A Funny Kind of Paradise

by Jo Owens

  Towards the end of the second year, I had a different kind of dream. Angelina and I were sitting in the backyard in the sun, browning ourselves and sipping iced coffee. I looked over and saw that she had cut her glorious hair into a chin-length bob.

  I could have cried.

  “What have you done to your hair!”

  “I cut off the split ends.”

  “All the way to your chin?”

  “I like it like that.”

  There was that saucy grin, challenging me, daring me, to put up my dukes and get into it, and I bit my tongue.

  She saw me holding back and laughed.

  “It’s just hair, Ma. Next time you see me, it will be long again,” she said.

  She put her hand on the nape of my neck, squeezing a little bit. “If anyone tries to hurt you,” she said, “I’ll pull their fingernails out.”

  I turned to her in surprise, but she was gone, and so was the sun, and the coffee and the backyard, and I was lying in my bed, wanting more, yearning for something elusive. But I wasn’t sweating and I didn’t weep.

  For a long time after that, I went to bed hoping that I’d fall asleep and find myself in my backyard, sipping iced coffee with Angelina. But although the nightmares stopped, I never had that dream again.

  * * *

  Alice and Tiny hate each other.

  It always starts with Alice getting into Tiny’s stuff, and Tiny goes off like an angry bird. The more she quacks, the firmer Alice gets, and you can see what kind of a parent she must have been.

  Today they got into a confrontation over a glittery piece of jewellery on Tiny’s bedside table. Like a magpie, Alice grabbed for it, and Tiny held it out of reach, scolding away. Finally Alice leaned over with her long, bony arms and slapped Tiny’s face.

  There was a moment of perfect silence before Tiny started to scream and swing back. I rang the bell, but footsteps were already pounding down the hall, drawn by Tiny’s shrieks. Alice, with the advantage in mobility, was well out of reach, and in frustration, Tiny winged her box of Kleenex at her. In a brilliant moment of comic timing, the box hit Alice square in the forehead at the very moment the nursing staff came bursting through the door.

  “Take Frannie out of here,” said the RN, and that’s when I realized I was banging my fist on the arm of my chair like an unruly spectator at a hockey game. If I’d had something to throw, I’d have nailed Tiny back, but Michiko grabbed my chair and I missed the rest of the party.

  “Wow, you’re worked up!” said Michiko.

  Of course I am! Who does she think she is, Miss Snooty Pants Ex-nurse, coming in here and stirring up the pot.

  * * *

  Anna, last night was the worst yet. The evening girls couldn’t get Tiny to settle down. She went up and down the hallway complaining loudly that she had been told she was responsible and where was the doctor? She wouldn’t be distracted by music or old TV shows, warm blankets didn’t comfort her and she flung her hot milk across the room. None of the usual tricks worked. She didn’t wind down; instead she got more and more agitated. Stella told Fabby she didn’t want to leave her up for night shift, so they put her to bed together, and when they used the lift, Tiny literally screamed.

  She was still ranting when night shift came on. Alice kept getting out of bed, making her rounds, scolding us all; Mary’s eyes were deer-in-the-headlights open wide and for once she wasn’t smiling.

  Finally Alice got into Tiny’s things, and that brought the house down. Even Mary was yelling, “Be quiet!” Heather and Julie stormed into the room, talking loudly to each other over Tiny’s shrill litany of threats.

  This is ridiculous, Heather!

  I need the little girls’ room!

  Should we get her up?

  I’m going to call my MP. I have friends in high places, you know!

  And put her where?

  Don’t think you can get away with treating me like this! I used to be a nurse!

  Oh my God! I’ve got an idea! Let’s use Camille’s room!

  You wicked, evil people! God will punish you!

  Yes. Let’s!

  Don’t use that thing on me!

  Not the lift.

  Huh?

  I can’t believe anyone could be so inhumane! This is supposed to be a five-star hotel! Don’t think I won’t report you to the consulate!

  The whole bed, Jules. Let’s move the whole darn bed.

  Oh my God. You’re brilliant.

  Heather kicked the brakes off Tiny’s bed, ignoring her wails and shrieks. Together she and Julie pushed her out of our room.

  The room was like a tuning fork, vibrating. Checking on us all, Alice drifted over and stroked the velvet on my quilt before turning briefly to Nana.

  Ow, said Mary as Alice sat on her. Alice shifted, muttering, picking at the bedspread.

  Please get off, said Mary kindly.

  Alice wandered away.

  We could still hear Tiny’s protests down the hall and behind closed doors.

  A few minutes later, Julie and Heather returned, bringing Alice with them.

  “Warm blankets for everyone!” Heather announced. They tucked Alice into bed, changed the rest of us, wrapped us up, and when they left, they shut the door.

  I think Alice was trying to sing a lullaby but the words were gone and the tune was shaky too. Trying to make it out, I finally fell asleep.

  * * *

  Tiny doesn’t come back, but the next day they bring in an empty bed, and in the afternoon, the aides and the housekeeper swoop in and remove all of Tiny’s things. They wheel the crowded over-the-bed table down the hall and return with an empty, clean one. They take Tiny’s clothes on their hangers in big bundles in their arms. All her shoes. All her pictures. The calendar. The clock.

  I’m next to an empty bed again.

  It would be kind of sinister except that, from time to time, Tiny forgets that this isn’t her room anymore and she wheels herself in, looks about in a bewildered way and wheels herself out again. “Oh dear!”

  I’ve discovered I can hiss. So I do.

  * * *

  Oh wow, they moved Tiny?

  Yeah, she went into the single when Camille died.

  You’re kidding! Why’d they move her?

  She’s totally disruptive on nights. She kept waking Alice up.

  She’s a pill on days too.

  Nooo. She’s sweet!

  She’s manipulative.

  Yeah, well. Aren’t we all?

  I’ve got no patience for that.

  Do you think she acted out on purpose? To get a better room faster?

  Oh no. She’s not that with it. She’s still ringing all night long.

  She’s sundowning on evenings big time, too.

  She’s fine on days.

  What planet are you on? She’s so demanding!

  She presents well, but…

  Big but. And family is totally clueless. They think she’s all there.

  Uh-huh. Denial, big time.

  But why reward that behaviour with a single?

  Because she was such a crisis. Nobody was getting any sleep. She totally bumped everybody on the list for a single. She went straight to the top.

  Yeah, that’s not fair. I mean, why not move Alice? She’s been here longer.

  I think they thought Alice is pretty settled, why shake the pot, since family are satisfied.

  Frannie’s been here longer than Alice…

  “Frannie, wouldn’t you like your own room?”

  You know, if you’d asked me before Tiny moved out, I would probably have said yes just to get away from her.

  But if I was in a single, I’d miss all this.

  I smile and make an inclusive circle with my finger.

  Oh my God, she likes to watch!
/>   She likes the drama.

  “Are we entertaining, Frannie? Better than TV?”

  “Look at her grinning! You don’t miss a trick, do you?”

  The casual, whose name I don’t know, reaches over and gives me a smacking kiss on the cheek. I push her away.

  “Frannie doesn’t like physical affection, do you, Fran?” says Molly.

  Chris gives her an air kiss, like this: mwaa, mwaa.

  That’s Michiko.

  Aw, everybody needs to be touched. It’s the human condition!

  I wouldn’t say that. Everyone is different.

  Michiko starts to sing:

  “I don’t want my arms around you, no, not much.

  “I don’t bless the day I found you, no, not much…”

  Y’know, Michiko, I’m looking forward to your first CD. I think you should call it “Michi the Tattooed Vegan Warrior Sings the Oldies!”

  Everyone laughs.

  * * *

  Lily is working with me the afternoon that the OT sets me up with a deluxe cushion for my fragile coccyx. (That took long enough! Molly whispers to Lily.) She shows me how my weight is distributed over the little rubber fingers of air. This is the Roho they’d been speaking of.

  Not only that, we are trialling a new wheelchair, a “tilt-in-space.” It’s much sleeker than my old wheelchair, less of a bucket and more of a vehicle. The OT shows me how the handles on the push bar can be squeezed to recline or right the chair.

  “Give it a try,” Molly enthuses, using the lift to hoist me into it.

  The OT takes out her tool kit and makes adjustments to the head and foot rests. Molly tips me and then brings me back up-right, showing me my options.

  “Look at you in your new Cadillac!” she says. “This wheelchair is way easier to manoeuvre than your other one, you’ll see. Lily, why don’t you take her for a spin? It’s quiet here, I’ve got you covered.”

  Lily grabs the quilt you made me from the bed and quickly wraps it around me. Let’s go!

  I am riding smoooth! I feel like…I’m riding in a convertible. Out, into the cold clear fall afternoon.

  As Lily wheels me along, I have a vivid memory: I am a passenger in a sports car, and the colours are as bright as fireworks—aquamarine sky, ocean blue as glass with whitecaps like toothpaste, but my lover’s teeth are whiter and his skin is a delicious, edible brown. I have a yolk yellow sundress on and, flashing on my finger, a bright diamond ring.

  I want to call out to that girl in the car, “Hold on to this moment.” But my words are lost in the wind.

  Then I remember that my words are lost, period. I notice that Lily is talking to me.

  “…and oh, Francesca, I thought maybe this was the one. He’s kind and he’s thoughtful and he’s handsome too. We had a lovely date. We went for supper and then for a long walk, and we talked and it was so easy. I thought we were really connecting. He came back to my place and…you know. But afterwards, we were lying in bed together, and just as I was thinking, ‘I like this guy, I really like this guy,’ he tells me he’s not interested in any kind of traditional relationship. That’s too restrictive for him, he wants to experience life to the fullest, including his sexuality—he wants an open relationship.”

  Lily stops my wheelchair abruptly, slams on my brakes. We’ve walked up to the church, where the trees are in their full riotous fall colours. Lily perches herself on a short stone retaining wall.

  “Well, at least I have the sense not to go down that road, Frannie. I know what ‘open relationship’ means. It means he can have sex with whoever he wants and if he doesn’t have anything more exciting going on, he’ll have sex with me, and every girl I see, I get to think, ‘What about her? Is she the one he’s going to have next?’ Fuck that! Fuck that!”

  Lily swearing! My goodness!

  The angry tears start filling her eyes. “I’m trying so hard! Why can’t I find someone who’ll love me? I’m not asking for the moon. Just a decent, faithful man, who’ll be there for me and Sierra. Is that too much to ask?”

  For once, perhaps, it’s just as well that I can’t talk. I couldn’t even begin to know what to say. I reach out. With a hiccuping sob, she allows me to take her hand in mine. I will her to know how special she is, and how much I love her.

  She says, “Oh, Francesca! I know I have good skills. When it comes to work, I have excellent intuition and empathy. I’m grateful for those gifts and I try to use them consciously for the highest good, to help my residents and make their lives better. So why can’t I do that for myself. Why can’t I tell what a man is thinking? Why can’t I find one who’s thinking good thoughts? Every time this happens, it just rips me apart. You know, for a smart girl, I sure am dumb!” And she weeps.

  I want so badly to tell her to take care of herself. I point to my ear and then to my heart. But she doesn’t get it.

  “I do listen to my heart. I do! Look where it gets me! My heart tells me I want someone to love me. I want it so much!”

  Now I’m mad. I jab my finger at her. You, Lily! You love yourself!

  Lily wipes the tears off her cheeks with her thumbs.

  “Come on,” she says. “Let’s go back.”

  That’s when I realize it doesn’t matter that I have no words, because I know in my heart, she’s not ready to hear.

  * * *

  Chris comes in while Stella and Fabby are turning Nana. I’m so excited to see him!

  How’s the Roho working?

  Very well, Chris. That was five hundred well spent. She’s healing up nicely indeed.

  Five hundred dollars? Oh my God! For a cushion?

  That’s great. If there’s anything she needs, please let me know…anything that would improve her quality of life…

  I gather you were informed that the companion didn’t work out.

  Molly told me.

  You could always try again. There are several excellent companions.

  I guess that sounds…

  Chris drifts off. It used to make me crazy when he did that. And five hundred dollars! I feel nauseous thinking about how Chris has to take care of this for me.

  How small my world has become! How distant the millstone that I turned to grind away at the minutiae of my life…utility bills, managing my work schedule, servicing the car, the guidance counsellor, the rip in the armpit of the cream-coloured silk blouse, the hot-water tank, the swimming coach, fiscal year-end, Angelina’s ongoing difficulties at school, it never ended. Even after the kids grew up and I lived alone, it seemed there was always something. A problem client. A hole in the roof. A poor investment. Plantar fasciitis.

  The moments fell faster and faster, like grains of wheat pouring into the flour mill, and I just kept working away.

  It’s all on Chris now. He’s talking to me and I’m reading his body. The careful tension in his posture. The amount of pressure as he pushes his fingers together, leaning forward in his chair, elbows on my table. But…there are kind lines around his mouth. Goodness. I never noticed that before. There are little crow’s feet in the corners of his eyes.

  “Okay, Mom?”

  Oh dear. I wasn’t listening, and now it’s too late.

  * * *

  Another admission!

  This lady is so old she looks like Methuselah’s widow. Her children look ready for extended care, I’m sure. Molly respectfully brings a chair to the bedside for the daughter.

  Are you comfortable, Mother?

  I’m fine.

  Standing at the foot of his mother’s bed, the son leans his forearms on his walker.

  Are you in pain?

  I’m fine.

  The new lady is lying on her side, towards the wall, but her daughter, looking over her mother’s bed, faces me and she doesn’t look very happy. The son clears his throat, but doesn’t speak. His sister lifts h
er hand helplessly.

  Mother, she says. We’d best go.

  I’m fine.

  * * *

  It appears we have permitted a presence into our midst. There is no more joking around, and even Alice is minding her p’s and q’s. The aides change her position every two hours, working two by two instead of on their own, as they usually do. The new lady grits her teeth. She refuses food, and even Stella doesn’t push her. Who is this person, Queen Elizabeth’s aging auntie? I’m so intrigued that when Stella comes to take care of me, I mime eating and point to my new neighbour.

  “She’s one hundred and three years old,” says Stella, as if that explains everything.

  I smack the table, but very lightly so as not to make a ruckus, and glare at Stella, who obligingly glares back.

  Night staff flip my neighbour gently and I hear her refuse their offers to get her “anything,” but while they tend to me, Heather tells Julie in a low voice that until two days ago this lady was living independently in her own home. She fell and broke a hip, and she hasn’t had anything to eat or drink since.

  How did we get her? How’d she get a bed so fast?

  I don’t know, Jules. It seems to be one of those things.

  Well, she sure doesn’t want to be here.

  No. She’s doing her best to go.

  So I am simultaneously unsurprised and astounded when nameless Madame One Hundred and Three Years Old manages to die silently and unnoticed sometime between Heather’s last round and day shift’s first check.