by Lauren Brown
“I know it’s hard facing such a large change as this, but you’re in good hands here, Mr. Smith. Do you need help getting back to your room?”
I suppress a cough. “No, thank you. I can find my way back.”
“All right then. Again, my name is Sarah if you need anything.”
I nod as if this is all new to me and start back to my room. I look back over my shoulder and watch her tend to a woman who is having trouble eating. I hurry back to my room, lock the door, and rush to the bathroom, vomiting up my breakfast. I sit, exhausted, on the bathroom floor and put my head in my hands. I sob in my hands until the pain overtakes me, and I pass out on the floor.
Chapter 17
It’s my second week now and the beginning of the New Year and I have yet to collect any pills.
I sit in my room, studying my list. I go to lunch and dinner, occasionally breakfast, but for the past two weeks, I’ve just sat in my room and read through the list. When I get bored, I sleep.
I’ve learned the names of several residents in the building, and I’ve learned all of the nurses. I’ve gathered that Nurse Beatrice, the nurse that stared me down on my first day, isn’t friendly. She’s a grouch and always suspicious of people, and our encounters have never been pleasant. That is, unless she’s talking to Roger Howl, the manager, then she’s overly flirtatious and talkative. I have my suspicions they do more than just “talk” in his office. I’ve decided to take pills only in the early morning or in the late evening to avoid Nurse Beatrice and Roger.
Sarah has taken a liking to me. She sits with me at breakfast each day. Even though she believes I’m Theodore Smith, it helps me to eat each morning, talking with a familiar face. She did mention Hope one morning, which caused me to start crying uncontrollably at the table. She rushed to my side as everyone watched, and afraid she would figure out who I was, I sprung up from my chair and flattened out my shirt with my hands, head down.
“I’m s-s-sorry,” I stuttered as I tried not to wipe my face and smear my makeup, “but your sister reminded me of a dear friend I once lost.”
“Oh, Mr. Smith, I didn’t realize. I’m the one who’s sorry. Let’s get you cleaned up.” She took me by the shoulders and walked me back to my room. She didn’t mention Hope again the rest of the week.
Other residents have started to join Sarah and I at our dining table. This has allowed me to learn a few more names on my list and determine from whom I can start taking medicine. One of the people, a burly African American man on my list, LeRoy Patterson, began sitting with us several days ago. An old carpenter born in the Smoky Mountains, LeRoy worked days and nights so that he could one day sail the coast and fish. He was diagnosed with dementia six months ago and hasn’t lifted a pole since then. He suffered a bad fall in 2000 and takes hydrocodone daily. I look at his name on the list and decide to visit his room during lunch today. Vernie has physical therapy at two o’clock, so I’ll visit her room afterwards.
I set the list down and glance at the schedule for the week that’s been slid under my door. Bingo will be tonight in the Park 2 building. Taking pills during bingo sounds promising. I circle the people in Park 2 who are on pills. There are five rooms I can probably get away with. Rick will be picking me up in two weeks, so I have no choice but to start tonight.
I slip into my starched pants and scratchy button down. I check my aged, scarred face in the mirror, let out a sigh, and make my way to breakfast. I grab a coffee and a pastry and sit at the table waiting for Sarah, LeRoy, and Vernie to join me. I see Hue roll into the lobby. He glares at me as he gets his food. Although he is rooming beside me, we haven’t spoken since the day I accidentally sat in his seat. Something about him makes me nervous, as it does Vernie, so I just keep my distance.
I see Vernie approach the lobby. A 72-year-old mother of five and widow of an accountant, she grew up in Alabama then moved to Tennessee after marrying. She was a housewife for twenty plus years. When her husband died of a heart attack, she was left to fend for herself. “My children,” she confided without me asking one morning last week, “weren’t around to take care of me. Not one of the five, can you believe that? But I understand, I do. They have their own lives to live.” She moved to Park Pines when she broke her hip, and it wasn’t until her fourth month in the home that she was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, causing Roger to transfer her to this building.
“Hi, Teddy,” she greets as she sits at the table.
“It’s Ted, Vernie. We’ve been over this.”
“Don’t be a grouch.” She pokes my shoulder and smiles.
She rambles on about a story she saw on the news in her room. The early Alzheimer’s causes her to repeat herself periodically. I tune her out as I think about taking the medications today. Sarah, who has arrived for her morning shift, interrupts my thoughts.
“Hey, everyone.” She waves as she walks into the kitchen.
I used to be nervous when she would walk in, afraid at any moment she would realize who I really am. But as the weeks pass, I have grown to enjoy seeing Sarah. The anxiety I feel is put on hold when we talk.
“Are they ever going to have anything other than store-bought muffins in this place?” she asks as she sits next to Vernie.
“Oh I love the muffins, Sarah!” Vernie exclaims, looking down at the three muffins on her plate.
“Honestly,” she glances at LeRoy and I and whispers, “these muffins taste like paper.”
We smile as we continue eating our paper-tasting muffins, and I watch her from the table. She’s thinner with dark circles under her eyes and I can tell she is depressed like me, battling the memories of the fire.
“Ted, you have yet to tell us about yourself,” Sarah says between chewing. “Everyone has told us their life story except you.”
“Yeah, I want to know what kind of person named you Teddy Smith.” LeRoy laughs.
“Only Vernie calls me Teddy, LeRoy. I go by Ted.” I shoot Vernie a look, but she’s too preoccupied with her paper muffin.
I look back at Sarah and LeRoy who are staring at me. I swallow the lump in my throat. I hadn’t thought of this question and suddenly the thick anxiety starts to ooze its way back into my mind. I think about Vernie’s story and decide to spin off of it.
“Um, well,” I start, “I, uh…” I can feel the other tables turn to listen, except for Hue.
“I was born in Chattanooga.” I pause. Surely this small, factual piece of information won’t give me away.
“And?” LeRoy prompts.
“But I grew up in Alabama and went to college there. Majored in finance.” Lying has become such the norm in my life that I, scarily enough, don’t feel odd saying any of this.
“Were you ever married?” Vernie asks.
I pause again. The question hits me like a train, sending my emotions into ten million directions. The image of my previous life flashes before my eyes, and instantly tears begin to fill them. I look down at my half-eaten muffin and try pushing the thoughts aside. I look up and see them waiting for more.
“No. Never was married.”
“Well that’s too bad,” LeRoy says, standing to throw away his plate. “I was married and it was the best thing that ever happened to me.”
“Yeah, me too,” Vernie says, joining LeRoy on his walk to the trash.
LeRoy laughs and pats my shoulder. “Just kiddin’, ole timer. My wife was the naggin’ kind, good cook, but boy could she get on my nerves. She’s probably talkin’ God’s ears off up there.” He shakes his head and walks back to his room, leaving Sarah and I at the table. She scoots her chair closer to me.
“Ted, you said you majored in finance in Alabama. You didn’t go to Auburn did you?”
How had I forgotten she received her masters in nursing from there?
“Um, no.”
“So you went to the University of Alabama?”
“Yeah, yeah I did.” I take a bite of my muffin.
“Oh.” She smiles. “Well we might not be friends anymore
then. I went to Auburn. That’s where I got my masters. We’re technically rivals.”
I force a laugh. “Nah, we can still be friends.”
“What brought you to Tennessee?”
I try to fabricate the rest of my life for her.
“Well, I worked for several wealthy people in Birmingham, you know wealthy doctors, lawyers, CEOs. I was their financial advisor.”
It’s ironic I said I was a financial advisor. The profession of the man who had ruined mine. I look at the TV in the lobby. Good Morning America has ended and has been replaced by the Johnson City local news. The irony never ends because Mayor Ringgold is now speaking loudly. It’s been awhile since I’ve seen his face. I can see where people would be lured into his ideas with his tall, well built stature, dark, thick hair perfectly cut around his angular face. People must like how put together he looks, how in control of his life he seems that they let him control theirs. But I know his secrets. I know why he is able to wear that expensive suit.
“Mr. Smith? Did you hear me?”
I turn back to Sarah who is looking at me like she’s asked me a question several times. Three fine wrinkles have appeared above her raised eyebrows.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear your question. Hard of hearing these days. And, losing my memory, you know.” I chuckle to hide my saddening and frustrating thoughts.
“That’s all right. I asked if you had any brothers or sisters?”
“Only one brother. Rick.” I frown.
“You don’t like him?” she asks.
“No. He put me here.”
She smiles. “He probably just wants the best for you, Ted,” she says, patting my hand. She decides against talking about Hope, considering my reaction last week.
“I doubt it. We fought all the time. No tree on this mountain was tall enough to escape his bullying growing up.”
“But wait, I thought you said you grew up in Alabama?”
“Oh, what did I say?”
“You said you lived in Chattanooga, just now. Earlier you said you grew up in Alabama.”
My heart starts to beat faster. I had assumed Rick would have created a script for me to stick to, but there wasn’t one to be found in my suitcase.
“Uh, well, like I said”—my heart’s beating fast—“my memory is slowly fading. We lived in Chattanooga for some time. My father was an engineer for trains, and well, the Chattanooga Choo Choo was a big hit back in the day. We lived there for about two years before he started working on trains in Alabama.”
“I see,” she says, drinking her coffee. “Don’t worry, your brain is sharper than you think.”
We sit in silence for some time, finishing our breakfast. The eavesdroppers have returned their attention to the TV or left the lobby.
“I’d love to hear more about your previous life. Those are memories you’ll never truly lose.” She winks at me as she stands to take her dishes to the kitchen. “Oh and don’t forget, it’s Bingo Night tonight.”
“I’ll be there,” I say, waving to her.
I watch her leave the lobby and make her way to the nurses’ station.
I look back at the TV and see Mayor Ringgold has disappeared.
“Thank God,” I say without thinking. Hue, who has been watching the news, turns around at my comment. His eyes are narrowed and his lips are pressed pencil thin as if he’s trying to read me, as if he’s listened to my whole life story and knows I’m lying. I give a small polite wave before as he rolls past me slowly to his room.
I’ve never been a fan of bingo. I guess my medical and mathematical side is thrown off when dealing with things solely determined by chance. Plus, playing bingo with a bunch of elderly people, some of whom are memory impaired, can only make it that much worse.
Obtaining the pills this morning had been relatively simple. LeRoy’s room is only a couple of doors down from mine and Vernie’s room is across the hall. I watched both of them leave and then slipped into their rooms. LeRoy’s was the same as mine with hardly any memorabilia or personal items, but Vernie’s was decorated in rosy throws and sun blotched pictures and she had a lot of pain medication. This morning had been easy, but tonight would be the hard part.
I find the strength to shower, as it has been several days since I last bathed, and get dressed for the night. I begin the routine of putting on my Theodore face, which takes me almost an hour. I fold the list of names and stick it in my pocket. The first room belongs to a man named Bob and, if the building is anything like this one, it’ll be down the hallway on the right. I look in the mirror and make sure my face looks right. I push my hand into my heart to relieve the tightness before heading towards the parking lot.
I walk outside to see a group of elderly people, some with walkers and canes, making their way to the lobby. Many are laughing. I have found that Park Pines is more of an organized retirement community with nurses to aid in physical therapy or bathroom accidents. And some people actually elect to live here, to escape from the world, from their pasts. The security gates, I suppose, are for the memory impaired.
“Hi, Ted.” A short, peppery-haired man is smiling at me. He isn’t on any pain medications, so I can’t remember his name.
“Hey,” is all I can say.
I am relieved to see the building is set up the exact same way as my building when I walk in. I’m also relieved to see that several nurses are waiting at tables to play with us. That means there are less of them for me to avoid when I sneak off to the bathroom mid-game. Each hallway has a bathroom for those that can’t make it to their rooms. I’ve planned to hide out in one once the game begins and then swiftly go into the five rooms that have pain meds.
“Everyone take your seats and we can begin,” Nurse Beatrice commands from a small microphone at the front of the lobby near the TV.
I can hear the conversations about residents’ previous lives gradually stop as people set up their bingo cards. The room is completely full so I take my seat at a round table at the back of the lobby nearest the entrance.
“Is everyone ready?” Nurse Beatrice asks, putting her thick hair behind her ear.
“What did she say?” an elderly woman shouts from across my table.
“Aren’t you going to get a bingo card?” another woman asks me, pointing to the stack of cards in the center of the table.
“Oh yeah, yeah I am,” I say as I grab a card.
“First is B two!”
I look around the room and watch the aged crowd excitedly look at their cards. This is what the end of our lives looks like I think to myself.
Many of the faces I see are unfamiliar because only a few of those living in my dementia ward can play.
“Second number is B twelve,” Beatrice’s voice rings from the microphone.
I watch the woman beside me place a chip on her card.
I let the game continue on for some time before standing to go to the bathroom.
“Where are you going? We haven’t finished,” the woman who talks too much whispers.
“The restroom. Is it over there?” I ask, pretending not to know.
A man at our table intervenes, “Yes.” He turns to the woman. “Stop puttin’ your nose in everyone else’s business, Agnes. Our bladders don’t work the same at our age. You of all people should know that.”
The older woman flushes and gives the man a stern look, widening the angle between her chin and neck. “Why did I even sit at this table with you?” she asks, rolling her eyes.
“Don’t worry partner. I’ll watch your board for you,” the man whispers.
I walk in and close the door behind me, putting my back and clammy hands against the wall. I swallow the lump in my throat and try to steady my breathing. Today’s the first day I’ve taken meds from our building let alone another building I’m unfamiliar with. I take a deep breath then pull out my list. I have to get to three rooms on the left side and two on the right. Room 201 sits next to the bathroom door and is first on my list, then Room 207, then Room 210
which is the farthest from me. I fold the list and slide it back into my khakis.
I turn the knob gently, sticking my head out to make sure the halls are clear then briskly walk into the first room. There’s a perfectly made bed with a floral quilt. It smells of mothballs and dated perfume. The room is set up identically to mine, meaning the bathroom is in the corner. My heart is pounding in my chest. I stand tall and push back my shoulders to take in a deep breath before walking to the medicine cabinet. I rummage through medicine bottles on the shelves. My entire arm shakes from nerves, causing me to send several bottles into the sink.
Dammit.
I look behind me at the door. Still closed.
I return my attention to the medicine cabinet. Thankfully, I spot the oxycodone on the top shelf. I glance over my shoulder one more time then pour three pills from the container, stuffing them in my pocket with shaky hands. I close the cabinet and with a few long strides hurriedly exit the room.
I make my way back to the hallway bathroom, close the door, and then let out the breath I must have been holding. I can hear Beatrice’s voice calling out numbers behind the door. I retrieve the pills and look at them in my hand. I only have ten pills total, including those from Vernie and LeRoy. This is going to be a lot harder than I thought.
I check the hall again and see an elderly man returning to his room down the opposite hallway. I duck my head back into the bathroom and wait for a few more minutes before venturing to the next room.
Again, the medicine is front and center in the cabinet. I take a few pills then make my way back to the hallway. This time I’m too far from the hallway bathroom to go back, so I check the halls briefly then quickly move into the last room.