Dreaming In Color

by Charlotte Vale-Allen

  "You can go up now," Eva said, coming in with her aunt's breakfast tray.

  "Okay."

  Bobby moved to the sink to rinse her cup, but Eva said, "Just leave it." For some reason, Bobby's eagerness to help irritated her this morning. She snapped at the woman, then at once felt badly. But she couldn't clear a space in her mind that would allow room for an apology. All she wanted was to get to the computer and go to work.

  Shaken by Eva's abruptness, Bobby left the cup on the counter and headed for the stairs. She couldn't get a fix on Eva, thrown by her friendliness at one moment, her coolness the next.

  Alma merely grunted in response to Bobby's "Good morning."

  Bobby waited, prepared to take her cues from the older woman, and watched Alma as she struggled to shift herself to a sitting position on the side of the bed. She had to lift her dangling left arm and then her leg, her strong right side doing all the work.

  Instinctively, Bobby came forward to assist her into the wheelchair. Once in the bathroom, and out of the chair, Alma said, "You can take the chair. Leave it to one side of the door. I'll let you know when I need you."

  Bobby backed away to wait, turning to look at the room. There was a fireplace on the left-hand wall. Directly ahead was a wide window, in front of which was the armchair where Bobby had sat for the interview. To the right of the window was the bed. It was a pretty room, with pale blue carpet and sheer white curtains swagged over the window; an embroidered blue coverlet on the old-fashioned bed, and flowered wallpaper with a dark blue background. Books were stacked on the bedside table and in a row on the mantelpiece. There was a long, narrow bench at the foot of the bed, its top covered in hand-done needlework.

  Alma called to her, and she hurried across the room.

  "Get the water started. Not too hot," Alma told her, clutching one of several stainless steel rails affixed to the walls of the room.

  "Now," she said, when Bobby had done that, "help me out of this damned thing."

  Pretending she was undressing Penny, she got Alma's nightgown off, keeping her eyes averted. The tub had filled very quickly and she turned off the taps, then braced herself to bear Alma's weight as she helped her into the water.

  "I bathe myself," Alma told her. "But I don't mind company. Sit down there." She indicated a white enamel stool in the corner.

  Bobby sat. While Alma busied herself with the soap, she stole a look at the woman. It was nowhere near as bad as Bobby had thought it'd be. Alma was thin, but not down to skin and bones, and she had a better shape than Bobby had imagined someone her age would have. Her shoulders were wide, but her back tapered in at the waist; she had small breasts that didn't sag too much, and a bit of a pot belly. She had a nice long neck, something Bobby had always admired in a woman, and real long arms and legs. Once upon a time, Bobby decided, she'd been very good-looking. Half of her face still was. The other half looked good and mad all the time.

  "I'll do your back, if you want," Bobby offered, feeling awkward sitting there not doing anything.

  In answer, Alma handed her the soap, then took hold of the handle fastened to the wall above the tub.

  It was just like washing Pen, Bobby thought, lathering up a washcloth and breathing in the fragrance of the soap. She rubbed the cloth up and down and across, humming to herself under her breath.

  "You're good at this," Alma said, her head bent forward, lulled by the pleasurable motions.

  "Can you feel it on this side?" Bobby asked, rinsing the left side.

  "Some," Alma murmured.

  "What about your hair? When d'you wash it?"

  "That, my dear, is a production worthy of Cecil B. DeMille. We do it in the wheelchair at the sink twice a week. Mercifully, today's not one of those days."

  "But you could do it right in the tub," Bobby said. "You've got one of them shower spray contraptions. It'd be real easy. Really easy," she corrected herself. "We'd lean you back and get it done one, two, three."

  "I don't think you realize just how awkward that would be."

  "It wouldn't," Bobby disagreed. "You'll see. We'll give it a try when it's time."

  "You'll probably wind up drowning me."

  Bobby smiled and reached for one of the big towels on the rack. "I won't go drowning you," she said, bracing herself to assist Alma out of the tub. "I want to keep this job."

  It wasn't that hard at all, getting the woman shifted from one place to another. In some ways, Bobby thought, it was like handling a great big child. But one who could say some wicked hurtful things.

  Wrapped in the towel, Alma sat on the side of the bed and told Bobby what she wanted to wear and in which drawers of the bureau she'd find things. A silky pair of what Lor called tap pants, a slip, and knee-high stockings; a skirt and blouse and sweater. Simple as pie. She'd thought she'd be bothered handling a naked woman, but she wasn't. She felt a surprising kind of closeness in dressing her new employer, in drawing the stockings up her legs, getting those tap pants tugged up over her lean hips. All in all it was pretty satisfying; it made her feel in charge and competent.

  Once dressed and settled into her wheelchair, Alma opened the drawer of the bedside table and got out her cologne. She sprayed herself and Bobby breathed in the pleasant scent. As Alma returned the bottle to the drawer, Bobby had the idea that from now until forever she'd associate the flowery fragrance with this woman.

  "How about if I brush your hair?" Bobby said, reaching for the silver-backed hairbrush on the bureau top.

  "I'd love it," Alma said, and Bobby was pretty sure the woman gave her a smile.

  So Bobby felt around for all the pins, smoothed the long hair with her fingers, then brushed the silky gray mass, gratified by Alma's soft contented sigh. The sun shone warmly in on them and from moment to moment Bobby glanced out the window at the water. She actually felt happy. She liked the crackling thickness of Alma's hair sliding under her hand as she drew the brush through it, liked the fragrance of her cologne and the pool of warm sunlight that contained them. Time dissolved. She would have been content to stand forever, watching pinpoints of sunlight dancing on the water out there beyond the window, her hands at work.

  At last, she coiled the hair back atop Alma's head and carefully pinned it in place. "There!" she said, stepping to one side to give the woman a smile. "All set."

  Alma looked up at her for a long moment, then said, "What a kind little person you are."

  Bobby felt her smile get wobbly on her face, like something that'd been stuck over her mouth with glue and was about to fall off. She thought she might cry, but managed to choke out, "Thank you," and busied herself returning the hairbrush to the bureau. Clearing her throat, she said, "I guess it's time to go downstairs now," and waited for Alma to get the wheelchair aimed at the door.

  The compliment had rattled her, Alma saw, and felt a sadness blossom in her chest. It was all too obvious that Bobby was far more accustomed to abuse than to praise. How very sad, she thought. Three disenchanted females under one roof. But then she was forgetting Penny, that charming sprite. It really was lovely to have a child in the house again. More than anything else, she'd been missing the children.

  *

  After two days he swept all the shit off the kitchen floor, shoveling it directly into the trash can out back. The stuff on the wall could stay there. No way was he gonna touch it. Anyway, it kind of kept him focused. He cracked a Coors, his eyes on the wall. The way he figured it, she'd gone with the kid to one of them shelters, and she'd come dragging her ass back as soon as the shelter people threw them out, just like the last time.

  There wasn't a woman alive you could trust, wasn't one of them wouldn't sneak around on you the minute your back was turned. Bobby was no different. Only way to get hold of their attention was to smack 'em good, show 'em who was in charge. He squashed the Coors can one-handed and dumped it in the garbage. Not a goddamned thing to eat in the fridge. Fuck it! He'd head on down to Garvey's, grab a couple of brews and a burger. Then he'd cruise by tha
t Lor's place again, make sure the bitch and the kid weren't there after all.

  The phone rang. He picked it up, willing to bet it was Bobby begging to come home. But it was that weasely nerd from the Burger King wanting to know was Bobby going to be showing up for work. "She quit," he told the nerd, and slammed the phone down. "Asshole!" He looked at the phone. Maybe it was their way of being cute, making out like she wasn't showing up when she was actually shacked up with the nerd. He'd check that out, he decided, jamming the .38 in the back of the waistband of his 501's. He'd wait till closing then nail the nerd in the parking lot, shove the .38 up under his nose and see what fell out of his mouth.

  Six

  Thursday morning as Bobby was walking back to the house after seeing Penny off on the school bus, a dusty black Buick turned into the driveway and parked behind the Honda. A trim middle-aged black woman climbed out and stood for a moment, eyeing Bobby.

  "You the new nurse?" the woman asked doubtfully, approaching.

  "Uh-hunh."

  "Looks like you had yourself some kind of accident."

  "Uhm, yeah. I'm Bobby." Uncertain of the protocol, she held out a hand.

  "I'm Ruby," the woman said, with a bemused expression, giving Bobby's hand a quick shake.

  They entered the house together and Bobby stood in the foyer for a moment, appreciating the warmth. She'd gone out with only a sweater. Ruby busied herself hanging away her coat, and Bobby headed for the kitchen. She had a few minutes before she was due upstairs, and she wanted to tidy up her apartment. She quickly stacked the breakfast dishes in the sink, then made the beds. Planning to get to the dishes later, she went up to the kitchen to have another half cup of coffee before starting the day with Alma.

  Ruby came out of the utility room wearing an apron and carrying a bucket filled with cleaning gear in one hand, a mop and broom in the other. "When'd you come?" she asked.

  "Started Tuesday morning," Bobby told her, standing by the counter with her coffee.

  "How you finding it?"

  "It's fine," Bobby said. "They're real nice folks."

  "Uh-hunh." Ruby started rinsing dishes, putting them in the dishwasher. "You been working here long?" Bobby asked. "Nine years." "That sure is a long time." "Seen a lot of nurses come and go this past year," Ruby said, closing the dishwasher door.

  "Is that right?"

  "Six or seven, at least."

  "I'm hoping to stay," Bobby said, as Eva came in with Alma's breakfast tray.

  Eva said good morning to Ruby, nodded over at Bobby, then started in telling Ruby it was time to clean out the refrigerator. Bobby left her cup in the sink and headed for the stairs.

  While she was helping Alma from the bed to the wheelchair, she said, "I was thinking maybe you'd like me to take you out for some air. You know, in your chair."

  "I think not," Alma said curtly.

  "Why not?" Bobby asked.

  "I'd prefer not to be paraded in front of the neighbors. Leave me now." Alma pushed the bathroom door closed. Chewing on her lower lip, Bobby retreated to the bedroom to wait. She'd slipped up that time, she thought, wandering over to look at the titles of the books on the mantel. Better be careful, she told herself. It was real easy to rile these people. From the look of her this morning, she'd already done something to get Eva's back up. But she couldn't think what. Now that she'd opened a checking account and put in a change of address with the post office and stocked up on some groceries, she didn't want to be told she'd have to go. So she'd keep her mouth shut, keep her ideas to herself.

  While Alma was in the tub, Bobby sat on the enamel stool with her hands folded in her lap, not sure if she should again offer to wash the woman's back. But Alma looked over at her and said, "Today's a hair-washing day."

  "Okay," Bobby said, and pulled off her shoes and socks, then rolled up her pant legs.

  "What on earth are you doing?"

  "I'm gonna sit on the side of the tub, while you lean yourself back against my legs."

  "You'll get soaked. What's the point of that?"

  "No, ma'am. It'll be fine, you'll see. It's how I washed my grandpa's hair. All that'll get wet're my feet. It's bound to be way more comfortable for you than tipping your head back in that chair."

  Bobby removed all the hairpins, reached for the hand shower, got the water going, then with Alma hanging on to the support bar, she eased the woman back. "It's real … really easy," Bobby said, wetting the long hair thoroughly before applying the shampoo. She took care to be gentle, massaging the suds into the woman's scalp before rinsing it clean. "See," she said, "that didn't take but a couple of minutes." She eased her upright again, then wrapped a towel around Alma's head, folding the sides under so it stayed secure. "You got a blow dryer somewhere?"

  "Under the sink," Alma said, amazed by how effortlessly the job had been accomplished, and wondering why none of the other nurses had thought to do it that way. Probably they hadn't wanted to get their feet wet, she thought, and then had to smile at the metaphor. This young woman was remarkably resourceful. "I think I'm going to enjoy having you around," she said, as Bobby assisted her out of the tub.

  She was rewarded with a shy smile. "I sure do hope so," Bobby said. "I like tending to you."

  "Now, why is that?" Alma asked.

  "I like looking after people," Bobby said, enfolding the woman in the big bath sheet. "We'll sit you down right here on the stool and get your hair dry now," she said, locating the hair dryer and plugging it in. "You okay there?"

  "I'm fine."

  "Good."

  With a brush in one hand and the dryer in the other, Bobby set to work. Alma looked down at the young woman's bare feet. They were small and beautifully shaped, with high arching insteps. Alma wondered if she had trouble finding shoes. She doubted Bobby wore anything bigger than a size five. Her hands were small too. Altogether she was the size of some of the twelve-year-olds Alma used to caution about racing through the school corridors. Thinking of the girls gave her a pang. She missed their animation, their restless energy and barely contained impatience. She missed the small ones from the kindergarten classes, with their uniforms always askew and soft toys tucked under their arms, their socks forever crumpled around their delicate ankles. She didn't miss the parental interference, or the squabbling among the teachers, or the annual drives to solicit funds from alumnae. But the girls danced constantly through her mind, their laughing chatter a pleasurable echo. Occasionally, there'd been a girl who'd touched her in a particular way; something about her demeanor or her looks brought Randy to mind and she thought the two of them might have had just such a girl. She'd never imagined she'd live out her life as an unmarried woman, mother to no one. For years she'd expected someone to come along to replace Randy, to make her a wife and mother. But on the several occasions when the opportunity had been there and all that had been required of her was to say yes, she'd said no instead. Something of great magnitude had been lost, some fundamental ability within her had shut down for good, leaving her incapable of risking commitment. She'd given herself to a select few men with temporary abandon, deriving great sexual satisfaction from those encounters, but her brain—or was it her heart?—had remained out of bounds. They could touch her body—God knows she'd had few compunctions about that—but they could not touch that scarred-over area within her.

  Perhaps, unconsciously, she'd made the decision to live out her life alone on the day she'd withdrawn her savings to make the down payment on this house. Her mother had been greatly dismayed at Alma's announcement of her plans, and had come up to Alma's bedroom to talk to her, asking, "Why are you doing this?"

  "To have a home of my own," Alma had said, as if that should have been obvious.

  "But if you marry … "

  "I won't," Alma had declared, surprising herself and her mother. Until that moment she'd still believed there was a man out there who'd partner her, be her live-in companion and lover for the rest of her life. But she was taking a stand she hadn't expected to take
and, oddly, she found some grim measure of satisfaction in it. She was making a choice that would to a great degree determine the course of her future, and she reveled in her ability to make decisions and take action.

  "Not all men are like Randy," her mother had said, looking saddened. "He was weak-willed and foolish. I know he broke your heart, but …"

  Alma cut her off, despising the image of herself as something weak and shattered. "I'm certainly not brokenhearted," she'd insisted, denying the monstrous ache that resided permanently deep in her bones. "I'm not Cora, you know," she said, determined to make it clear to the entire world that she wasn't romantic at heart, or dependent, like her sister.

  "There's not a thing wrong with Cora," her mother said, frowning.

  "I didn't say there was. I'm simply telling you I'm not like her."

  "I know what you're like," Margaret Ogilvie assured her eldest daughter. "Your pride may one day be your undoing, my dear."

  Alma had laughed at this, and in an excess of fondness for her small, practical mother, hugged the woman, saying, "My pride will be my saving grace. It's what keeps me strong. It's what will get me ahead in the world."

  "Your intelligence will do that," her mother disagreed. "Your pride will only misdirect you. You, more than most women, more even than your sister, should have a husband and a family. You may be a big woman," her mother said cannily but with kindness, "but you have the soul of a more fragile being. I know you, Alma, and I know when you're doing something just to prove you can, not because it gives you any lasting satisfaction. But I can see I'm not going to get anywhere arguing with you. It's clear you've made up your mind and nothing's going to change it, so I'll give you this and have done with it." She'd reached into her pocket then to give Alma the check. "Your father and I have discussed it and we've agreed, since you're determined to go ahead with this, to help you get started, just as we helped Cora and Willard with their first house."