October 31, 2022
Greetings from the inside,
Edward stood at the sink and ate his toast. It was wheat toast with a little butter on it. Not real butter, something that Edith said he could have instead, because of his cholesterol. He took another bite, and decided he’d rather risk heart disease than taste whatever yellow substitute was on his toast.
He ate at the sink because he knew that Edith would fuss if he got crumbs on the counter, or the floor. A piece of toast was not worth getting a plate for, then he would have to wash it and dry it, simply too much to bother with when he just wanted a little something after his coffee.
He looked out the window over the sink. It was dark, so there was nothing to see other than his image in the glass. He could see the kitchen reflected behind him, the candle that Edith always lit when she made tea. Tea. Pah. Forty years they talked about this, but she wouldn’t even taste the coffee he made each morning.
The electric clock on the wall ticked softly, the face of a cat, its tail hanging as a pendulum below. He took another bite of the toast. It was so dry it absorbed the last of the moisture in his mouth. Her idea. He tossed the toast in the sink. “Dammit, Edith, I am not eating this.”
~
The charge nurse flipped the chart closed and handed it to the young LPN coming on duty. They didn’t know each other well, she hadn’t made up her mind to even memorize her name. There was so much turnover she resented spending time getting to know people only to have to train their replacement. The Memory Care wing was brutal on everyone.
“Fourteen is sleeping still, but everyone else is up. You need to check on twenty-two,” she said, not looking at the newbie. “Edward. He was in the hall earlier, asking for his wife, and we settled him and gave him early breakfast.”
The first shift nurse took the chart and riffled the pages, ran her thumb down the list of patients looking for the man’s name. “I’ll look in on him,” she said, reaching into her pocket for her badge. She knew the charge nurse didn’t remember her name, which was ironic. She pinned it on her lapel. Heather.
~
Edward swept the toast crumbs in the sink and leaned on the counter, peering into the yard. Once it was light he knew there would be rabbits, maybe a deer. The little Chinese Maple Edith planted had a bird feeder in it, so there would be Chickadees. It was still too dark, his face loomed on the glass. He squinted, could barely make out gray shapes beyond the window
The kids would be coming for Thanksgiving. Was that right? Or her birthday. He had to look to be sure, Edith would have written it on the calendar she kept on the refrigerator.
~
Heather padded down the empty hall, looping the stethoscope into her pocket, patting around to find her gloves. She reached twenty-two and read the label on the door: Edward Grissom. She bumped her hip against the door and pushed in.
She thought she felt a cobweb on her cheek, brushed it away, and let the door swing behind her. The room seemed darker than it should be. She took a breath to say his name and then couldn’t speak. She felt dizzy, disoriented. It was not his room, not any room on the wing. No hospital bed, no assist rail, no power recliner. It was a kitchen. Teakettle on the stove. There was a tattered braided rug on the linoleum floor.
“Edith?” Edward called out.
Heather heard him, but the sound was muffled. She swallowed, put a hand out to the wall to steady herself. It was a small kitchen, the counter crowded with a cookie jar, a bowl of apples, some dishes stacked to be put away, a candle flickering in the dim light. There was an old refrigerator, Kelvinator, with a calendar held in place by a magnet that said ‘Grateful’ on it.
The man standing by the sink turned to face her. She could see him squinting behind his heavy glasses. “Edith?” Then he laughed. “No I guess not,” pointing at her name tag. He shrugged. “Would you care for coffee?”
Heather felt the unsettling panic subside. She said “Edward?” just to see if her voice worked.
“That’s me,” he said with a small laugh, “I think.” He moved to a small wooden table with two chairs. In the middle was salt and pepper shakers shaped like owls. There was a cup of coffee, and another with a tea bag in it. He sat down and pointed to the other chair. “Please, sit down. Keep me company until Edith gets back.”
Heather looked back at the door, which was not the door she came in. It was a wooden door with six paneled glass, the paint nicked from years of use. She could see the yard outside in the first light of day. She turned back to him. “I am sorry, … I don’t understand.”
“Edith is out, but I already heated water for tea, if you would prefer it,” said Edward, pointing at the cup in front of her. “Sit down for a minute, we can chat.”
She eased into the chair, trembling, looking around the kitchen. Framed needlepoint, flour canister, colander leaning to dry against the backsplash. “Mr. Grissom, I … “
He held up his hand. “Please, call me Edward. Seems we can dispense with formalities given the circumstances.”
She smiled in spite of herself. “Edward.” And then, “Edward, we, … we can’t be here. This is not … possible.” She clenched her hands, and then fluttered them in front of her like she was releasing small birds.
Edward leaned forward on the table. “I have those same thoughts, almost every day. And yet,” he waved around the kitchen, “here I am. And now, so are you.” He took a sip of his coffee and pointed at the owls. “Edith wanted those, so I keep them there.”
Heather shifted in her seat, looking at him, trying to get a sense of him. Finally she said, “Edward, do you know where you are? Where we are?”
“Well,… Heather,” pointing at her tag, “As far as I can understand, we are where I think I am.” His voice quavered with emotion. “This is where I am much of the time, the only difference is that none of you understand it. Well, until now.”
Heather relaxed slightly, looking around the room. “But how am I here?” she asked.
“I don’t know, but you are welcome.” He sighed. “I keep it just as she liked it. But, it’s so damn lonely here. I almost gave up on ever having company.” He looked at her, held the mug in both his hands. Tears filled his eyes, but he was smiling.
Heather felt the last of the sickening bewilderment drain away. She sat back and relaxed her shoulders. The kitchen was warm, smelled of cinnamon and leftover crockpot meals. Edward was smiling at her. She said, “I believe I will have tea. Please.”
Hope this finds you remembering,
David
Copyright © 2022 David Smith
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