Natural Bridges

by Debbie Lynn McCampbell

  “Uh, no,” said Birdie, “He’s just tired.”

  “Well, if the good Lord forgives us all and teaches us to do the same, then your Daddy has to forget this whole thing.”

  “Right,” said Birdie.

  “Good night, Bird. Say your prayers.”

  “I’m going to do math problems,” said Birdie and hung up the phone.

  10. The Discussion

  The next morning, we talked Hazel into attending the sermon with us, and we were all real quiet driving home. Hazel drove, and Momma waited until we were in the driveway to tell her to come in for a family matter.

  We found Daddy on his second cup of coffee, watching Andy Griffith. He looked up, but only for a brief second. “Lookie, here, Birdie,” he said, pointing at the TV set, “this is that episode you like where Helen Crump’s niece gives Opie a black eye over a baseball game.”

  “Flip it off, Bird,” Momma interrupted, “we’re all here now.”

  “Hello, Raymond,” said Hazel. “I hear Mother did a number on you over the garden ordeal.” She stood in his view of the TV set, winked playfully at him. “The old broad got you this time, huh?” She laughed, sat down on the sofa across from Daddy, and kicked off her sandal pumps.

  No one said anything. Momma bored her eyes through Hazel.

  “Well, would you look at these serious faces. Tell me, now, if this is going to be another long discussion like we had over those mortgage papers, I’m going to get up now and take these hose off.” Hazel waited.

  “It’s about yesterday,” Momma hinted. She eyed Daddy to see if he wanted to start it, noticed his tight lips, then said, “Raymond wants to move her up there to Peaceful Pastures. Next week.”

  Hazel sat up and frowned at her brother-in-law. “You know damn well she won’t go, and, Raymond, I’d have to quit my job. No way I could work with her being up there. There’s enough senile ones in that place without adding her to the bunch. What are you so mad about anyway; they didn’t make you pay the fine did they? You were only locked up for what, an hour at the most?”

  “That’s not the point,” said Raymond.

  “Daddy’s had enough,” said Birdie. She’d turned down the sound on the TV, but the picture was on. Opie was sitting at the dinner table, wearing dark sunglasses to cover his bruise.

  Momma looked at Birdie, then at me.

  “He’s fed up,” I said.

  “You’ve had enough, Raymond?” asked Hazel. “Mother’s a block aways from us now, so now you want to put her in a place where we are going to have to drive to, to take care of her? That’s going to be even more trouble. Peaceful Pastures is a good fifteen miles from here, and you got the traffic to deal with; I hit it every morning.”

  “Well, that’s just it,” said Daddy. “With you working there, someone in the family would be looking after her. Full-time.”

  “Oh no, you don’t. Fern, can you believe this? Tell your father I’m not going to be stuck with her alone,” Hazel said.

  I kept watching the TV, not saying a word. I felt my neck tense up, and rubbed the knot as if I were only scratching.

  “Sylvia and the girls and I have been waiting on her every whim for five or six years, while you were gallavanting back and forth to Florida,” said Daddy. Then below his breath he mumbled, “It’s time someone else took the burden for a change.”

  I looked over at Hazel. Now Daddy had done it. She lit a cigarette and dragged so much her cheeks caved in. Mentioning the Florida ordeal set off her nerves.

  Jimmy bounded into the room, tail wagging, and crawled onto Birdie’s lap. He licked her face, looked around the room, pleased to find everyone in his sight at once.

  “Hazel,” started Momma. “You know I’ll continue to help all I can; we’ll all do our fair share. We can clean her room, press her clothes, pick up her prescriptions …”

  “That’s right,” I offered, feeling I ought to say something.

  “Hazel.” Momma was trying. “We know you’ve been doing for her; we’re, I mean, Raymond’s just too tired anymore.” Momma looked apprehensively at Daddy.

  Hazel sat silent a few moments longer, sucking smoke. I watched her concave cheeks as she smoked her cigarette down past the line. She finally spoke. “Did you try the Addison Home or that Care Center up on Hillcrest?”

  “Called them this morning,” said Momma, head lowered, “Addison’s full, and the Center don’t allow plants in the room. Even called that new Franklin Manor Retirement Home just south of Pilotview; too expensive. They wanted four hundred right up front for deposits.”

  “I hear that Center has a great nursing staff, always on their toes and they’re real nice to the residents. I know we got a problem with that at Peaceful; the wheelchair ones complain a lot.” Hazel shifted on the sofa.

  “Grandma needs to have her plants in her room,” said Birdie.

  “Birdie, Honey, why don’t you go to your room. Take Jimmy with you. Don’t let him lick your face.” Momma frowned at her and nodded towards the stairs.

  “No,” Daddy said, “you go on up and get your grandmother together. Walk her down here in an hour.”

  “What are you going to tell her, Raymond, that you’re just kicking her out? Just like that?” Hazel reached deep into her purse, shuffled things, unloaded a broken powder compact, an emery board, a few hair rollers, and finally found another pack of Winston Lights. She lit one up, sat back, and exhaled a long stream of smoke towards the ceiling. Then she pulled off her panty hose and dropped them in a wad down by the sofa. “I got to see this one.”

  I looked over at Momma. I knew she didn’t agree with this decision. She knew, as well as I did, how much Grandma’s sanity depended upon managing her little house and garden. But Momma was powerless with Daddy. His will crippled hers. At that moment, her weakness seemed strange in contrast to her massive body. I hated the way she such effort—a heavy hoist and sigh. Always left over right, foot suspended way out there, unable to swing. Her hem crept up midthigh, clung to her hips, with slip exposed, pantyhose stretched so tightly I could make out the separate nylon threads. She must be suffocating, I thought.

  Birdie finally stood up, turned off the TV, looked at me for a signal. “Where should I tell her we’re going?”

  Hazel leaned into the coffee table to ash. “Tell her to Hell, Birdie. Might as well, she’s gonna put us through it.”

  “Hazel,” scolded Momma. She frowned upon profanity.

  “No,” said Daddy. “Tell her we’re going for a ride.”

  11. Sinners Come Forward

  Birdie and I walked up the road to Grandma’s house and found her eased back in the orange vinyl recliner in front of the TV set, watching Billy Graham. The choir was singing “Pearly White City” and she was humming along. Other than Florabelle’s wedding, Grandma hadn’t attended a church in the past thirteen years; it was a strain on her bowels to be too far away from a rest room. She didn’t look up as we came in.

  “Anybody saved today?” asked Birdie.

  “Not yet, he’s calling them down to the altar now,” said Grandma. She was eating a peach; juice dripped from her lips when she spoke.

  “Get cleaned up; Daddy’s taking us all somewhere,” said Birdie.

  “Where? Right now?”

  “What shoes do you want? I’ll get them.” Birdie headed towards the bedroom.

  I sat down on the sofa.

  “Get my white ones with the buckles,” called Grandma, then to me she said, “Are we going back to that Western Sizzlin? I didn’t like my sandwich when we was there last.”

  “Then we won’t go there,” I said. “Throw that pit away.”

  It was an effort for Grandma to wrap the peach pit up in a paper towel; her knuckles were swollen more than average this morning. Birdie put her shoes on while I picked her hair and slipped a blue cotton sweater over her shoulders, the one we’d given her last Christmas.

  “Can’t we see how many sinners come forward?” she asked, watching Billy revive souls.


  “No, everybody is waiting,” said Birdie. “God forgives everybody anyway; you already know how it ends. Come on, let Fern button your sweater.”

  It took nearly thirty minutes for Birdie and me to walk Grandma back down the hill to our house. The doctor had told us back in January to get her out and walk once a day, but she fussed every time. Birdie would always try to coordinate this, usually at five o’clock, just before dinner.

  We took Hazel’s Dodge to fit everyone, as Daddy’s truck was only a single cab. On the way there, no one talked about anything except to point out cars in which they thought they recognized the passengers.

  Hazel saw two cashiers from Mac’s Market. Momma saw our church organist’s husband in his new sports car, with some woman she didn’t recognize. I kept my eyes peeled for a purple mail jeep.

  “Wasn’t that Gertrude Hampton from the craft store?” asked Grandma, leaning over me, pointing a crooked finger at an intersection.

  “No, it couldn’t have been, Mother, she’s in Arkansas visiting her daughter,” said Hazel.

  It very well may have been Gertrude Hampton, but whenever Grandma thought she saw someone she knew, we more often than not ignored her because of her cataracts.

  “I could have sworn it was her,” said Grandma.

  I wondered if I would see those three strangers again at Clem’s this week, maybe looking for a bait store. I could mention the fresh minnows in the pond behind the post office or suggest a lure. Maybe I could ride along with them to point out the good spots along the gorge, the places where I had been lucky. As I listened to the hum of the car motor, daydreaming, we passed a sign that said “Peaceful Pastures Nursing Home, Exit 21.” I realized that Momma was trying to ask me something. I was angry with myself for letting my mind wander to such nonsense rather than concentrating on the situation at hand. “What is it, Momma?”

  “Do you want to talk to your Grandma?”

  I put my arm around Grandma and gave her a little squeeze. I didn’t understand, right at first, what Momma was asking.

  Grandma patted my hand on her shoulder, smiled at me, then yelled to the front seat, “Raymond, you passed all the restaurants, where are you taking us?”

  There was silence. Daddy was driving faster than usual, though cautiously. He had the air conditioning set on max. Most times, he was more conservative than this. He looked in the rearview mirror at Grandma, who was wedged between me and Hazel. Birdie was sitting on Hazel’s lap. Hazel had the window cracked open a bit to smoke, but Birdie had her hand over her mouth and nose to ventilate.

  “Hazel, the air’s on, roll up your window,” said Momma, from the front seat. She always felt the need to break silence.

  “Fern, why don’t you tell your Grandma what this is all about,” said Daddy, all of a sudden. He was looking right at me through the rearview mirror.

  I looked at Momma; it was then I knew. With some effort, Momma shifted in the seat, and looked back at me, desperately. I had to be the one. Always. I was trying to think of something, something gentle to say to Grandma that would explain what was going on, when Hazel jumped in with no warning.

  “Mother,” said Hazel, “Raymond’s taking us up to Peaceful Pastures to have a look around.”

  We waited.

  “Is that what this is all about? I’ve done seen where Hazel works,” Grandma said, disappointed.

  There was another pause.

  “You’ve never walked around up there,” said Hazel. “They’ve got a nice chapel garden, and every resident is allowed one plant in the bedroom and one in the garden. You can water it yourself if you want or have Maintenance do it.”

  Daddy looked back at Grandma to see if she had yet caught on to what was happening. She was staring straight ahead. Birdie and I exchanged looks across Grandma’s lap. Grandma sat motionless. The way she drooled every so often nauseated me. Her chin was damp now with saliva.

  “Mother,” started Momma, “we think you’d like living up there. They take real good care of everyone; good food, they got TV lounges, aerobics, prayer groups, a bowling club; they let you cook your own meals on Saturdays, have visitors anytime, and all kinds of special parties and outings.”

  “I can come see you after school every day but Tuesday because of softball,” offered Birdie.

  Grandma began, then, to sob, which made Birdie cry. This would be the hardest for her.

  Momma, too, was red-eyed and looked exasperated. Sweat beaded on her face and neck. Hazel sat looking cool and expressionless, but her hand trembled as she patted Grandma’s other shoulder.

  Daddy was the only one who seemed unbothered by this mission. He even looked relieved. He wasn’t, by any measure, feeling like the bad guy.

  “Mother,” said Momma, voice tight and desperate, “we don’t really have a choice; we’re just all too busy to wait on you hand and foot all day, and you do need help with things, you know you do. You’ll have a lot less to worry about up there.”

  No one spoke another word, nor even really moved, until we reached the Manor. As we pulled into the parking lot, we were waved through by a security guard standing in a visitor shack.

  When Daddy had parked the car and shut off the motor, Grandma finally spoke. “I guess I’m being punished,” she choked, “put to pasture. Looks like the good Lord has made up his mind about me.”

  12. Settling In

  We spent all day Monday and Tuesday moving Grandma’s things up to Peaceful Pastures. The staff said she cried off and on both days, but she seemed okay healthwise. No fever, no rashes.

  We brought all her clothing, some personal items, and toiletries over in two loads. Hazel hung all her clothes on new hangers and wrote “Esther” on every shirt label, with a permanent marker. I labeled all her undergarments and folding clothes, and Momma took care of her lotion bottles, lipsticks, medications, and Kleenex boxes.

  Grandma’s room was small, with two twin beds, a thin curtain drawn between them. Next to each bed was a night-stand. Facing the beds were two identical chests of drawers, positioned between two small closets. One window, by the bed on the far side, where Grandma was assigned, overlooked the parking lot. A door opened into a bathroom, in the corner of the room. The toilet was in the exact center of the bathroom to allow space for a wheelchair on either side or in front of it.

  We had brought a chair from Grandma’s house, and we shoehorned it in between the nightstand and the doorway to the bathroom. As we worked at the labeling, Grandma lay in her bed, silently; Momma sat on the edge of it, me at the foot, and Hazel in the chair. Birdie was wandering around, exploring the place.

  “This one’s run out of ink,” said Hazel, shaking her pen. “Fern, give me yours when you’re done.”

  “Now, Mother,” said Momma, “don’t be opening all these lotions or nasal sprays until you’ve used up a whole one of the others. Just keep one of each thing open at a time in this drawer and leave the rest of the supplies in the closet. You can’t afford to be wasteful, and you don’t really have the room.”

  “They probably make you label stuff because folks steal it,” said Grandma.

  “Now don’t start,” said Hazel. “No one’s going to take your deodorant or anything else.”

  I labeled the last bra and handed the marker to Hazel. Grandma wore a size 44, Double E cup, and the bra looked too large for the little room. I was beginning to feel cramped up, and I wanted some fresh air. The room smelled medicinal and moldy. This room is a world, now, I thought. Grandma’s whole world, stuffed into a tiny closet and three oak drawers.

  Birdie entered the room, eating a Snickers bar.

  “Who gave you that?” asked Momma.

  “A lady who thought I was her daughter-in-law, Patty. She gave me the candy bar and told me not to trust the painters, said they only give off frozen batteries.”

  “Alzheimer’s,” said Hazel. “Mossie Greene. That’s Mother’s roommate. She’s always thinking everyone’s her daughter-in-law. Just ignore her.”
r />   “Does her daughter-in-law get down here to visit her much?” asked Momma.

  “I don’t know that she’s ever come here. Her son doesn’t either. The old woman’s got a lot of money, and rumor has it, they’re just waiting around for her to go.”

  “That’s awful,” said Momma, shaking her head.

  “Fern,” said Grandma, “don’t let anyone in here who’s just going to talk nonsense to me.”

  “She’s your roommate, Mother,” said Hazel. “Don’t pay no attention to her; she’s harmless.”

  “What’s Alzheimer’s?” asked Birdie.

  “A memory disease,” said Momma. “Old people get it.”

  “It’s the devil’s work,” said Grandma.

  “It’s aging,” I said.

  “Just lying there complaining is what’s going to age you,” said Hazel, not looking up.

  “Yeah, Mother, you can’t just stay in bed. Go down to the lobby and walk around. I saw a bulletin board down there with activities posted. Read that and join something.” Momma patted Grandma’s arm, encouraging.

  “Ain’t nothing to do here but grow old and die,” said Grandma.

  “Now, Mother, if you’re just going to lie there and wither up, that’s your choice, but if I were you, I’d get out in the halls and meet people,” said Momma.

  Birdie started to cry. I pulled her over to me and hugged her. Here we were, three generations crammed into this little room, this little world, overcrowded with care. “It’s okay, Bird,” I said, soothing her, “Grandma’s going to be all right.” I looked at Momma, who had at last finished labeling things. “We should go,” I said.

  “Guess we better,” said Momma. “We can come down tomorrow and stroll around. Get to know the staff some. Mother, you are going to be okay, aren’t you?”

  “She can have them call us if not,” said Hazel, getting up, anxious to get outside and smoke.

  “Kiss your Grandma good-bye, Birdie,” said Momma. “We’ll come back tomorrow.”

  I lifted Birdie up high enough to kiss Grandma on the cheek. This made Grandma start bawling again, so we left quietly.