by Dan Dillard
*****
“Name’s Evie.”
What? I’m taking a nap. It’s the first pleasant thing that’s happened to me since the ungrateful shit left and now somebody is gonna interrupt me? If it’s craft time, I’m going to choke someone. I sit up, feeling the aftermath of the lumpy mattress in my lower back.
“No. Name’s Jimmy,” I groan.
“I’m Evie. You eat yet?” she continues in an odd disconnected fashion.
“No.”
I sit up and lay my book aside.
“Well, I thought you might like to meet some the other inmates. Maybe get some o’ that mess they trying to call supper. An zip your pants, will you?”
Her voice is sharp, but her words are soft and slow, southern. And did she say inmates? A gal after my own heart. A black gal, too. Never tried a black woman but that’s more lack of access than personal preference. I zip my khaki putter pants—unsnapping and unzipping slightly is an old napping habit—and right my creaky old bones to ease off of the bed.
“What are you in for?” I joke.
“Killin’ a white man.”
The leathery dark skin on her face is wrinkly and as stern as a mother superior’s. Her eyes burn into mine. I haven’t been caught off guard like this in since the last time I got laid.
“That’s a joke, son. Relax.”
She pats me on the shoulder with her paper-skinned paw and attempts a smile. It looks more like pain. I shamble along beside her, wishing she’d pick the pace up and trying to decipher the odor coming from the dining hall. It’s not pleasant.
“How old are you, Evie?” I ask, trying to make conversation.
She wrenches her old neck around to eyeball me. I imagine she perfected this version of stink-eye about eighty years ago—perhaps even invented it. It is quite effective.
“I’m probably yo’ great granny. Taught me plenty o’ white boys how to lay the pipe back in my day.”
I stare for a moment before I can speak. “I really want to hug you right now.”
“Do and you be drawing back a couple of stubs, Jimmy. I ain’t playing.” She gives another agonizing smile. We are going to be fast friends.
So this is cruising Rolling Meadows main drag? This place is hoppin’. As I suspected, there are a couple nurses spoon feeding a carrot and a cucumber on the left. I hoped they would do that in the room, but I suppose it gets them out and amongst people. What had Doc Tits said? Mentally superior?
On the right there are just a few still-mobile folks braving the menu. They’d be doing us all a favor if they just put cyanide in the salt and pepper shakers. Looking at the platters on the tables, I see a meat substance, some green beans and a dinner roll. Drinks vary by their owners. Coffee is the only thing that smells good.
Evie takes her place at a round table which seats four. I sit across from her. In the third occupied space is a man with white hair and the thickest black eyebrows I have ever seen. His wheelchair tucks nicely under the table making it almost invisible. He nods.
“How are ya’, partner?” I say, staring at the plate set in front of me by a random orderly.
He sets another plastic tray in front of Eyebrows. I grimace at what passes for food as the orderly in the scrubs walks away to get another tray. Eyebrows says nothing, just the nod.
“We calls him Andy,” Evie says, filling me in.
Andy nods and smiles at the sound of his name. He picks at the food on his plate.
“He’s from Greece. Don’t speak no English. That keeps him right quiet though, so I like him fine.”
“Hey there, Andy. I’m Jimmy,” I say offering him a hand. Eyebrows shakes it and returns to quietly picking at his food.
Evie eats every bite chewing deliberately, but doesn’t say another word. I drink my coffee, eat my roll and wait for my life to end.
6:45 am Tuesday
This morning, I wake to the soothing sounds of Rhonda. Not The Beach Boys, just Rhonda. The first thing I notice about her through my blurry eyes is that she’s round. Not flabby like the duck lady, but round. Putting on my glasses doesn’t change the fact.
“Can I help you?” I rasp.
She peers at me with bitch, please all over her face. “No, honey. I’ve been cleaning up after old farts for years. I can handle it.” She dumps the trash and checks in my bathroom. “You look pretty clean in here. Is there anything I can do for you, Mr. Aldridge?”
I must look shocked because she adds, “Your name is on the door, hon.”
Of course it is. “Tell me who you are and why you’re in my room,” I say.
She nods. “Fair enough. I’m Rhonda, honey, and I was born and raised just up the road. I’m a nurse, but I like to check behind the orderlies.” She holds a gloved hand to her mouth and whispers, “They miss things.”
I hold my hand up, mocking her, and say, “No shit?”
She laughs. It’s a pleasing sound.
“Hello, Rhonda,” I say and sit up.
“I’ll get out of your way now, shug. You get your business done and come on down for breakfast. Best meal they serve here!”
“Tough to fuck up an egg, I guess,” I say, half awake.
Rhonda leers at me and my profane mouth. “Uh-huh,” she says, unimpressed.
I guess shit is okay, but the f-bomb curdles her milk. Whistling as she initials a chart by the door, Nurse Rhonda is gone in a round flash. Then, as if by magic, Evie is standing there. I suppose this will become routine.
“You ready, son?”
“Ready? I just woke up.”
“Aw, who you got to be pretty for?”
“I thought I might put the moves on you this morning, Evie.”
She laughs. “Son, ain’t no moves I ain’t already seen and refused. You can’t handle all this no how.”
She waves her hands, presenting all this as a spokes model might. I find myself grinning.
“ C’mon now, Jimmy boy. I’m ninety-seven years ol’. Can’t wait round all day,” she looks at her watch.
“Lemme get dressed and wash my face.”
Evie steps aside from the door and I overhear her talking to Rhonda. “You teach him right, hon, ya hear?” Rhonda says.
“Don’t you worry, baby. He ain’t gonna be no trouble,” Evie says in her wise way. The two share a sisterly laugh.
My morning piss isn’t the joy it used to be. Trickle, trickle, drip, drip. I splash water on my face and grab a Chicago Bears sweatshirt from my closet. Evie appears back at the door while I slip on my shoes.
“I heard you talking about me,” I say with a smirk.
“Don’t think I’m in love, fool. Somebody got to show you the ropes.”
“What ropes? I think I’ll be fine.”
Her face stiffens more than I thought possible and she grabs my arm with a surprisingly firm grip, leading me off toward the smell of sausage and coffee.
“I been here a lotta years, Jimmy Aldridge. Don’t think for a second you ever gettin’ outta this place. Not alive no how,” she says.
My stomach turns at the thought. I guess it just hadn’t hit home until now.
“Is like a prison, this place. You need to learn the rules before Edgar come and get ya.”
I knew I should’ve punched the largest man in this joint to assert my manliness. Who knew the largest man would be this skinny thing from the slave days. I bet she personally thanked President Lincoln for freeing her.
“Edgar?” I’m not scared of anyone named Edgar. And I don’t take well to threats. Whoever Edgar is can kiss the palest chunk of my smelly back cheeks.
“Don’t you worry none, you’ll see him come round soon enough.”
