“See, you two were meant for each other all along. Francis wasn’t meant for me. I was just lucky enough to get him on loan for a short time. I realized he did love me for a little while, and that was enough.”
“So what are you saying, Vicky? That Frank and I should get back together?”
“Hell, I don’t know. It just seems like a damn shame… for both of you, as well as your kids.”
“I agree with you, it is a damn shame. For all of us. It’s not like we wanted it. We tried to make it work. We, well, I actually exhausted all possibilities trying to make it work. I just couldn’t do it anymore, couldn’t live that way.”
“Ain’t there any hope of you two reconciling?”
“Not at this point. I don’t see how. It’s funny, some friends of ours got divorced some time ago then got back together a couple years later. Within three months they were right back where they started and wound up splitting up again. I remember when that happened Frank said the whole thing was like taking a carton of spoiled milk and putting it back in the refrigerator to see if it’s better tomorrow. It’s gone bad! Just throw it out and move on. Anyway, that was one thing I agreed with him on.”
“You still didn’t answer my question.”
“I didn’t. I thought I did.”
“Is there hope for you two? Yes or no?”
“I guess there’s always hope,” Allison said tentatively, weighing the improbability of it all.
“But you don’t believe in miracles?”
“Do you?”
“I didn’t last week at this time.”
The final notes of Nessun Dorma swelled to a powerful climax and a pause of silence fell in between tracks. The roommate’s moaning had died down to a pitiful whimper. Vicky pointed to the curtain which divided the room.
“See I told you the music helps,” she whispered.
“She is better, isn’t she? Or at least diverted for a little while. Where is that nurse?”
“You know how it is in hospitals. They wanna see how much you can stand before they give ya any pain meds. It’s like a test of endurance.
“It’s all right, darlin’, the nurse is on her way. We got some more music comin’ for ya.” The roommate moaned louder in response to Vicky, just in time for the second track to begin playing.
Allison looked at Vicky’s face and noted the genuine concern there for her roommate. What an odd combination of good and bad we all are, she thought. I guess if you divvied it all up, my percentage of bad is no less than Vicky’s. Her “bad” is just more interesting than mine. She believed she had forgiven Vicky, or at least was on the way to it, but could she ever forgive Frank? Could there ever be good feelings between them again. Or at least good memories and some distance from all the bad feelings. Then maybe they could carry on a conversation about their children with all the logistics of where they were supposed to be, and when, and what time they needed to be picked up without it somehow morphing into a brutal battle of fault finding and blame. She would be happy with that. No, she would be thrilled with that.
The nurse finally arrived, bringing relief to Vicky’s suffering roommate and assistance to Vicky, helping her get up, move about and change into the new gown and robe that Allison gave her. The nurse suggested Vicky take a walk along the unit floor to get the muscles moving again and regain some strength. Allison said she would be happy to take Vicky for a walk; but first a girl has to get spiffed up before going out and she simply had to get Vicky’s face on before she allowed her to step foot outside that room.
Allison brushed Vicky’s hair and put a little makeup on her while Pavarotti crooned his tenor heart out in the background. The roommate’s medication, soon taking effect, caused the moaning to give way to the sound of deep sleep, steady breathing in and out with a trace of a snore. Allison handed Vicky her compact mirror when the makeover was complete. Her eyes and nose began to redden with the onset of tears.
“Please, don’t cry, Vick, you’ll smudge your mascara,” Allison said immediately pulling a tissue out of the box , blotting Vicky’s eyes and holding the tissue to her nose so she could blow just like she did with her children so many times when they were too little and helpless to do it for themselves. Vicky turned her head from her reflection and obediently blew. Then looking back in the small mirror she held in her hand she said, “My God, I look like Dandy Dan.”
“Who the hell’s Dandy Dan?”
“He’s this old transvestite I know from around.”
“You’re saying I made you look like an old drag queen?”
“Well, hell, I guess I contributed to it as much as you did,” Vicky said, and together they laughed just like in the old days.
“You let me be the judge of how you look,” Allison said. “Mirrors have been known to lie.” She scrutinized Vicky’s face from every angle, touching up here, brushing back there. It seemed to her that Vicky had been transformed by the touch of her hand from a drab dull grey to a more colorful creature. The pretty shade of lavender against her skin, along with the little color from the makeup caused hints of the old natural beauty to flicker through. “I think you look terrific! Let’s go for a walk.”
Allison helped Vicky to her feet and together the two friends walked down the hospital unit hall, Vicky in her long lavender gown, anchored between the IV pole and her old friend’s arm made Allison think of a wounded butterfly with a tattered wing.
“Remember when we used to jog together?” Vicky said
“We went at a little faster pace than this. But you could always out run me with those long legs of yours. Remember how after we jogged you’d always plop down on your couch, or mine, light up a cigarette and pop open a beer.”
“Remember that one time, we ran like five miles, came back to your place, ripped open a bag of Oreo cookies and a bottle of scotch? Remember how we was dunkin’ the Oreo cookies in our glasses of scotch before we ate ‘em. You was…excuse me, you were such a corrupting influence,” Vicky said.
“Yeah, right, my one little contribution to your corruption. What did we listen to that day? Remember our pact? Women artists only when the girls of Camelot 3300 got together,” Allison said.
“That’s right–girl songs only. All I remember about the scotch and Oreo cookies spree is that whatever the music was, we were singing along?”
“Most definitely, at the top of our lungs if I recall correctly. Was it Pat Benatar or Heart?”
“No, that was another time, with Sally I think. The scotch and Oreo cookies time wasn’t anything too rockin’ if I recall. It was somethin’ more mellow and folksie-like. But we was just drunk enough to think we sounded great. Oh, I remember… Joni Mitchell.”
“Yes!” Allison blurted out. “Both Sides Now.”
“Yeah, that’s it. Both Sides Now. I remember. We was… sorry, we were singin’ along, takin’ ourselves pretty seriously as I recall.”
“Yeah, we were quite the divas if I recall,” Allison said.
“Must’ve been a combination of the whiskey and chocolate that did it.”
“Do you still remember the words?”
“Hell, yeah!” Vicky bragged.
“No way!”
“It’s my short term memory that ain’t worth a shit. Don’t ask me anything about this past week ‘cause it’s way sketchy in my head, but the lyrics to a thirty-five year-old song by a cool chick artist, now that I remember.” Vicky cleared her throat and it sounded to Allison like twenty years of tears, mucous, and bile were caught in her throat and nothing could clear those raw, ragged larynxes and free up her those rough damaged vocal cords.
“Bows and bows of angel hair…” Vicky began tentatively but her voice failed her.
“Are you sure it’s bows and bows?” Allison chuckled. “I think its rows and rows of angel hair.”
“Naw, it’s rows and bows,”
“Or is it flows?”
“Hell, we can’t even get passed the first line,” Vicky said as she clutched her throat.
<
br /> “Well, let’s skip down to the middle,” Allison said, slowly leading along the shuffling Vicky. She hoped the reminiscing and silly attempts at singing might distract Vicky from the discomfort she sensed she was feeling.
“Just sing what you remember darlin’, I’ll jump in when I can,” Vicky said.
“Now it’s just another show. You leave ‘em laughing when you go. And if you care don’t let them know. Don’t give yourself away,” Allison sang barely above the range of a whisper. “Hop in Vicky, but don’t hurt yourself,” she said gently patting her frail little arm.
“Now old friends are acting strange. They shake their heads. They say I’ve changed,” Vicky spoke the words more than sang them.
“Well, something’s lost but something’s gained in living everyday,” they sang together.
“I’ve looked at love from both sides now,” Allison sang.
“I’ve looked at life from both sides now,” Vicky sang.
“Its love’s/life’s illusions I recall. I really don’t know love/life at all,” they sang in unison.
“Kinda maudlin, ain’t it,” Vicky said and Allison gave her a curious look as if she was trying to process just what was transpiring between them. “Maudlin. M-A-U-D-L-I-N. ‘Effusively or tearfully sentimental.’ It’s a way cool song. I guess it’s just not right for now.”
“Well, I’ll be, Vicky, you still remember your dictionary definitions. Did that come out of the same brain that couldn’t remember its own name yesterday.
“Hey, let’s sing something more upbeat by Joni. How about Big Yellow Taxi?”
“Don’t it always seem to go that you don’t know what you got ‘til it’s gone. They pave paradise and put up a parking lot.” The old friends sang together, this time Vicky’s voice was a little stronger. An orderly passed by and said, “Don’t quit your day job, girls.” Together they laughed which set off a coughing fit with Vicky.
“It’s okay….” She sputtered out, putting up a defensive hand to block Allison’s attempts to help. “I… came pre…I got Klee…” she fumbled in her robe pocket and pulled out some tissues. Allison thought she saw a splatter of red as she coughed into the crumpled up wad.”
“Are you all right?” Again Vicky’s hand came up to stop any intervention from Allison.
“I’m fine.” The words barely came out before Vicky was overcome with another round of coughing so violent it shook her body.
“Let’s get you some water. Are you strong enough to get over to that chair and sit for a while?” Allison asked as she approached Vicky, now ignoring her efforts to be left alone. Vicky stopped fighting and willingly gave Allison her arm. Her cough subsided somewhat as Allison steered Vicky’s body in the direction of a hallway waiting room area. Allison fished through her blazer pocket until she retrieved enough money to buy a bottle of water at a nearby vending machine. She brought the bottle over to Vicky who poured it into her mouth like a woman dying of thirst. Allison observed the difficulty she had swallowing; the water spilling out from the sides of her mouth, the head tilted back enough to reveal the clumsy obstinate gulping movement of the throat. But she seemed better after getting some water down. She wiped her mouth and chin with the unused corners of the wadded up tissue she held in her fist, then with that old mirthful, mischievous Vicky look, she raised her bottle of water in a toasting gesture toward Allison.
“Thanks for the water, girl! Even though I think you’re a dang fool to spend money on bottled water. Some lucky con man’s making a fortune outta this,” she said eyeing the bottle.
“Somehow I knew you’d disapprove of bottled water. But look at the back of the bottle. It says purified through reverse osmosis. Now as I understand, that process…”
“Reverse osmosis my ass! It’s a scam. It’s Ohio River tap water with a touch of sodium in it, so folks think, ‘wow, I can taste the pure, natural mountain stream minerals’. Not that I’m ungrateful. Thank you for the water,” she said taking a smaller sip that seemed to go down somewhat easier. Allison had the strange thought, hope maybe, something like a vision in her mind of the water going all through her, hydrating, cleansing, washing away somehow all of Vicky’s past.
Allison sat next to Vicky on the waiting area love seat. “You wanna sit for a while?” She asked.
“Judgin’ from your shoes, I think you need to sit worse than me,” Vicky said, eyeballing Allison’s high heeled pumps.
“Naw, I’m fine. I’m used to walking around in these things.”
“You sure, ‘cause we can stop and getcha some hospital footies at the nurses station. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind.”
“I’m good. Let me know when you’re ready to start moving again,” Allison said, staring into the face of Vicky transformed again from frail, sickly, and aged beyond her years to the old girl she once knew. Maybe it was only Ohio River tap water with a touch of sodium, but the water seemed to help. Little things helped Vicky it seemed; the pretty gown and having a chance to wear it, a simple touch, the little walk just down the hall, conversation, small sips of water, and, yes, though Allison hated to admit it, listening to Pavarotti.
“Okay, I’m ready. Let’s walk,” Vicky said. Allison helped her to her feet and together they made their way down another unit hall, and though it seemed the one old friend was leaning more on the other, the truth is there was mutual support. Helping Vicky, even just lending her an arm to assist her in walking was helping Allison too.
“I hear they got a hold of Chief Bobby,” Allison said only now remembering about him.
“Yeah, I saw him this morning. He was there when they moved me out of the ICU,” Vicky said somewhat nonchalantly.
“The last time I remember you mentioning his name you thought he was dead.”
“For a long time I believed he was. He let me think that and I ain’t sure I’ve forgiven him for it. On the one hand I understand why he did it. He got himself mixed up in some pretty dirty deals. I guess he figured if I didn’t know nothin’… sorry, if I didn’t know anything then nobody could hurt me, if you get what I’m sayin’.
“See, he wanted to get his life straightened out. Sorta like me only it didn’t take him as many tries to get it right. Well, not exactly, he’s had a few backslides, but overall he’s managed to get straight. He moved out to Oklahoma so he could get back in touch with his roots–our roots I guess you’d say but he was always more Shawnee than me. Remember I told ya, some of our Shawnee ancestors came back to Kentucky in the 1800’s to look for this silver mine.
“I remember.”
“Well, so he goes out to Oklahoma and gets himself a college degree and becomes a teacher. He learned a lot from the Shawnee people on the reservations out there and I guess you’d say he kinda became one of them. Then he became one of them…. sorry, one of those re-enactors. He travels around to different festivals and dresses up like an Indian and does this storytelling gig where he educates people about the Native American ways.
“Anyhow, I thought sure he was dead and gone until about, ummm…. fifteen years ago or so. Like early nineties, ‘cause I remember I was livin’ on Canal Street at the time. That’s back when I still had a roof over my head. Anyways, I guess he figured enough time had passed and it’d be safe to come back for a visit. So he tracks me down, shows up at my doorstep and about scares the living shit outta me. I thought sure I was seein’ his ghost standin’ there. But it was the real Bobby–in the flesh. So he tells me what’s goin’ on with his life and I didn’t know whether to hug him or smack him. So he tries to talk me into goin’ back to Oklahoma with him. I just couldn’t do it. So anyhow we kept in touch for a few years, but then I guess when I lost my home he never could find me to reach me no more so that was that.
“It’s strange, the booze really did a number on my head because there were times I felt so danged mental I couldn’t remember if he was still alive or dead. Anyhow, I guess he didn’t have much reason to try and come back and find me ‘cause I was so mean to him the last tim
e I saw him. He tried to get me to straighten out my life, dragged me around to AA meetings and the like. Anyhow it pissed me off. Pissed me off that he was too danged self-righteous to party with me anymore, and here he waltzes back into my life thinkin’ he’s got all the answers after he up and abandons me. I thought he was dead and he never contacted me all them years… those years before! So I blamed him for all my troubles ‘cause he promised he’d be my protector and look after me from the time we were kids and then he just up and bails on me.”
The tears that brimmed in Vicky’s eyes dropped down on her cheeks. She and Allison stopped for a little while in the midst of their walk while Vicky collected herself again. “But the truth is I just made myself mad at Bobby so I wouldn’t have to be mad at me. It ain’t his fault. He was only doing what he thought was right for me. Bobby’s just another person I disappointed. I failed him by screwing up my life. He didn’t fail me. God, I didn’t want to become this person. I don’t want to live this way. God, how did I get this way?”
“I ask myself the same question,” Allison said.
“Nothin’ wrong with you.”
“Except for the fact that I have a failed marriage. And failed relationships with my kids. I’ve got nothing to show for my life. Even the so-called good I’ve done–community and volunteer work, this board, that board, Junior League… it’s really all been for me, my image. It occurred to me while I was looking in the mirror this morning. How much energy I’ve invested into making the externals look good. It’s a good thing I can’t see my inner self in a mirror. I’d be horrified. We’re really not so different, Vicky. My life just looks neater and tidier on the outside. I’m a socially acceptable screw-up. But my future is as scary and uncertain as yours.
“So where are you going when you finally bust out of this joint? Are you going to live with Bobby?”
“I don’t know. Bobby was supposed to talk to a social worker today about that. I don’t know if I wanna put that on him. I may have to though. There ain’t a shelter or halfway house in this town that I ain’t worn my welcome out at. Poor Bobby! He’s got him a full life. Why should he be saddled with a chronic drunk in as shitty ‘o health as me. And I know I’m sicker than what they wanna tell me. They just gotta pretend like I’m all better so they can get me the hell outta this hospital. This one doctor keeps talkin’ like if I stay sober for at least six months they can put me on a waiting list for a new liver. And I know Bobby has to put together this living will for me. I just told him to turn all the dang machines off and let me go.
ODD NUMBERS Page 67