Behind The Pines

by Lauren Brown

  I’ve tried to push the memories of my previous practicing days as a physician to the recesses of my mind. The first few days at Park Pines were a battle between who I was and who I am, but after time, the fights between John and Ted died, and Ted took control as the new leader. I sometimes give into the thought of Hope, but I try with all my might not to think about my practice.

  I wait on my bed. Some time passes before I hear three knocks and the door opens.

  My heart stops.

  “Hi, Mr. Smith. My name is Dr. Hanson, but you can call me Beau. I’m filling in for your physician Dr. Loche today. How are you feeling?”

  I don’t say anything. I can’t believe it’s Beau. I haven’t seen him since I moved into my apartment a month and half ago. He looks as if he hasn’t been sleeping but still smiles his typical Beau smile. I’ve missed his smile.

  “Your chart says you’re relatively new here, so I understand you may be shy. All I wanted to do is get some blood pressure readings on you, make sure we don’t need to adjust your medicines. Think we can do that, Mr. Smith?”

  My heart rate is sky high as I nod. I’m afraid he may be able to tell who I am. I try to swallow the lump in my throat.

  “Good.” He retrieves a blood pressure cuff from his bag and places it on my arm. He takes several readings.

  “Feeling okay today? Anything you want to tell me?”

  “I… I’m feeling okay. Medicine is working fine.”

  “How about the memory? Do you feel any different, John?”

  I jerk my head up at the sound of my name. “What?”

  “I said, do you feel any different, Ted?”

  I must be imagining things. “Uh, no. I feel fine. The medicine is working fine.”

  He smiles, makes a few scribbles on his notepad, and then pats me on the back. “Men of few words are often the most robust of thought. I know it’s hard adjusting to new things in life. But I have faith in you. Do you have any family that comes to see you often?” he asks.

  I begin to say no then correct myself. “Yes, a brother.”

  “Great. That’s great. Well, tell your brother next time he’s here that you may be due for another neurology exam in a few months.”

  “I’ll try to remember.”

  “That’s okay. I’ll make a note in your chart too.”

  I watch him grab his bag and head to the door. I let out such a loud sigh, out of sadness or relief I’m not sure, that he turns and reiterates everything will be just fine before leaving the room. I collapse on the bed when he closes the door only to jerk right back up when he re-opens it.

  “Here, I’ll leave this with you. It may help you pass the time here.” He winks as he tosses a romantic novel in my direction. For a second I feel as if he knows who I truly am, then he says, “Enjoy, Mr. Smith,” closes the door, and disappears. I can’t help but laugh, then gag, when I read the cover.

  Hot and Stormy Nights with Beatrice.

  Chapter 19

  I’ve caught Hue staring at me a few times since I moved here five months ago. The first time was playing bingo, the second was movie night in Park 3 about mid March, and then the third time was this morning. I went for a walk on the trail and noticed him tight-lipped, peering through his window at me. I waved, but he didn’t wave back, and on my second loop he was gone. But there was no doubt he was watching me.

  I wasn’t worried that he went through my room, because although the doors lack locks, I always make sure I have the list in my pocket, and the makeup and paperwork are pushed far into the upper cabinet in the bathroom. I’ve never seen him stand out of his wheelchair, and I know he goes to physical therapy for his legs, so him even trying to reach the second shelf wouldn’t work. But, there was something about the way he was watching me, a look in his weathered, hickory eyes that seemed to know that I was walking that trail extra fast this morning because I was bothered by something.

  And I was bothered. The nightmares are getting worse, often causing me to wake in screams and cold sweats most nights. In the dream last night, I desperately searched our blazing home for Hope and our unborn son who were calling my name from the basement. But I was blind and could never find them. I squeeze my eyes tight trying to shake free the memory of this nightmare.

  I’ve also learned, after five months, that rainy days are the worst here. Everyone’s bones ache and everyone’s in a bad mood, especially Nurse Beatrice. She is beyond the worst on rainy days.

  I look out my window and force an exhale. I feel as if I am suffocating in my room, in this building. I need more pills before the week is over but cannot manage to make myself steal any today.

  What’s the point anyway? I’m here until December, which feels like an eternity, especially when it rains.

  I haven’t given much thought to what happens after this, if there even is an “after this.” Knowing Rick and the Bear, I’ll be trapped here forever. Besides, John Livingston pretty much died with Hope in the fire that night. Life “after this” doesn’t exist.

  I feel the room closing in on me, so I decide to sit in the rocking chairs under the carport. We’re not supposed to be outside in the rain. The nurses are afraid it’ll “cause problems” like a bad fall, or perhaps worse, an escape.

  I slip past the front office and walk out the doors. I pull an outdoor rocking chair far from the doors, so the nurses can’t see me, and sit. I rock slowly, watching the security guard open the gates for visitors in the distance.

  “Nice today, isn’t it?”

  I turn to see Vernie pulling a chair to the far end of the carport as I’ve done. She’s wearing her bubble gum pink sweater. I don’t feel like talking to her today, but she doesn’t notice.

  “My daughter is visiting me today,” she says with a twang of hope in her voice. Last time her daughter didn’t keep her promise, and Vernie cried in Nurse Amy’s arms for an hour.

  “This time she’s coming,” she reassures me, as if reading my mind.

  I see her light blue eyes stare out at the trees. She must have been attractive back in the day when time and the loss of her husband hadn’t ruined her youth.

  “This time she’s coming,” she repeats. The Alzheimer’s has gradually worsened over the course of the five months I’ve been here. I give her six more months, maybe even less, before she goes to Park Pines Nursing Home for severe Alzheimer patients.

  “Have I told you the story about how I met my husband?” she asks, rocking her chair. I’m really not in the mood to talk, especially about marriage, but she leaves me no choice. “Have I?”

  “No,” I respond.

  “Well, I was twenty-five, the youngest of my siblings and I had gone into Birmingham with my mother and eldest sister, Virginia, to buy shoes. Virginia was my mother’s favorite, I was my father’s. Daddy told me I didn’t have to buy new shoes, that my loafers were fine if that’s what I enjoyed, but Mama disagreed.

  “‘Your daughter can’t wear those hideous shoes at the fundraiser tonight,’ she told him, taking my arm and pulling me to the car.

  “Daddy was a renowned surgeon. I loved Daddy. He was the most generous man I knew. He gave his life to people in the hospital and to people outside of it. He was just like that, real sweet man. He hosted a fundraiser that night, though I can’t recall what it was for. Mama bought me some light pink heels downtown that day.” She laughs to herself and looks at her sweater. “Which is funny because pink is my favorite color now. But anyway, we went to the function that night and those shoes gave me the worst blisters. There was a live band playing and all the fancy adults were singing and dancing and when Daddy and Mama weren’t looking, I went outside, to the front of the large plantation style mansion and threw those shoes into the fancy water fountain. I heard a voice behind me and was afraid someone had caught me. I turned around and saw the most charming man, the kind of man that Virginia was always going after. He walked up to me and took his shoes off too, threw them straight in the pond.

  “‘I don’t like
tight shoes either,’ he said with a wink.

  “‘I’m not sure I know you.’ My cheeks were pinker than this sweater.

  “‘I’m Andy Hampton. It’s nice to meet you.’ He stuck out his hand and shook mine, and the rest was history. He had graduated a few years ahead of me and was a personal accountant for several men at Wilkinson Hospital. Brilliant man. He was fun and carefree, and I was so in love with him. Still am. He never did make me wear tight shoes. We went on to have five children.”

  She looks out over the parking lot and smiles. She’s putting herself in one of the few memories that persists in her deteriorating mind.

  “That’s her!” she yells, pointing to the tattered SUV that’s pulled through the security gate. “See, I told you she would come. She’s bringing us lunch!”

  I watch as she stands and waves excitedly to the driver. The car pulls through the carport, passing us and making its way to the visitor parking lot.

  “Don’t worry, she’s just parking,” Vernie convinces me.

  I watch a woman who looks to be in her early thirties emerge from the car. She’s wearing torn jeans and a T-shirt. She’s not as I expected, she’s worse. She’s a broken mess.

  “Hi, honey! This is my friend Teddy!” Vernie tells her daughter.

  I don’t bother correcting her this time.

  “Hey, Mom.”

  I look at the woman and immediately know her. She is one of my previous pain patients. My stomach sinks. I look down at my feet, afraid she’ll notice me.

  “Let me pull up a chair for you, honey. Unless you want to eat lunch in my room?”

  “I didn’t bring lunch, Mom.”

  I watch Vernie frown, but afraid she’ll upset her daughter, she dismisses it.

  “That’s all right, sweetheart. I ate two muffins this morning. Here, sit with us. This is Mr. Smith. Teddy, this is my daughter Amanda.”

  “Hi,” I say.

  Amanda doesn’t acknowledge me but continues looking at Vernie. “Mom.”

  “Honey, did you bring lunch?”

  I watch Amanda exhale, reach for her phone, check it, and then look at us. She’s clearly annoyed.

  “Mom, I didn’t bring lunch. I just told you that. I came”—she pauses and I can feel her look at me, to see if I’m listening. I pretend that I’m not. She lowers her voice a fraction—“I came today because I need money.”

  “Need money? For what?” Vernie says, trying to suppress her disappointment. Her Alzheimer’s is both a blessing and a curse, I suppose.

  “It… it doesn’t matter,” Amanda says, looking at us nervously and for a second I think she realizes who I am. But I can’t tell for sure.

  “Oh okay. How’s Kyle doing?”

  Kyle must be her son. She was pregnant towards the end of my career at Living Well.

  “He’s fine.”

  “Is the money for him, a birthday present? Oh, have I forgotten his birthday?” Vernie asks.

  “Uh, yeah, something like that.” Amanda says. “Here, let’s walk to your room to get your purse.”

  “Okay. Did I introduce you to my friend Teddy Smith?”

  “Yeah, you did. Come on,” she says, pulling Vernie inside.

  I watch them disappear then return my gaze to the pine trees. I suddenly feel guilty. I can remember Amanda coming to me several weeks after I began dealing pain medication, and now I feel as if I’m the one that began her addiction. I feel as if I’m responsible for her behavior. I put my hand to my chest and press hard, trying to push away what feels like tight shoes on my heart.

  I’m back in my room now. Beatrice made me leave the carport. I look at the bulletin that was delivered under our doors early this morning. A guest piano player will be playing music for us after lunch through the afternoon and bingo will be in Park 3. The thought of taking any more pills during bingo makes the sickening feeling come back.

  The lunch bell rings, but I’m not hungry. I lie back on the bed and close my eyes. I can’t clear the image of Amanda, of her dark hair and eyes, full of secrets. My thoughts shift to my mother’s dark hair and now I’m thinking about things I try so hard not to think about. I squint my eyes hard to try and clear the thoughts I feel coming, but I can’t. The image of my mother flashes in my mind. I think about her holding her long dark hair in her hands. How I dropped my plate sending food all over the floor when I saw her walk through the door bald, the dark ponytail in her hand. The puffy skin under her eyes protruded from her gaunt face. I could tell she had been crying but she walked straight to the desk and put the ponytail, her ponytail, into an envelope.

  “Mom?”

  “Do you like it?” she asked, forcing a smile as she addressed the envelope. “It’s the new look.” She winked.

  “What are you doing?” I asked, stunned.

  “I’m sending it to someone who needs it more than me.”

  At that point, I was a senior in high school. I was mature, grown, but in that moment I wanted to cry like a baby. She wouldn’t allow me to cry, though.

  “John.” She interrupted my thoughts, pointing to the floor. “Clean up that mess.”

  I doze off to sleep and am awoken sometime later by the sound of the grand piano. The clock reads 3:00 p.m. I’ve missed lunch and slept two hours. I slowly stand and wipe my heavy eyes. I want to go back outside in the rain but I know Beatrice won’t allow me to, so I decide to go to the lobby and listen to the piano player.

  I walk down the hallway towards the music. The tunes draw me closer and deeper into the thickness that has grown wild over my heart. I round the corner to find a middle-aged woman playing the large black piano that has sat unused since I moved into Park Pines five months ago. The music is supposed to help patients with Alzheimer’s and depression.

  I stand in the lobby, watching her fingers gracefully move along the white and black keys. I am the only one around. I take a seat at a round dining room table and watch. The music lulls me away from the roaring fire in my head, which never ceases.

  I close my eyes and take a deep breath in. She begins to play The O’Neill Brothers’ song “Reminiscent Joy,” the song that joined Hope and I in marriage. The familiarity sends me into a daydream state, and before I know it, I can feel the Tennessee wind around me, Hope’s hand in mine. I see her bright eyes, her smile and, for a moment, my heart breathes relief from behind the dark vines. I’m spinning and twirling around with her to the rhythm of the Tennessee River. The river flows like her painting, takes us in, and gives me light.

  I twirl and move with her until I can move no longer, until the vines sprout offspring around my heart, until I am breathless and hopeless.

  Nurse Beatrice pokes my shoulders forcefully, bringing me back to reality. I open my eyes and see that the piano player has left.

  “Mr. Smith. It will be dinnertime soon, and I need to clean these tables.”

  As much as I don’t want to move, I do as she insists and make my way to back to my dreaded room. I sit on my bed and breathe deeply, trying to free the tightness that has now returned. The sun is setting, so I turn on my lamp and decide to take off my makeup and clothes. The stuff is suffocating. I look at the journal Sarah gave me for a while before deciding to pick it up. I sit at my desk and think about all that’s happened. I take out a pen and begin to write, beginning with the day I met Hope. I write from dusk until morning.

  I awake the next morning with the journal by my side. I look in the bathroom mirror and see Theodore Smith. I peeled off the modeling wax last night exposing my younger skin underneath. I wash my face with soap and run water through my hair. The sight of my former self has become so frightening that I rarely remove my makeup anymore, but last night was different and today, I don’t care.

  I had stuffed all my makeup into the back of the upper cabinet as I normally do, but this morning, I decide to leave it out. I want the person who discovers my body to see it all, including the journal and the makeup. I want that person to see everything that I was hiding.

&nb
sp; I move my desk chair to the bathroom, balancing on it. I stick my hand to the back of the cabinet and pull out the makeup but slip coming off the chair and fall with a loud thud on the floor. Hue must have heard my fall because he begins playing his loud, obnoxious music.

  I walk to my dresser to retrieve my sweats and T-shirt. I see my stash of pills in the back of the drawer. I stare at them, the little white devils that bloodied my life.

  The sight of all the medication makes me cringe. I have become a monster, a thief, a murderer. I think of all the pain I have caused, of Vernie’s daughter, of the fire, of the damage I’ve done. I give up on trying to rid my mind of the dark memories.

  I take all the pills I’ve collected and return to my bed. I face my small window that allows me a view of the rising sun behind the woods. I cannot do this anymore. Tears begin to fall down my cheeks as I place a handful of pills in my mouth. I wait for the medicine to take effect, to lull me away into a dark abyss. I begin to feel their hazy effects soon and my mind becomes heavy. It feels as if a strong rope is pulling me to the bed. The room is fuzzy and closing in on me. I am just about to drift when, through slotted eyes, I see a man. Then I feel a breath taking pain in my stomach. I gasp.

  I can barely make out music in the far off darkness.

  There’s another gut wrenching pain. Then another followed by another brutal, sucker punch into my abdomen.

  My body feels weak but I can’t help but throw up. The stomach pain is unbearable. I roll off the bed onto all fours of my bedroom floor and begin violently expelling all the contents of my stomach. I try to gasp for air between heaves. I’m sweating and crying out in pain. After what feels like an eternity, I fall onto my back, exhausted. I remain on the floor for some time before I’m brought to consciousness by Hue’s music, which is growing closer and louder. I force open my eyes and, suddenly, I feel faint. My heart feels as if it has stopped.