I stepped out of the suburban onto the cracked, fading black pavement. Careful not to trip over the tree roots that have uplifted the cement path, I made my way to the large, square brick building that had the slight resemblance of a prison. The fake plant that serenaded the meager company that walked in 'when their schedules would allow them to' was almost too much. The first thing I saw as I walked through the squeaking glass automatic doors was a towering, faded picture of Mary. It clashed horribly with the cheap, white painted walls. I turned left down the familiar hallway that was too bright, the light reflecting off the cold floors. I found myself in a lobby that was far less comforting than it should be. The cream, pleather couches framed a small glass table with yet another fake plant on it. I suppose these people were too busy to water real plants.
"Can I help you." A woman behind the desk in a white nurse's uniform asked monotonously as she stared at her computer typing.
"I'm here to see Kay." I replied, not bothering to acknowledge her, either.
"Room 47."
I mouthed the words with her; I had heard them too many times before. The nurse still did not look at me. I took that as a cue that I was okay to pass. I pushed through the plastic hinged doors with small windows. It always surprised me how light they were, and I always pushed too hard causing them to swing hard and slam into the walls, not like I cared, though. Again, another hallway that was lit too bright, I squinted my eyes. Everything was far too white, giving the illusion that this place was pure.
"31...33...35..." I sang to myself, passing the rooms, "Oh wow look, a picture." I mumbled to myself sarcastically.
A single picture hung in the middle of the hallway. Another fading Virgin Mary framed in Wal-Mart quality wood. I noted that it was crooked and dusty. Even the Virgin Mary looked pissed off here. I moved on.
I finally arrived at 47. For a moment I stood outside bland maroon door with a metal handle. I looked both ways down the hall: completely and horrifically vacant. The old brass number 47 door knocker stared right back at me, daring me to come in. I put my hand on the knob: ice cold, reminding me how cold this place was. I pushed it open and again surprised at how light and cheap this door was; it was probably hollow.
"Good morning, Grandma."
No response.
I knew she wasn't dead, although she looked as though she might have been. It was the same reply I always got.
The room was too dark, shadows were cast over the small kitchenette (which included a sink and cabinet), another fake plant, and a small vanity. I made my way over to the large, glass windows with the grave, moth eaten curtains and struggled as I opened them. A faint light entered the room, illuminating the old fragile woman laying on the hospital bed with a grey hi-light.
"Was your night better?" I asked. I didn't expect an answer, yet I figured she liked to hear my voice. At least, that's what she had told me before she stopped talking...or even recognizing me.
I pulled at the cheap, faded cotton covers, making them taut over her disease-weakened body. This really wasn't necessary at all, but I had to have something to do besides stare at the woman who stared at the yellowed ceiling which, I noted, had a crack that slightly resembled an elephant.
Another 45 minutes lagged on as I spoke softly to myself about the weather, school, the family, and anything else I could think of. Once, her hand spasmed. Other than that, nothing happened and no improvement was made in communication. Finally, with a sigh I got up and kissed her wrinkled forehead. For just a second, I thought I saw her eyes twitch. I held my breath and hovered over her, feeling my own heart beat hard in my chest. After a moment, I realized it was probably the light or shadows casting on her face. Disappointed, I got up. I closed the door silently on my way out and walked down the white abyss, my shoes echoed eerily through the still vacant hallway. I shoved my way into the lobby, once again surprised at how light the doors were, breezed past the faded picture of Mary and abruptly stopped, waiting for the old automatic doors to squeak open. I threw open the suburban door and leaped into the chair, not noticing the questioning glance I got from the nurse at the front desk.
In the brick prison, past the yellowing pictures and the oblivious nurse. Through the cheap, plastic doors, past the picture of Mary, and down the glowing hall, a dying woman blinked her eyes and a smile, going unnoticed, spread across her lips as she fell back into a restful slumber
"Can I help you." A woman behind the desk in a white nurse's uniform asked monotonously as she stared at her computer typing.
"I'm here to see Kay." I replied, not bothering to acknowledge her, either.
"Room 47."
I mouthed the words with her; I had heard them too many times before. The nurse still did not look at me. I took that as a cue that I was okay to pass. I pushed through the plastic hinged doors with small windows. It always surprised me how light they were, and I always pushed too hard causing them to swing hard and slam into the walls, not like I cared, though. Again, another hallway that was lit too bright, I squinted my eyes. Everything was far too white, giving the illusion that this place was pure.
"31...33...35..." I sang to myself, passing the rooms, "Oh wow look, a picture." I mumbled to myself sarcastically.
A single picture hung in the middle of the hallway. Another fading Virgin Mary framed in Wal-Mart quality wood. I noted that it was crooked and dusty. Even the Virgin Mary looked pissed off here. I moved on.
I finally arrived at 47. For a moment I stood outside bland maroon door with a metal handle. I looked both ways down the hall: completely and horrifically vacant. The old brass number 47 door knocker stared right back at me, daring me to come in. I put my hand on the knob: ice cold, reminding me how cold this place was. I pushed it open and again surprised at how light and cheap this door was; it was probably hollow.
"Good morning, Grandma."
No response.
I knew she wasn't dead, although she looked as though she might have been. It was the same reply I always got.
The room was too dark, shadows were cast over the small kitchenette (which included a sink and cabinet), another fake plant, and a small vanity. I made my way over to the large, glass windows with the grave, moth eaten curtains and struggled as I opened them. A faint light entered the room, illuminating the old fragile woman laying on the hospital bed with a grey hi-light.
"Was your night better?" I asked. I didn't expect an answer, yet I figured she liked to hear my voice. At least, that's what she had told me before she stopped talking...or even recognizing me.
I pulled at the cheap, faded cotton covers, making them taut over her disease-weakened body. This really wasn't necessary at all, but I had to have something to do besides stare at the woman who stared at the yellowed ceiling which, I noted, had a crack that slightly resembled an elephant.
Another 45 minutes lagged on as I spoke softly to myself about the weather, school, the family, and anything else I could think of. Once, her hand spasmed. Other than that, nothing happened and no improvement was made in communication. Finally, with a sigh I got up and kissed her wrinkled forehead. For just a second, I thought I saw her eyes twitch. I held my breath and hovered over her, feeling my own heart beat hard in my chest. After a moment, I realized it was probably the light or shadows casting on her face. Disappointed, I got up. I closed the door silently on my way out and walked down the white abyss, my shoes echoed eerily through the still vacant hallway. I shoved my way into the lobby, once again surprised at how light the doors were, breezed past the faded picture of Mary and abruptly stopped, waiting for the old automatic doors to squeak open. I threw open the suburban door and leaped into the chair, not noticing the questioning glance I got from the nurse at the front desk.
In the brick prison, past the yellowing pictures and the oblivious nurse. Through the cheap, plastic doors, past the picture of Mary, and down the glowing hall, a dying woman blinked her eyes and a smile, going unnoticed, spread across her lips as she fell back into a restful slumber
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