Behind The Pines

by Lauren Brown

  I slowly turn my head to look out the front windshield. In the distance, I see a large, metal swing gate tucked away in the pine trees. A small, brick security station separates the entrance and exit gates. I can see a set of white paneled, one-story buildings beyond the gates but nothing beyond that. It’s as if the pine trees and the gates make a wall disappearing into the woods, keeping everything inside in and everything outside out.

  We pull up to the security gate, and Rick rolls down the window. A chubby man who reminds me of Allyn comes out of his small cubby and approaches the car.

  “Hi, there.” Rick leans over me, straining to see the security guard. “I’m here to drop off my brother, Theodore Smith. Say hello, Ted.” Rick nudges my arm and shares his toothless grin with the man in uniform.

  I don’t look at either of them.

  “Sorry about that, we think he has Alzheimer’s and it can make him real moody sometimes.” He digs his elbow into my leg.

  The guard nods his balding head in understanding. “That’s perfectly all right, see it all the time. Nice to meet both of you. I was told he would be joining us today. The main office is in the center building over there. Feel free to park in the visitor lot.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Rick says.

  Rick rolls up the window and pulls through the metal gate. I return my gaze to the glass and watch in the side mirror as the gates slowly close behind us. I close my eyes and feel the tightness in my chest deepen.

  Approaching the parking lot, I see the three white buildings in more detail. The road from the gate makes a large circle, passing through a carport in front of each building before veering back to the main entrance. A large, empty parking lot covers the remaining plot of land. I can see several elderly residents rocking in chairs just outside the sliding glass automatic doors. One elderly man waves at our car. At the top of each building there are large black letters spelling out Park 1, Park 2, and Park 3 followed by uniform windows that run the length of the buildings. I spot a walking trail that disappears behind the trees in back of the buildings.

  I’ve heard of this place before. Several of my senior patients in my previous life were residents here just before they were moved to the sister Park Pines Nursing Home. Park Pines Assisted Living rests deep in the woods, too far from the bustling part of Johnson City for anyone, besides visitors, to see them. The buildings are different from what I imagined; they’re drably depressing. I’m sure the white vinyl siding with green shutters are supposed to be homey and comforting, but to me these features seem eerie. I mean sure, I imagined it looking like an elderly home, but never with me inside it. My father was never placed in one, since he died in the hospital from cirrhosis, and I had always imagined myself surrounded by my children who would take care of me into my old age and hold my hand as I died in my bed. This sudden thought of children makes my chest even tighter.

  “All right, get out,” Rick commands.

  I slowly open my door, stand, and turn to see my reflection in the car window. I take in a sharp breath at the sight of my face. Jeremy taught me how to look old and aged. He used modeling wax around my mouth to create the illusion of wrinkles, gray hair dye to blend my natural gray into the rest of my thinning black hair. He even dyed my eyebrows. He gave me a glue to place moles on my cheeks and a spray to give my forehead the appearance of age spots. He made me wear contacts to change my eyes from green to blue and put a dark cream under my eyes to give the appearance that I was tired which wasn’t necessary considering I was tired. He packed me pleated khakis and a yellow short sleeve button-down, white ankle socks, and matching white tennis shoes. Two gray sweat suits were to be worn at bedtime or for activities such as walking the trail.

  “You don’t have to look like you’re eighty,” Rick said over Jeremy’s shoulder in the living room of my previous apartment, his cigarette bouncing with every syllable. “You just need to look like an old man who is slowly losin’ his mind.”

  And now I feel as if I am doing just that. I know this isn’t real. The early onset dementia in my file isn’t real. None of this is.

  “This way,” Rick snaps. He’s holding my folder. I grab my suitcase and follow him under the carport of Park One, through the sliding doors into the main lobby. Rick leaves me in the foyer and goes into the main office to check me in.

  It is cold in here, too cold. Claude Monet’s “Water Lilies” and Vincent van Gogh’s famous “Starry Night” hang in gaudy ornate frames in the foyer. The place smells like an aged, musty library with books covered in dust wiped clean with bleach.

  In front of me, there’s a large lobby with green leather reclining chairs, a TV on a wooden table, and several ferns. Half of the lobby is filled with round dining room tables and plastic chairs. A sign that reads Kitchen Open sits in front of a large sliding window. There are two carpeted hallways that mirror one another to my left and right, each lined with closed bedroom doors. Some doors have decorations on them.

  I see a short, elderly woman open her door midway down one hallway and start towards me. She stops in front of me before heading to the lobby. I know she is going to speak to me, and I will have to speak in return. Jeremy had told me to “try to sound like an old person with dementia” which is much easier said than done.

  “Oh, hello there,” the woman says. She has sandy, curly hair and round glasses. “My name is Betsy Julian. Who are you?”

  I clear my throat. “I’m Theodore Smith.” I look behind me to see if Rick has come out of the office. “I go by Ted. This is my first day.”

  “Wonderful. Nice to meet you. They make the most delicious pastries here.” I watch her walk over to the kitchen to get one of the pastries, which have been brought out. They’re in plastic containers from the grocery store.

  I see a nurse pass by. Her badge says Beatrice Carter, RN. She’s heavyset with black hair. She looks at me sternly, notices I’m a new patient, loosens her expression slightly, and then continues on her way.

  I turn back to the office. Rick and an overweight man with a greasy comb-over emerge from the office.

  “Hi, Mr. Smith. I’m Roger Howl, the Park Pines manager. Nice to have you here.” He sticks out his hand for me to shake it, but I refuse. Rick shoots me a disapproving look, but Roger dismisses it. “We’ve got you all checked in, and I want to let you and your brother know that you are in good hands here,” he says as he pats me on the shoulder. His tone is that of an adult greeting a child.

  I don’t respond.

  “You better be on your best behavior, brother. I’ll be back at the end of next month.” Rick winks and walks out the sliding doors.

  Another nurse emerges from the office.

  “This is Nurse Amy,” Roger says pointing to a young African American woman with vibrant hazel eyes. “Amy, this is Theodore Smith. He goes by Ted. Would you show him to his room and help him get settled in. His room is one-ten. Sorry we couldn’t put you closer to the kitchen,” he says followed by a chuckle.

  I still don’t laugh.

  “Hi, Mr. Smith,” Amy says in a soft voice. She’s younger than the other nurse. Friendlier too. “Follow me, here let me get your bags.”

  She takes my suitcase and duffle bag from me and goes down the right hallway. I follow slowly behind. As I walk to my room I hear Roger call out to me, “Welcome again to Park Pines, Mr. Smith.”

  My room is small and plain and smells like old books. A firm queen bed fills most of the room. Hunter green drapes hang alongside two three-foot windows that face the back of the property. I see the walking trail again. An empty red bird feeder is about five feet from my window. A small bathroom with a handicap shower is in the corner.

  “Here you are, Mr. Smith. We just put clean sheets on the bed for you. I put a packet about Park Pines on your bed. It will tell you your rights, visiting doctors’ schedules, rules, and policies. The slip of paper on the dresser is given out at the beginning of each week as a reminder of meals and game times. What else am I forgetting to tell you? O
h, yes, push the button here if you need anything.” She points to a white button with a piece of paper taped above it that says Help. “Breakfast will be served until nine thirty. ”

  She smiles as she closes the door, leaving me to myself. I exhale and sit on the edge of the bed.

  There’s a small desk, a dresser, and a bookshelf. I look in the mirror above the dresser. I see the old looking man in the mirror and sigh. I pick up the packet on the bed and frown at the cover. An elderly couple walks blissfully together hand-in-hand on the trail. I toss it aside and pick up the slip of paper.

  Welcome to Park Pines Assisted Living!

  Congratulations, you are now a member of the Park Pines family. We respect the long life you have lived and want to honor you with a new place to call home. Thank you for choosing Park Pines. – Roger Howl

  Breakfast- 8:00-9:30 a.m.

  Lunch -11:00-12:00 p.m.

  Dinner-4:30-5:30 p.m.

  *Dinner will be served at 4:00 rather than 4:30 on Tuesday due to movie night

  Happening this week:

  Movie Night 5:00-7:00 p.m. Tuesday in PARK 1 lobby (Seabiscuit)

  Bingo Night 6:30-8:00 p.m. Thursday in PARK 2 lobby

  New Years Day Party 6:00-8:00 p.m. in PARK 3 lobby

  I lie down, looking at the white popcorn ceiling. I breathe a little harder with each exhale to try and push out the thick feeling in my heart. The thought of breakfast makes me nauseous. I think about what my other self, John Livingston, would be doing right now. Would he really be “soul searching” on the trail or would he be just as lost as I am now?

  I roll onto my side and force myself to drift off to sleep. I awake but only momentarily before shutting my eyes again. I sleep the entire day.

  I awake the next morning in the position I fell asleep in. I open my eyes to the faint sound of shoes outside my door. I groggily look around the room and blink a few times, trying to understand where I am. It finally dawns on me that I’m not dreaming, but that, yes, I’ve actually just spent my first night at Park Pines.

  With a backache from the firm mattress, I haggardly rise from the bed, use the bathroom, and then open my suitcase. I unpack what few belongings I own then sit back down on the bed and look at a list Jeremy packed in my suitcase. It informs me of the patients on pain medication in all three buildings. How he obtained all this information, I’m unsure. The Bear and Mayor Ringgold are full of secrets.

  The list claims there are forty-two patients currently on oxycodone and hydrocodone. And, according to the Bear, I have one year to obtain a certain amount of pills in order to make up for my slack.

  “You should have eighty pills each month,” Rick told me before we left my apartment.

  “Eighty!” I had exclaimed. He was crazy to believe I could get away with stealing that many pills a month. “The nurses will know.”

  “They ain’t gonna notice. The Bear made sure. They only hand out pills at the nursing home. This is different,” Rick snapped, motioning at me with his gun to leave my apartment.

  I guess I hadn’t known how many patients would be on pain medication. Looking at the list in front of me, I now know this is doable. I can easily take a handful of pills a day from several patients, but I don’t want to. My chest aches thinking about the year ahead. I wish I could just walk into the office and tell Mr. Howl that it’s all a setup, that I’m Dr. John Livingston, but I can’t. He threatened to kill Beau and Janie and Sarah if I didn’t abide by his rules.

  “Knock, knock,” a small voice says through my door followed by a few taps.

  I look in the mirror. Thankfully, I didn’t take off my makeup last night. I look thin, old, and weary. I slip on my glasses and make my way to the door and open it to see a short, slightly overweight woman wearing a light pink sweater and thick-rimmed glasses. She smiles and hands me a cup of coffee.

  “Hi!” she greets me.

  “Uh, hi. Do you need something?”

  “Oh no. I just wanted to introduce myself. I heard I was getting a new neighbor. My name is Vernie. Vernie Hampton.” She sticks out her wrinkled hand and I shake it quickly, balancing my hot coffee in the other hand behind the door.

  “My name is Theodore Smith, but they call me Ted.”

  “Well, it’s nice to meet you Teddy.”

  “No, I said they call me Ted. Not Teddy.”

  She ignores me. “The last man that lived in your room, Mr. Roberts, died of pancreatic cancer two months ago, and I have been praying I would get a new neighbor. I get so lonely sometimes. He died actually. Right in there. In your room.” She looks over my shoulder to peak through the cracked door.

  I close it a little more and stare at her blankly. I’m not sure what to say.

  “The man that lives there”—she points to the door next to mine then lowers her voice to just above a whisper—“is a grumpy man, old Vietnam veteran named Hue. You might want to avoid him. And then Mrs. Harriet lives in that room, she’s in the later stages so she can be really annoying some days. Are you in Park One because the doctors say you’re losing your mind too?”

  “Um, no. They were out of rooms in the Park Two building.”

  “Well, I lost my mind a long time ago, after my fifth child.” She chuckles. “I’m only joking. The doctors say my brain is, what’s the word they used? Evaporating or something like that.”

  I can tell she wants to talk more, but I start to shut the door anyway.

  “Glad you’re here!” she yells just as I close it.

  I let out a sigh. I set the coffee down and retrieve the list of residents Jeremy gave me. Luckily, Vernie is on the list for hydrocodone. I look in the mirror again and, although my appetite is lacking, I decide to attend breakfast. The sooner I make myself known, the sooner I can learn who everyone is, which puts me one step closer to fulfilling my end of the deal and getting out of here.

  I walk down the hall and can see several other residents sitting at round tables, drinking juice and eating English muffins next to the kitchen. The TV in the lobby is showing the local news. One old man is snoring in a recliner in front of it. As I approach the tables I can feel the others staring. I walk past them to the kitchen window and ask for a juice and a muffin, then take a seat at an empty table closer to the recliners. I can hear Vernie telling the others that I’m new.

  “You don’t want to sit there, Teddy!” Vernie tells me as I take my seat.

  “It’s Ted, Vernie.”

  I ignore her warning and sit anyway. I take a bite of my muffin, keeping my focus on the TV and immediately feel nauseous. My appetite is thin after everything that’s happened, but I force myself to take another bite. As I eat, I see an elderly man in a wheelchair approach the lobby and kitchen. His white eyebrows form a hard expression as he slowly rolls to the kitchen window. He’s wearing khakis like me but with an American flag t-shirt instead of a button-down. He has a large scar along his left cheek. He must be the Vietnam veteran. I turn my back to all of them and continue eating.

  I’m about to drink my juice when I feel a nudge behind me. Juice spills onto my pants.

  “What the—” I turn around to see the man pushing his wheelchair into my leg.

  “Can I help you?” I ask, trying to wipe the juice from my pants.

  “Who are you?”

  “Theodore Smith, but they call me Ted.” I’m starting to annoy myself with this repetitive introduction. “I’m new. You must be my neighbor. Hue is it?”

  He doesn’t respond to this but shoots Vernie a cold glare. She jumps up from her chair and hurriedly takes her plate to the trash then scurries down the hall.

  “You’re sittin’ in my chair.”

  “Oh I’m sorry, I didn’t realize we had assigned seats. Like I said, I’m new.”

  I watch his scar redden with frustration. “Well, let me teach you somethin’ about this place.” He rolls closer to me and shoves my plate out of the way. “There’s nothin’ I don’t notice. I knew you were my neighbor before you were even he
re, and I know your name.”

  For a moment, I think he’s saying he knows I’m undercover.

  “You’re not new to me. It’d be in your best interest to learn that fast. Now, get out of my seat.”

  “Okay.”

  He flicks his hand for me to get up and then scoots the chair out of the way so he can place his wheelchair directly in front of the TV.

  I shake my head with disbelief before taking my plate to the trashcan.

  “Hey, don’t take it to heart. Hue’s actually a nice man, just have to get to know him,” a gentle voice says to me as I throw my trash away. I turn around to look at the nurse who is waiting to toss her cup and stomach acid rises to my throat. I’m instantly nauseas.

  “I’m Nurse Sarah Owens. Glad you’re here, Ted. It’s Ted, right?”

  “Sarah?” I say slowly, eyes wide. I haven’t seen her since she helped me unload my boxes at my previous apartment. It’s been weeks.

  “Yes,” she says as she empties her plate into the trash. “Is this your first day?”

  It takes all I have not to cry. I stare at her for some time and, afraid she’ll notice who I really am, I stutter a reply, “Yes, yes, first day.”

  Her loose brown ponytail contrasts against her white scrubs. She looks tired and pained as if she’s battled the same demons that I have. I want to tell her it’s me, John, but suddenly the Bear’s face flashes into my mind, and I can’t make myself do it. I look into her dark brown eyes, pale complexion, big smile, and am reminded of Hope. They never did look alike before all of this happened, but now, they look more alike than ever before. I know this person so well, yet she feels so distant from me. The Bear must have intentionally done this, placed me here with Sarah, so that I’m constantly reminded of his warning to fulfill my part of the deal. She senses my anxiety and places her hand on my back to comfort me.