Today I Am Carey

by Martin L Shoemaker

  “Oh,” I say, “I do not mind.”

  Susan shakes her head. “I try to keep up; but now, with this hip . . .”

  “I can help,” I say.

  “Oh, no! Guests don’t have to clean.”

  Guests. I feel it then: Susan is happy to see me again, but also reserved. Not quite as much as when I first knew her, when I was Mildred’s caretaker, but reserved nonetheless.

  I had seen a little of this at Creekside: old friends who were not quite sure how to respond to my return. I can only hope that in time, these relationships will get back to normal.

  One way to get back to normal is to act normally. “I do not mind, Susan,” I say. “You know I like to help. We can talk while I clean up.”

  “Oh, but . . .” Susan sighs. “It really would be a help.”

  So I start straightening up, arranging the children’s things into piles to go upstairs later. I find that dust rags are where they always were, in the cupboard under the stairs. And I also see the six cleaning bots stowed away in their chargers, with their lights off. “Susan, is there something wrong with the cleaning bots?”

  “Oh,” she says, “we put them away. They were just . . . a nuisance.” She says nuisance; I hear reminders of me. But I do not bring that up with Susan. She is slowly adjusting to my return, and there is no need to go back over my absence.

  When the dusting is done, I tackle the dishes. The dishwasher is full, as are both sinks and the counter. “I’m sorry the place is such a mess,” Susan says.

  “Susan,” Dr. Zinta answers, “you’ve got a house full. Three active kids. No explanation needed, and no apologies.”

  “I know,” Susan says. “I love my grandchildren. They bring me so much joy. But sometimes they’re a handful. They’re in so many activities, and every one of them means more gear around the house. Dance shoes, baseballs . . . Oh! I’ve got Garrett’s baseball pictures.” She pulls a tablet from her purse and turns it to me to see. “See?”

  I look, and I almost do not recognize Garrett. “He has grown so much in five years,” I say. “He looks so much like Wayne now.”

  “He does,” Susan says looking down at her hands. From Susan’s tone, I believe that she is reluctant to discuss Wayne. But I do not press. She has her reasons.

  When I am done with the dishes, I say, “Is there any laundry that needs doing?”

  At that, Susan stands from her stool at the bar. “That’s enough, Carey. Thank you, but you’ve done enough already.” Then the door chime sounds, and Susan adds, “Besides, this has to be Millie.”

  The door opens, and I hear the heavy tromp of multiple footsteps. I turned back to the dining room just in time to see the children round the corner. From his pictures, I know Garrett; but Timmy and Tabitha I can barely recognize. Their eyes are the same, but so much else has changed as they have grown.

  But they recognize me. “Uncle Carey!” they cry out, practically in unison as they run up and wrap their arms around me. “Uncle Carey, you’re back!”

  As they let me go, I crouch down to their level. That is not nearly as low as I remember. “Yes, Tabby, Timmy, Garrett. I am back, and I am so happy to see you.”

  Timmy looks at me, and he frowns. “They said you were dead.”

  Susan gasps, while Dr. Zinta smothers a laugh. Timmy is as blunt and impulsive as I remember him.

  “I was broken, Timmy,” I say. “It took Dr. Zinta and your father a long time to fix me.”

  “I knew Dad could do it!” Garrett says, grinning with pride.

  “And he did,” I say. “But I was never dead. I am a machine, you know that.”

  “No you’re not,” Tabby says. “You’re Uncle Carey!”

  The look on her face as she says this is something I think would make a human smile. She is so stern, so determined. She looks so much like—

  “Hello, Carey.” I look up, and Millie stands just at the edge of the entryway. There is something in her face that I have never seen before: the set of her jaw, the narrowing of her eyes, the glare. She seems cold. Bitter.

  I stand. “Hello, Millie.” I am not sure what else to say, so I just hold my hands out from my side and say, “I’m back.”

  “I can see that,” she says. The bitterness is evident in her voice as well. Then she turns to Dr. Zinta. “Congratulations, Dr. Jansons. You do good work.”

  Dr. Zinta nods. “Thank you, Millie. We just . . . couldn’t give up.”

  “I’m impressed,” Millie says. “I gave up years ago.”

  “Millie!” Susan says.

  Millie turns to Susan. “What did you expect, Mom? It’s been five years. Eventually, we move on.”

  Susan frowns. I look at her, and in a soothing voice, I say, “It is all right, Susan. Millie is right. A lot has changed while I have been gone, and you all have adjusted. I cannot assume to simply walk back in as if nothing has changed . . . even if nothing has for me.”

  Millie sighs. “It’s not like that, Carey,” she says. “Just . . . Well, it’s that, and more. We have our routine. We have our new life. And now . . .”

  “I know,” I say. “You know I do not want to make anyone uncomfortable. You need some time to get used to this. I must respect that.”

  “But Uncle Carey,” Tabitha says, “can’t you come live with us?”

  Again I crouch down beside her, and I look into her eyes. “Thank you, Tabby,” I say. “It is nice to be asked.” I glance over at Millie, then I turn back to Tabby. “Let us not rush things. Your house is very full, and very busy. You would not want me to just rush in and change everything, would you?”

  “I would,” Timmy says.

  I pat his arm. “Thank you, Timmy. But let us take some time before we decide how to proceed.”

  With that, a seeming truce is drawn. I am a welcome guest, and that is enough. Whether I shall be more is up to Millie.

  We return to the living room, and the children pile around me on the couch and tell me of everything they can remember from the past five years. Tabitha shows me how she dances, and I compliment her on her grace. Garrett tells me about his baseball team and their race for a pennant. I have to admit that I do not know much about baseball. It was nothing that Millie followed.

  Timmy mostly sits by me, quietly holding my arm. I try to get him to say more. He answers direct questions, but he volunteers little more.

  Eventually, I notice that it is nearing dinner time. “Children,” I say, “it is almost time for dinner.”

  “Oh!” Tabby says. “Can you and Dr. Jansons have dinner with us?”

  I glance sideways at Millie’s face, and I see my answer. “No,” I say. “You know that I do not eat. And Doctor Jansons’s friend Dex is expecting her for dinner.”

  “Awww . . .” Timmy says.

  “It is all right,” I say. I extricate myself from the children, and I rise. “I will be back to visit very soon.” Then I give each child a hug, and Dr. Zinta and I head outside.

  Millie follows us out, and she stops me with a touch on my arm. “Thank you for understanding, Carey,” she says. “I just . . . need some time.”

  “I understand, Millie. That is what I do.”

  And I do understand. My empathy net is still functional. Millie is buried in powerful layers of emotions, some she may not even realize. She is happy for me to be back, but also surprised. She had not expected Wayne and Dr. Zinta to succeed in their efforts.

  And she is still resentful. She is arguably even right to be: She had begged Wayne and me not to go forward with our experiment; and the worst had happened, just as she had feared.

  In her next layer, Millie is caught up in an impossible wish: If I can come back, why cannot Paul? She knows that is irrational; but as I keep learning, feelings are not rational. At some level, she even resents me for coming back when he cannot. And she is angry at herself for that resentment.

  And at her outermost layer, Millie’s losses have made her afraid to trust. Afraid that she will get hurt again. That letti
ng me back into her life is one more person she can lose. Again.

  I understand all this, but I cannot tell anyone else. My privacy protocols. To others, Millie seems cold, harsh. Her new defenses make her withdrawn.

  I wish I could help Millie with this, help all of them. But I cannot until she is ready.

  39. Today We Perform

  Millie needs time, so I will give it to her. I shall maintain social contact, and make it clear that I am here for what she needs, but I shall not pressure her.

  It takes time to adjust to life with Wayne and Dr. Zinta. Their routine is nothing at all like Susan and Paul’s had been. In small ways, it is like I have returned to my life with Mildred. Dr. Zinta’s mind is fine and her body is still healthy, but she is more frail than Susan. She gladly accepts my help in and out of the tub, for example. She relies more on readymade packaged meals, and she wants to talk a lot. Susan has never been so chatty. It is pleasant to talk to Dr. Zinta, but it is different.

  Wayne, meanwhile, is changing. I think that my recovery has freed him from a burden of guilt that he has carried for five years. Slowly, his mood lightens, and he starts to discuss cybernetics with me. I foresee that his old optimistic nature will heal, given time.

  In the meantime, I still have my volunteer work at Creekside. The next day, I return to work. The nursing staff welcome me back. Nell takes me on a tour of the facilities, pointing out new equipment and changed procedures. She also introduces me to new residents. And of course, old friends want me to stop and talk. Even keeping the conversations brief, the tour runs up to lunch.

  I spend the lunch delivering trays to the rooms of residents who do not come to the dining hall. This duty, at least, never changes. The residents change, and the meals and instructions change, but not the responsibility: Bring them in their meals, talk to them, and take care of whatever they need.

  I am disappointed to find that Luke is still one of the shut-ins. “Luke,” I say, “do you want to come to lunch?”

  “Nah, Bo,” he says. “Maybe tomorrow. I got used to eating in here.”

  I nod, but I do not comment. Like Millie, Luke needs time to adjust. So I change the subject. “Do we start my lessons today?”

  “I suppose we could,” Luke answers. “When you’re free.”

  “I have lunch duties and cleanup until two. Shall I come by then?”

  Luke agrees; and promptly at two, I return to his room. I help him into his wheelchair, and we head out to the front lawn. There we start to work.

  For the first two weeks, Luke always comes out in his wheelchair. I check with Nurse Rayburn, and she says that Luke is approved for an assist suit, he just seldom uses it. So with a little persuasion, he agrees to wear it for our training sessions. In under a week, he grows comfortable with it, and he wears it everywhere. He returns to the common areas on a regular basis, and he starts dining with the other residents again. They welcome him back, almost as warmly as they had welcomed me.

  The only time Luke complains about the assist suit is when he tries to juggle. “Blasted thing!” he says. “It’s too steady.”

  After years of working with him, I understand what he means. A juggler needs to be relaxed, able to move fluidly in response to slight changes in trajectory. The assist suit gives him stability, but not agility.

  So, frustrated, he concentrates on my lessons. I discover that my joints have stiffened during my absence. My programming still tells me what to do with the balls, but my joints do not always respond correctly. Once I would have gone to MCA for adjustment and replacement parts if needed. Now Wayne and Dr. Zinta do what they can; but without replacement parts and a real lab, they cannot fully restore my function. I shall have to relearn my routine despite the stiffness.

  Another thing has changed during my absence. Once, Creekside had been on a quiet street, just the Home and the Estates and a handful of houses before the park. But today there are two new homes on the street, and three more families have moved in as well. Today there are children. The first I notice is a little boy, perhaps five years old, who lives in a house across the street. He comes out from his house one morning, sits under a tree in his front yard, and watches me practice.

  In a low voice, Luke says, “Don’t get distracted, Bo. You’re the artiste, he’s the audience. You don’t watch him, he watches you.”

  I nod, and I continue juggling. Luke has me practicing a complicated routine with a mixed set: balls, bowling pins, and a plastic cow. Every time I catch the cow, it moos, and the little boy laughs.

  That gives Luke an idea, and he says to me, in the same low voice, “Just the cow, Bo. Hacky sack style.”

  I nod, and one by one, I let the balls and the bowling pins drop until only the cow is airborne. And then, using my feet and my hands, I bounce the cow into the air. On every bounce, it moos, and the boy laughs again. Soon I hear continuous laughter; and despite Luke’s admonitions, I turn and look over at the boy. He is holding his side as he laughs.

  Then, distracted, I lose track of the cow, and it lands straight on my head with a loud moo. And the boy rolls on the grass, laughing.

  A young man comes out from the house and walks over to the boy, looking down at him with hands on hips. They talk, though the boy is still laughing too hard for words. He just points over at us. Finally, the boy holds up his hand, the man takes it, and they walk across the street. “Smile,” Luke says. “Here come the rubes.”

  The man walks over to Luke and says, “Hi, I’m Van Sherman, and this is Kenny.”

  “I’m Luke,” Luke says as he shakes hands with Van. “Nice to meet you, Kenny.” Luke and the boy shake as well. “And this is my buddy Bo.”

  I shake hands with both of them as well. Then Van says, “Is it all right if we watch?”

  Luke grins. “Van, the only thing an old circus ham likes more than an act is an act with an audience. You just made our day. Take a spot over there while I get Bo back to work.”

  As Van and Kenny move to the indicated spot, Luke leans in to me and whispers, “Hey, Bo, miss a couple here and there.”

  “What?”

  “Trust me, I know what I’m doing.” Luke hands me just the three balls this time, and I settle into my basic routine. Van and Kenny watch.

  Then at a nod from Bo, I miss the red ball. It bounces once on the grass and then rolls away. Kenny stands up and shouts, “I got it!” As I keep the green and the blue going, Kenny runs after the red ball. He picks it up and turns to me with a big smile on his face.

  Luke says, “Throw it back to him, Kenny.” Kenny looks at Luke, eyes wide. “Come on!” Luke says. “You can do it.” Kenny turns to me, and he lobs the ball in my direction. This requires a quick reaction from me. Luke has decades of training, so he always throws the ball with perfect timing for my routine. Kenny is young and has no clue what he is doing. I have to stretch, and I almost miss the red ball; but I catch it just in time to catch the green ball as well as it falls. I snap back straight, passing the red ball back into the cycle, and I keep juggling.

  So we add this into the routine. Occasionally I miss the ball, and Kenny chases it down and throws it back to me. His aim does not improve; but I learn to read it, so I get better at catching his returns. I briefly glimpse Van during this routine. His grin is so wide, it ought to hurt.

  Eventually, my internal chronometer signals. I catch the three balls, and I say, “I am sorry, Kenny, Van. That is all we have time for today. It is time for Luke’s medicine.”

  “Medicine?” Kenny stares at Luke. “Are you sick?”

  Luke carefully crouches down next to Kenny. “My head got hurt, a long time ago. I forget things.” Then he pokes Kenny in the stomach, and the boy squeals. “But I won’t forget you! Not if I take my medicine.”

  “Awww,” Kenny says.

  “That’s okay,” Luke says. “You’re welcome back anytime.”

  Kenny looks up at Van, his eyes bright. “Can we come back tomorrow, Dad?”

  “I’m sorry,” Van sa
ys, looking down at Kenny. “I have to go back to work tomorrow. You’ll have to ask the sitter. But remember: You’re not allowed to cross the street alone.”

  Kenny looks at me. “What if Bo comes and gets me?”

  Van looks at me as well. “I suppose, if Bo doesn’t mind.”

  “I would be happy to,” I say. And it is true. Luke stands taller, straighter. He grins. Having an audience has made him happier than I have ever seen him. And that makes me happy.

  40. Today Our Troupe Grows

  When I return to Creekside the next afternoon, Luke and I go out to the front to practice. Kenny stands in his yard, waiting for us. Before I cross the street, I make an exaggerated effort to look both ways. I want to set a good example. A teen girl—the babysitter, I assume—waves at me from the porch, and I wave back.

  I walk up to Kenny. “Hello, Mr. Bo,” he says, holding out his hand.

  “Hello, Kenny.” I take his hand, and we return to the north side of the road. Today Luke has me intentionally work Kenny into the act.

  The next day, Kenny is not alone. A taller, thinner girl with long blonde hair stands with him. She looks at me, and her eyes are very big. I think that I have seen her in the yard of one of the new houses.

  “Mr. Bo,” Kenny says, “this is my friend, Patty. Can she play too?”

  This question surprises me. I cannot give permission for another person’s child. “Patty,” I say, “is your mother or father at home?”

  In a very soft voice, Patty answers, “Mom is.”

  “Then I think we should ask her,” I say. I lead the children next door, and I ring the doorbell.

  A woman answers. From her eyes, her facial structure, and her hair, it is easy to see that she is Patty’s mother. She looks down at Patty and Kenny, and then up at me. “Can I help you?”

  “Please,” I say. “Patty would like to join us across the street. We’re practicing juggling.”

  “And they’re teaching me,” Kenny adds.

  “Yes,” I say. “Patty has asked to join us, so I wanted to be sure that that is all right.”