could answer she repeated the list of my duties for a seventh time this hour. "Laundry, floors, trash, bring food to those who take it in their rooms, be useful and stay out of the nurses way." Pretty hard to grasp, right?" 

The head nurse showing me around and beating my daily tasks into my brain, Jackie, was an alarmingly tall woman in her mid to late forties who had just as much grey hair as she had dirty blond hair. Her lips were thin as parchment and she had this hateful scowl that looked glued on. Then again, she could just be constipated. 

Jackie had spent the last hour and a half administering meds from her med cart and showing me around/introducing me to the forty two residents of the huge single story estate that is Honeywell Manor. A home for the elderly who occupy the west wing, the mentally unstable who occupy the north wing, and the severely injured in need of rehabilitation who occupy south wing. East wing was the kitchens, cafeteria, sitting room area. 

I was nobody important, just the assistant and nurse Jackie made that point abundantly clear thus far. I tried not to take it personal and tell myself that she looks like the kind of woman that treats everyone like an incompetent idiot.

"Oh, Ms. Jackie, Ms. Jackie, my bed has pixie dust in it. Ruthie is acting like a fairy again and sprinkled her pixie dust all ova ma bed." The voice was brittle and almost child like. The voices owner was an ancient, thin, fair skinned mulatto woman sitting in a torn old lazy boy that had once had rosy floral print. The chair must have been new about forty years ago. 

"Yes, Ms. Rose." Nurse Jackie huffed in an annoyed tone as she rolled her eyes but never actually looked at the elderly woman. "Ignore her." She leaned towards me and said in only a slightly lower tone than her normal speaking voice. "We all do. Besides, she has no idea what she's saying. None of them do. Dementia." She uses a finger to tap the side of her head, indicating the brain,  just in case I have no clue what dementia is, "Moving on -" She says in a clipped tone.

"Uh, Ms. Jackie, I need to pull the cans out of this ones bathroom." I say. I really do, but mostly I want to apologise to Ms. Rose for the way nurse Jackie treated her.

"Fine, I'll be giving old Mr. Todd, next door, his meds."

I turned from the rooms entrance and headed towards the back of the room for the bathroom. From my vantage of now just five feet away I could hear Ms. Rose's mumbling, "Ha, I don't know what I'm saying. Well I know what yous sayin, and it aint nothin kind." She huffed and puffed a little more, muttering inaudibly till finally I emerged from the bathroom, trash bag in hand, and asked her if she'd like me to check her bed.

"Oh, don't trouble yourself. I'm just going to sleep on it likes it's a beach."

I wasn't sure if she was being sarcastic or if she really had lost her mind, nonetheless a small chuckle escaped me. 

I closed the gap between myself and the small twin bed that was Ms. Roses' and shook out the tattered floral comforter. Sure enough, small particles of sand flew to the dingy linoleum floors. About a teaspoons worth to be exact.

"Oh, child, you's so kind. What's a pretty girl like you doin workin in a dump like this any how? Ye know, when I was your age I was a dansa."

Before I could formulate a proper response Ms. Rose was dreamily reminiscing some distant moment and our short conversation was over. I closed my mouth and gave her one last appreciative look before I left to catch up with nurse Jackie. I could believe with her tiny frame she was a dancer, perhaps a prima ballerina at one point. Then again, maybe not, since all the primas were Russian or some form of European when Ms. Rose would have been my age... But, she couldn't mean exotic... Right?

Ms. Rose was ancient looking. My mind flooded with dance clubs of Saigon arrows, trying to place her in one that fit. Perhaps she was a go go dancer in the '60s, or a burlesque dancer or maybe a flapper. My wondering mind drifted back to the present As I saw Nurse Jackie exiting the room of Mr. Todd.

We traveled the short distance across the hall to another single resident room. The room of Mrs. Sue Jones. Mrs. Jones room was a small sanctuary that reflected her native Japan. Beautiful art work adorned her walls. Replicas of Hokusai, Tensho and other artists, as well as gorgeous, real, hand carved wooden furniture all added to the sense of stepping out of Honeywells and into a luxurious Japanese palace bedroom.  The dark, claw footed armoire to my right looked like it should be in a museum. It stood just slightly taller than me by a few inches, so possibly five foot ten inches tall, at most. Ornate swirls of creatures and waves wrapped up the sides, the drawer knobs hosted the face of some kind of beast, maybe a dragon. The top was arched downward in the middle and the ends curved back up in the traditional Japanese architecture style. I'm told that design is supposed to be a protection against evil and that's why so many Japanese building have a U like arch adorning their tops. There were Japanese symbols painted in what looked to be real gold, embellishing the sides, as well as a kitana holder up at the top, just behind the arch. Looking at the armoire I realized i'd never wished for a piece of furniture to be mine more than this wooden wardrobe.

As I lifted my hand to touch a particularly interesting creature painted on the wardrobe the voice of nurse Jackie filtered into my mind and I quickly lowered my hand in shame. I brought my attention to the droning voice introducing this rooms resident, "This is Sue. She loves bananas and doesn't speak a lick of English. Her kids come to visit her every weekend and she's fine as long as she has a soduku book or some form of craft to do, usually knitting or weaving." 

"Ama." Sue said as I smiled at her.

I looked from Sue to Nurse Jackie with a puzzled expression, "Who's Ama?" I asked nurse Jackie.

"No idea. She's always asking for Ama. Maybe it's Japanese for mom. A lot of these old timers start asking for their mommas when their mind starts slipping."

I smiled a weak, depressed smile and went to the bathroom to grab the trash, then exited the room and shoved the bag into my cart, following in tow of Jackie. The great depression may have been in the thirties, but it felt like it never left this facility, or maybe this is just where all the depression settled. Everyone just looked so friggen miserable, staff and residents alike. Even the decor. Everything and everyone in this place looked like it was stuck in a miserable bygone era. Except maybe Money.

Mr. Money LeFranc, wheel chair ridden on the count of having no legs from the knees down, was about the only elderly resident who was in his right mind, according to nurse Jackie, and he was currently playing a beautiful tune on the piano in the sunny sitting room at the end of the wing, just a few feet away.  Even Jackie cracked the slightest smile at the sound and had a little pep in her step as she walked us over to our composer.

When Money stopped Nurse Jackie gave Money a lavish introduction. "This here is my main Bo, Mr Money LeFranc, amateur pianist as you can see. Loves long strolls in the back garden on sunny days after supper, always there to help someone in need, and can't resist a good gamble, it's why he's called Money."

Jackie seemed almost happy when she spoke about Mr. Money. She even had a hint of a smile in her ever so strict  expression. I looked back to Mr. Money and a genuine warmth spread around me like a blanket as we both smiled at one another. Money was Honeywell's ray of sunshine.