Sammie & Budgie

by Scott Semegran

  "Simon Burchwood!" she said, making her way around the desk to hug me, tightly. She held her embrace longer than most people, like a loving aunt who hadn't seen her favorite nephew in a decade and missed him dearly. I caught the look on Nat's face, a look of warmth and happiness usually reserved for the sight of a pile of newborn kittens or some other cute thing like that. It was a little awkward, to be honest. She released me a good ten seconds later but held on to my arms, pulling back and getting the full view of me. "It's been a little while, hasn't it? Since I saw you last?"

  "Yes, Ms. Robyn. It has."

  "And why is that, my boy?" she said, putting her hands on her hips, standing sternly. "Have you been too busy to visit us? And visit your dad?"

  "Well--" I said but she interrupted me.

  "Do your kids want some cookies?" she said, looking at Sammie and Jessie. Of course good ol' Sammie Boy and little Jessie heard this and went insane. Why would they not go insane? They were little kids. That's just what little kids do.

  "Yeah!" they said, taking a treat in each hand then running back over to me. Ms. Robyn embraced them, smiling at them and touching their cheeks and messing their hair and looking into their eyes, gazing at them.

  "Boy, are they cute," she said, blushing. "All children are cute. But yours are especially cute!" The kids beamed at her, lovingly, in awe, as if she were Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny or the grandmother they wished they always had. It was cute to see. Then Ms. Robyn placed her arm around my shoulder, pulling me closer to her, and said, "Are you ready to visit your dad?"

  "Yes."

  "Good! Let's go. I think he knows you are coming. Follow me!" she said. As she said this, she released me then placed her arm around Nat's waist and pulled her close. Nat was too tall for the 'around the shoulder' thing. She was like an Amazon warrior, really--tall, way too tall for most people. I imagine the person she ends up with as a life partner will be tall, too, a giant, even. It's true. "And who is this beautiful young woman?" Nat started beaming and blushing and rolling her eyes all over the goddamn place, too, just like my kids did. I had never seen her so embarrassed before. Her face was the color palette of a nectarine: reds and pinks and oranges. It was a sight to see. She and the kids must have been in need of some attention pretty bad. They were just absorbing it all in like sponges that had been deprived of water for years.

  As we followed Ms. Robyn and Nat out of the welcome den, I marveled at just how nice a facility it was. Even calling Autumn Grove a facility didn't do it justice. It was a residential complex, nicer than most apartment complexes you've seen, I guarantee it. It's styling and quality of construction was something closer to a resort with its crown moldings and deluxe baseboards and pristine carpet and eye-catching color scheme. As we traversed down the first hallway, what struck me most was how happy all of the residence were--elderly couples walking hand in hand, talking, laughing, generally in a splendid mood, smiling at us, winking, waving. Sammie and Jessie gladly waved and winked back, enjoying the attention from the residents who, it seemed, were glad to see children in their hallways. Old people love children usually--unless they are jaded or sick or insane--at least that's what I've noticed. It was a rare day when an old person was not happy to see my kids, so rare that I can't even remember the last time an old person was mean to them. How could they be mean to them? They are so goddamn cute. It's true. As we walked, Ms. Robyn was really laying it on thick.

  "Have you ever considered modeling?" she said to Nat, pinching her butt. That startled Nat and she turned to look back at me, a look of surprise on her face. I gave her the thumbs up but I don't think that made her feel any better. She seemed to take it in stride. A second pinch in the butt turned her around. "You could make a killing at modeling. Look at your legs. They go on forever!"

  As we traversed down the hallway, I noticed decorations on each of the doors to the apartments, things like hand-made wreaths of dried leaves and flowers in the shape of hearts, framed photos of loving families mounted next to some of the doors, some apartment numbers replaced with fancier, custom-made numbers of carved wood or molded bronze, and welcome mats with intricate woven designs or salutations painted on in large, bold letters like 'WELCOME' or 'HOME IS WHERE THE HEART IS.' It was obvious to me that the residents loved living here, that it was a home and not the last place of refuge for the helpless like a traditional nursing home or state hospital or insane asylum or someplace like that. I suddenly felt a sense of pride in my choice of home for my dad, something that I hadn't felt before in an unsolicited way. As I watched my kids run, waving at my dad's neighbors, Nat with her arm draped across Ms. Robyn's shoulder (I guess Ms. Robyn finally got her to let down her guard), and door after door of happy residents, it seemed my dad was in a good place.

  Ms. Robyn turned her head to me then said, "Almost there. Just around the bend." She fished in her pockets and pulled out a large key ring, seemingly too large to fit in the form-fitting slacks she wore, and she searched for the key to my dad's place. Ahead of them, Sammie and Jessie continued to run, that is, until Jessie tripped and fell, sliding across the carpet 'Pete Rose' style, on her stomach with her arms stretched out in front of her. The fall startled her but she didn't make a noise until she stopped sliding. Nat released Ms. Robyn and knelt to pick up Jessie, tears streaming down her red face but she was the opposite of sad. Boy, she was furious.

  "Are you OK?" Nat said, worried.

  "Didn't hurt!" Jessie said, crossing her arms defiantly, her face maroon with embarrassment and anger.

  Ms. Robyn found the key she was looking for then said to Jessie, "How did you know to slide into the correct door?" Jessie shrugged and didn't seem to care. "Here's your grandpa's home."

  Ms. Robyn slid the key into the lock and the rest of us gathered around her, as if waiting to see what would be revealed behind the door, like it was some kind of surprise we weren't expecting to see. As she turned the key then the door knob, the door seam released a sound like a vacuum-sealed package taking in air after being slit open. She slowly pushed the door open and we followed her inside. The short entry way led us to the living room where my dad laid, on a hospital bed in the middle of the room, surrounded by a number of medical machines and other pieces of important looking equipment, all seemingly hooked up to my father by what looked like dozens of wires and tubes and straps. A large TV was mounted to the wall and on it, some daytime talk show hosts mimed congeniality but it was mute or the volume was turned all the way down. My dad looked pale and grey--like the color of a cheap piece of butcher meat that boiled in a pot of water too long--and he laid motionless as if sleeping or unconscious, his eyes barely closed, his skin wilted, his hair tussled. And accompanying my father was someone who I presumed to be a nurse, a fit woman whose skin was the color of a roasted coffee bean, her hair shiny and straight, her outfit styled somewhere between workout clothes and hospital scrubs. She sat on a stool and was reading a weathered copy of The World According to Garp by John Irving. She was chuckling as we all gathered around my father: retired Colonel Burchwood, PeePaw, my dad.

  She looked up at us and said, "Have you ever read this book?" We all shook our heads. No one, it seemed, knew the world according to Garp. "That Jenny Garp is crazy!" she said, slapping her knee then laughing all over the goddamn place like a woman possessed, like she was privy to something all of us should know but sadly didn't.

  "Everybody," Ms. Robyn said, smiling. "This is Sharice. She is..."

  "I help Marvin," Sharice said, quickly interrupting Ms. Robyn.

  "Yes, that's right. She assists your father with all of his medical needs: shots, pills, bandages--"

  "And even sponge baths!" Sharice said, giggling and snickering. "He's crazy about his sponge baths. Yes, he is! He loves them more than anything except maybe his scotch on the rocks. He likes that, too, almost as much as the sponge baths. But the baths, he likes those most. Yes, he does!"

  Sammie and Jessie and Nat all looked at me, befuddled, almost disturbed. I wasn'
t sure what their deal was. I mean, Sharice was a little... different, but, knowing how much it cost to live at Autumn Grove and just how nice a home it was, I doubted that her ability as a nurse was anything but stellar. To me, she just seemed a little eccentric, that's all. Who was I to judge, right?

  "This is Colonel Burchwood's family," Ms. Robyn said, introducing all of us. She put out her hand, flat yet firm, in front of her like a game show hostess, pointing at me. "This is Simon, his son."

  "Oh, I've heard a lot about you, son! Nice to finally put a name with a face." She put out her hand for me to shake and I reluctantly shook hers. She had a firm grip like a football player or a wrestler or some type of athlete. She about pulverized my hand with her tremendous grip.

  "OK," I said. I didn't know how to respond to that. What had she heard about me? That was a strange thing to say. It's true. And my hand, she just about crushed it. "This is Natalie or Nat, as we call her." I gestured to Nat with a similar hand signal to Ms. Robyn's game show hostess move. Nat and Sharice exchanged a burly handshake, as burly as two women could muster.

  "And these are the Colonel's grandchildren," Ms. Robyn said, quickly chiming in, placing her hands on the backs of Sammie and Jessie, easing them forward so Sharice could see them clearly. "This is Jessie and this young man is Sammie."

  As soon as Ms. Robyn said my boy's name, my dad--retired Colonel Burchwood or PeePaw as my kids called him--opened his eyes and turned his head in our direction, his yellow teeth revealing themselves from behind his parched lips. Man, he did not look good. He looked about three steps from the grave. Really. A hiss slipped through his dingy teeth, faint and airy and musty.

  "Sss... Sammie?" he said. "Is that you, my boy?" He extended his withered arm from under the bed sheets--wrinkled and grey and sinewy with white, wiry arm hair on his fore arm--and his knobby-knuckled fingers slowly unfurled for the touch of my boy's hand. Sammie reached for him, grabbing his forefinger with his tiny hand.

  "Yes, PeePaw?" he said, nervous. "Are you OK?"

  "Come closer, my boy," my dad said, low and raspy and weak. "Come closer so I can see you."

  "I'm right here, PeePaw," he said, gently stepping closer to the bed. He was barely tall enough to see him once next to the bed but he did the best he could, using his other hand to grab another of PeePaw's fingers, pulling himself as close as he could to his grandfather. "What is it?"

  "It's time," PeePaw said, low and faint. I understood the words he said--barely--and so did Sammie but I don't think either one of us knew what he was talking about exactly. PeePaw slowly curled his fingers, cupping Sammie's hands, softly, like he was holding a small bird's egg. Sammie didn't pull away or try to free himself from PeePaw's gentle grasp. In fact, Sammie leaned closer, propping himself up on his tip toes. "Come closer."

  "OK, PeePaw," Sammie said, turning his head to give my dad his ear. "What is it?"

  PeePaw lifted his head ever so slightly from the pillow, craning his head just so, to get his lips as close as he could to Sammie's little ear. As his lips touched Sammie's ear, he whispered something--speech that was completely inaudible to me--that made Sammie giggle and smile, covering his mouth as if embarrassed, like a fart slipping out during class or something. I looked at Sharice and she stood there, smiling and nodding, not saying anything. Did she know what my dad was whispering to good ol' Sammie Boy? I didn't know. But once my dad was done whispering to Sammie, Sharice clapped her hands as if to shoo us off.

  "Now, I know y'all came a long way to see Marvin but it's time for his medicine, then his sponge bath, then his dinner. Go on, now!"

  "Excuse me?" I said, confused.

  "My Mr. Marvin is on a tight schedule. I run a tight ship," she said, placing her copy of The World According to Garp in the back pocket of her pants, coming around her side of the bed to where Sammie stood. She peeled my dad's fingers apart, releasing my boy, who came running to my side, hugging me around the waist. "How about you come back in a couple hours?"

  "A couple of hours?" I said, still confused. Was she kicking us out so soon? I looked at my dad to see if he had anything to say about it but he just laid there, looking me straight in the eyes, but his look was dead, vague, empty. It was like he was looking right through me, like he didn't know me at all, like a stranger passing me on the street, looking in the direction of their destination, miles away. I looked at my kids and Nat and could see that they all looked tired, depleted, worn out. Maybe a little rest would be good; maybe we just needed some space. "I guess we'll go check into the hotel," I said. "Maybe we'll just come back early in the morning."

  "If you say so," Sharice said, reaching for a small table on wheels, which on top sat a plastic tub of medications and sponges and bandages and stuff like that. She rummaged through them all as if looking for something important, something indispensable. "We'll be here."

  "Well," Ms. Robyn said, appearing from the perimeter of the group, like a ghost from a fog. "Maybe tomorrow morning is best although I would stress that you get here as early as possible. That would give us some time to talk about--things of an urgent matter." She placed her hand on my shoulder, gently. "How about 8am?"

  "I think we can make that," I said, gathering my two kids. I winked at Nat and she snapped out of her spell, as if I was a hypnotist awakening her. The entire visit was somewhat weird, stranger than I expected, but maybe I was just tired or hungry or something. I placed my hand on Nat's back, directing her in front of me. She corralled the kids and we all left my dad's apartment.

  In the hallway, Sammie and Jessie immediately ran away like two prisoners in an impromptu jailbreak. They ran at top speed for where, I didn't know. Maybe they wanted to go outside and run around the pond with the dachshund; maybe they wanted to run back to Austin. Nat, like the good nanny she was, quickly followed them, although they were fast little buggers. As I walked, Ms. Robyn put her arm around me and embraced me as we walked. She really was a sweet lady and I could tell that she felt a lot of empathy and sympathy for the family members that came to visit their loved ones.

  "You know, I'm worried about your father. I'm worried that he won't be here much longer," she said, putting her head on my shoulder. "It's just a feeling I have."

  "I see," I said. "He does seem kind of out of it. When he looked at me, it seemed like he didn't recognize me at all."

  The hallway opened up to reveal a gathering area, a place where a lot of folks were playing a game like Bingo or something, a conductor was calling out numbers and the players were doing something to pieces of paper in their laps. They all seemed to be having fun, still full of life, a long way from death's grasp. Maybe they had ten years left; maybe five years left. Who knew, really.

  "It's just something you'll need to be prepared for when it comes. You know what I mean?"

  "I know what you mean. At least he has Sharice. She seems like a good nurse."

  And with that, Ms. Robyn stopped in her tracks. She looked at me, consumed with guilt or remorse or something, one of her boney hands covering her mouth.

  "Nurse?" she said, confused. "You don't know?"

  "Know what?" I said, also confused.

  "Sharice isn't your dad's nurse. She's your dad's girlfriend."

  Girlfriend? Did she say, 'My dad's girlfriend?'

  Well, shit.

  ***

  ***

  My Volvo S70 was the only car left in the parking lot--its driver-side door wide open, a plate of chocolate chip cookies left on the passenger seat, a note taped to the steering wheel on yellow-lined paper written in red marker that said, 'I fixed your car - Tony,' a roll of duct tape on the dash--and it looked like it had been to the car detailing place. You know? The place where they wash your car and wax it and vacuum it out and shit like that. I’m not sure what Tony fixed but it seemed that his magic weapon was duct tape. I considered for a moment sending one of the kids back into Autumn Grove with Tony's magical duct tape but I knew we'd be back early in the morning, so I left it sitting on the dash as a m
emento, as a reminder, as a decoration. When the universe provides you help, then you let it happen. It’s true. So, the duct tape stayed on the dash where I found it.

  "Can I have some cookies?" Sammie said, as the kids climbed in the back seat, buckling their seat belts.

  "Of course, my boy," I said, buckling my seat belt. Nat passed the plate to the back seat, Sammie's little hands outstretched and quivering with excitement. Kids with cookies are happy kids and parents with happy kids are happy parents. Nat looked a little wiped out, though, like she had been carrying bags of sand up four flights of stairs. I felt bad for her. Really. "You doing OK?"

  "Yeah, I'm fine," she said, buckling her seat belt as well. "It's just been, like, a weird day."

  "I agree," I said, starting my car. And guess what? It started--and amazingly well, too. What Bernice said was true; that Tony really could fix anything. I was going to have to remember to bring him a breakfast sandwich or breakfast tacos or a dozen donuts or some kind of gratuity the next morning. You gotta repay kindness with kindness. I really believe that. "Let's go check-in to the hotel then chill out."