Flee, Fly, Flown

by Janet Hepburn

  The uniform points back toward the entrance. “We’ll come and get you if we need you. Please have a seat in the waiting room.”

  Audrey follows us in and plops down in the chair beside my gurney.

  “Ma’am,” the uniform says, “please wait outside with your friend.”

  “No thank you,” Audrey says. “I’ll wait here.”

  The uniform clenches her jaw. I don’t think she’s used to being contradicted, but she seems to know better than to argue with Audrey.

  “Do you have a health card, Mrs. Gorsen?”

  I don’t know what she means. Birthday card? Anniversary card? It doesn’t make sense. “No, Dear. I have no cards.”

  “No health card? Your friend said you live in Ottawa.

  Is that right?”

  “I don’t know.” I turn to Audrey, but she is absorbed in reading the labels on all the packages on a shelf near her chair. She ignores the question about cards. She probably doesn’t have any either.

  “Can you tell me why you’re here?” the woman asks.

  Again, I’m not quite sure what she means. Here in the hospital or in whatever city we’re in? I try to explain. “We’re in the van because the car isn’t ours. It’s more comfortable anyway. I fell. I know that. My hip is throbbing like a giant toothache. It’s making me feel like I’m sitting on an angle and I’m going to topple over. Can you do anything about that?”

  “I need to get you registered before we can do anything else. The young man said your name is Lillian Gorsen. Is that right?”

  I just look at her. I’m not sure anymore.

  “I’ll need some identification. Can you have a look through your pack there please?”

  She unzips the backpack and sets it on my lap. I pull back as the scent of dirty laundry, urine, and sweat, hits me. These can’t be my clothes. They smell like some of the men at the nursing home who wear the same outfit every day. Not me. I hand the pack back to the uniform.

  “Is this not yours?” she asks.

  Audrey answers. “Yes. Remember Lillian? It’s yours.”

  The nurse nods. “Maybe we’d better ask the young man to come in here and clear this up.”

  I’m starting to feel nauseous. “Can’t we just move this along? I need someone to look at my hip before I pass out with the pain. Why is it taking so long?”

  She shifts the head of the bed down a bit and stuffs pillows behind my lower back and under my knees. I lean back to test this new position. Better, but my hip still hurts.

  “Lillian,” the uniform says, “this fall you had, did anyone push you or cause you to slip?”

  “No.” I try to remember the details. There was water.

  I remember that. I was cold and wet. “I was swimming. My sisters and I were swimming and diving off the raft that Dad built. No. It was Albert. Albert built the raft.”

  The uniform turns to Audrey, but she just shakes her head. “I don’t know. I worried that Terry might have pushed her, but she said no.”

  “Terry? Who’s Terry?” the uniform asks.

  “My husband. He’s dead now.”

  The woman pats Audrey on the shoulder and leaves the room. I’m so glad that Audrey’s here. We understand each other. I just need to know she’s in the room; that she’s near if anything should happen. I feel responsible too, responsible for Audrey’s safety. We’re friends and we need to stick together.

  Something is hissing and beeping, bumping and rolling behind the curtain. A cloud of sleep floats just beyond my head. I try to open my eyes, but my eyelids are heavy, locked tight. I fight harder to wake up. I need to be sure my friend hasn’t gone somewhere while I’ve slept.

  There she is. I breathe deeply, filling my lungs with oxygen. I relax a bit. Audrey is curled up under a blanket in a bed right beside mine. Someone must have rolled another cot into the draped rectangle that is now my room. But there is something missing. I try to focus. Something. I feel around the bed for my green and purple quilt. It’s gone. I can’t think when I’ve last seen it.

  The fluorescent lights are out and I can feel that afternoon has turned into evening. There’s a small commotion outside the curtains, a voice I should recognize but can’t quite place.

  “Where is she? Can I see her?”

  The uniform leads a woman into our enclosure, and I’m surprised to see that it’s Carol. She is standing beside me. Tears are rolling down her cheeks, and she’s wiping them away just as fast as they appear.

  “Mom. I’m so glad you’re all right. The nurse told me what happened. I can’t believe you held on; that you survived in that river.”

  I don’t know what she’s talking about. I try to sit up but can’t. She rubs my arm and gives me a hug.

  “Just rest. You’re going to be fine. Your hip is just badly bruised.”

  Audrey rustles about. She rolls onto her back and smiles. “I see we have company,” she says. “Hello. I’m Audrey.”

  “Hello, Audrey. Nice to see you again. Carol.”

  “Carol? Our daughter?” Audrey says. She looks around the room, her forehead scrunched into a frown. “Are we home?”

  “No, not yet,” Carol says. “Soon. I took an early morning flight to Calgary and your friend, Rayne, caught up with me by phone before I got on the plane to Medicine Hat to tell me that you and Mom were here in the hospital. I got here as quickly as I could.”

  Audrey smiled. “I love that boy. Where is he?”

  The uniformed woman answers. “He left a while ago. He told us the story of what had happened, and then he contacted Lillian’s daughter and son and your niece. After he spoke to them and he knew you’d be okay, he said he had to leave. He asked me to give you this envelope.”

  Inside, there is a small bundle of twenties and a note. “Sorry. This is from Blazing Sevens. I’m not sure why I held onto it. Didn’t spend any, but kept enough for gas to get home. Rayne.”

  “Where did he go?” Audrey asks.

  “I’m not sure. He just said he had to go,” the uniform says. She turns to Carol. “I’ll leave you to help them get dressed. Take as long as you need.”

  Carol is looking at me now, and I am watching her, plotting our next move.

  “Carol, Dear, I’m glad you’re here. We could use a new driver since Albert has jumped ship and taken Blondie with him. It will be scrumptious having you along. We don’t do enough together, mother and daughter—and Audrey, of course. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Mom, you know that’s not possible, don’t you?”

  “I know nothing of the sort.”

  Carol helps me sit up, kneels and fits shoes onto my feet, laces them tight. “Where’s your sweater? You’ll need it. The evenings are cooler out here.” She turns to Audrey and helps her with shoes as well. “Come on, you two. I’m taking you home. There’s a red-eye flight heading east with a few empty seats, and we’re going to be on it.”

  Audrey’s eyes light up. “A plane? I’ve never been on a plane. Come on, Lillian. This is gonna be great.”

  My hip whines and complains as I ease down from the gurney onto wobbly legs. Carol takes my hand and gently draws it through the crook of her elbow, supporting me, keeping me close.

  The nurse insists I ride in the wheelchair, and I think that maybe, just this once, I’ll go along. And so we leave here, bags piled on my lap, nurse wheeling me to the door, Audrey holding her cane with one hand, Carol’s arm with the other.

  We’re in a rental car on the way to the airport. Carol is driving. Audrey is still moping about Rayne being gone. I say good riddance. The boy has issues. We could have done it without him.

  “Will the plane fly over the mountains on the way to B.C.?” Audrey asks.

  “We’re not going to B.C. Audrey. We’re going back to Ontario,” Carol says in a voice that s
ounds too soft to be Carol’s.

  “And we’ll need to have a long talk about where you will be living,” she says to me.

  “Talk all you want, Dear. I’m not going to another Home.”

  “We’ll see,” she says, glancing at me quickly and then returning her attention to the road.

  “You bet we will,” I say. “We’ll see, indeed.” I pat the envelope that bulges in my pocket, search through my pack for my pen and pad. I need to make a note. So I don’t forget.

  Acknowledgments

  I gratefully acknowledge the support of Ontario Arts Council for its financial assistance during the completion of this book.

  I would also like to extend many thanks to Erika de Vasconcelos and Harold Rhenisch, for help with parts of this manuscript at its various stages, and to Carolyn Jackson and Margie Wolfe at Second Story Press and Kathryn Cole, for their thoughtful editorial suggestions, their wisdom and encouragement. I wish to acknowledge the help of Allan Briesmaster, who gave insight and guidance regarding the details of a good query letter and the value of persistence.

  I am grateful to first readers Gary, Jordi, Jon, and Gavin, Barb Hourigan, Liz Barrett-Milner, Kit Julian, Jane Goodlet, Jane and Dave Beckett, Jody Overend, and Amber Homeniuk. I am most thankful to Gary for his extraordinary support, unwavering optimism and good humor, and to our children, Jordi and Jon, for their constant and spirited inspiration.

  I would like to acknowledge the use of lyrics for “Side by Side,” Gus Kahn, 1927, and for “You Are My Sunshine,” copyright 1940, Peer International Corporation, by Jimmy Davis and Charles Mitchell.

  About the author

  Janet Hepburn is a writer and poet whose work has appeared in numerous publications. She was shortlisted in the FreeFall 2011 Annual Poetry and Prose Contest and has been a regular contributor to a regional weekly newspaper, writing personal life stories of passion and success. Her travel stories have been published online. Flee, Fly, Flown is her first novel. She lives and works in Port Dover, Ontario.