by Camy Tang
“Don’t you remember her?” The silky voice grated along Trish’s shoulders like a rock against a serrated knife.
Except the question wasn’t directed at them, it was overheard from the Tricolored Trio standing nearby. Blondie was leaning into her friends as if she were telling a secret, but her voice carried clearly. “She was the one two weeks ago who was trying to raise the roof during worship.” Blondie tittered and her friends followed suit.
Marcy’s cheeks bloomed a pretty English Rose red. Griselle looked confused.
Emmy turned around to glare at the Tricolored Trio, then stepped into the awkward silence staunchly. “I was so envious of someone who worshipped so . . . uh . . . fearlessly.”
Fearlessly. Well, that was one way to put it.
“Hey, guys, let’s get seated and start the meeting.” At the front of the social hall, Ed and Olivia had set up their guitars.
Cool. Trish hoped for a chance to talk to Olivia later.
She and Griselle sat near the front, but to her dismay, Blondie and Co. sat behind them. “Hi there. Trish, right?” Blondie cooed. Like she hadn’t been making jokes at her expense.
“Hi Blondie — I mean, Katy? Kaitlyn?”
“Kassie.” She glared so hard, her thick curling lashes met and obstructed her blue eyes. Or possibly blue contact lenses, because they were way too jewel-colored in this sick fluorescent lighting.
Suddenly, the joy Trish usually had in worship dissipated, like an Airborne tablet in a glass of water.
She sat during worship, feeling miserable. She didn’t want to sit there, but she couldn’t feel the urge to stand like she usually did.
Ed gave the message, talking about submitting to God in hardship — yeah, yeah, rely on God, she already knew that — and then they were done. Refreshments had magically appeared in the back of the hall.
Olivia appeared in front of Trish just as magically. “What happened?” Her voice was short of a screech.
Trish blinked, then closed her mouth to end her goldfish impression. “Huh?”
“Oh, honey, did they get to you?” Olivia’s dark eyes melted with concern.
“Uh . . . do you know Griselle?”
“Hi, Griselle, sweetie. My nephew’s in your class.”
Griselle nodded and beamed. “He’s such a good boy.”
“Now stop trying to change the subject.” Olivia pinned Trish with a look sharper than a C-major-seventh.
She shrugged.
“Was it the worship music?”
“No, not at all.”
“Then what?”
“What are you talking about?” Griselle flipped her gaze between the two of them.
“Unashamed worship. Which someone has forgotten how to do.” Olivia’s tone was dry.
“I just . . .” Trish sighed. “ . . . want to be liked.” Whoa, whoa, wait a minute, she hadn’t intended to say that.
“By those girls?” Griselle stopped short of pointing at them, where they stood a few feet away.
“I know, I know, it’s stupid. I don’t know why, I just lost the desire.” Trish hunched in her seat.
“Oh, honey.” Olivia reached out to cover her hand with her golden-brown one. “You shouldn’t be someone you’re not.”
“But the person I am isn’t very nice.” Trish stared at her feet. “Or rather, the person I was. When do people become made new?”
“In heaven,” Olivia said.
“As soon as you accept Christ,” Griselle said at the same time.
Trish blinked at them.
“Both.” Olivia smiled.
Griselle cast a look around, then pulled down the neck of her navy turtleneck to expose a few inches of her collarbone.
Except Griselle’s collarbone was covered in a riot of color. Tattoos. And a piece of a rather dirty word.
She pushed her neckline back in place. “I understand about the person you were. Are.”
Trish couldn’t talk. Sweet, perfect Griselle had a cuss word tattooed on her shoulder.
“I left my mom’s church because I couldn’t stand how people treated me. Not badly,” Griselle hastened to add when Olivia opened her mouth. “Just so overly concerned.”
I feel like a prostitute. Trish could think it in her head but not say it. Not just because of Kazuo, but all the other guys I slept with, too.
“Jesus set us free.” Griselle grasped Trish’s other hand. “Remember that even if you don’t feel like it.”
Prostitute. “I don’t fit in — ”
“Honey, be transparent, and the ones who matter will fold you in.” Olivia squeezed her hand.
“That, or you recognize real quick who won’t.” Griselle pursed her mouth.
They meant to be reassuring, but Trish wasn’t ready yet to give or receive love. It was easy to just be friendly, to get used to this new community of people.
At some point, she’d know what part of the old Trish was acceptable here.
EIGHTEEN
The smell assailed her as she walked in. A combination of urine, vomit, applesauce, and bleach. The bleach reassured her.
Old person smell. Nothing else quite like it.
No, that was mean. Was she getting cynical? Shouldn’t she be turning into someone nicer? Someone God would actually like?
Christina, the director of the church outreach program at Katsu Towers, guided Trish through the sign-in at the front desk and upstairs to the third-floor rec room.
“Hi, Mr. Amberley.” Christina had a perky smile for the man sitting in a wheelchair and staring into space. Or at least, down the length of the hallway.
Trish didn’t speak until they’d gotten out of earshot. “Does he hear you?”
“Does it matter?”
Good point.
They entered a large room with huge picture windows. Several elderly residents did various activities, some reading, some playing board games or cards, and a large contingency of old women crowded around the TV set.
“Go around and say hi. If they don’t want to talk to you or don’t respond, don’t take it personally. Hi, Mr. Lee.” Christina turned to talk to a man near the window drawing on a pad of paper.
Trish wandered closer to the group near the TV. What were they watching? It wasn’t English. It sounded sort of like Japanese but not quite. She had to tiptoe to peek between the gray heads clustered together.
On the tube, a gorgeous young Asian woman gave a resounding slap to an equally good-looking young Asian man.
The audience — the live one — erupted into cheers and cackles.
The young woman spat a line of the not-Japanese foreign language at the man, then stormed out of the room.
The audience clapped as she slammed the door.
“What is this?” Trish squinted at the TV.
“K-drama.” One woman in a wheelchair looked at Trish as if she were mentally unstable.
“K-what?”
“Korean soap opera, dear.” A woman with dark hair and very long white roots sat on Trish’s other side and gestured to the TV set.
“You all speak Korean?” Most of the women were Asian, but some were Caucasian, and one was Hispanic.
An Asian woman with a red sweater tittered. “Of course not. We read the subtitles.”
The TV had a commercial on. Trish hadn’t even noticed the subtitles earlier. The show came back on, but it was the ending credits and a sneak peek at the next episode, which involved a lot of beautiful women and handsome men. Several ladies sighed, and the group started to break up.
“That’s it?”
“There’s another show we watch that airs tomorrow.” The red sweater woman clapped her hands. “That one has the cutest doctor — ”
“Do you think they’ll arrest Hyun-Ki?” One woman brought her hand to her chest. “How awful that would be.”
“He did it! What are you talking about?”
“He did not! It looks like he did, but I think he was set up.”
“I think that mysterious woman
in blue set him up.”
“But why would she do that?”
Trish helped one woman to her feet so she could get into her walker. “You ladies are really into this.”
“Oh, only some of us.” The woman jerked her head toward the red sweater woman. “Last night, she wouldn’t take a call from her son. Said he knew better than to phone her between eight and nine.”
Trish giggled.
“You laugh at me, but you’re jealous.” Red Sweater gave an arch smile. “I’ll think fondly of you all when I’m on my K-drama cruise next month.”
“Oh, you.” “Listen to her talk.” “She’ll probably get sick on the boat.”
“K-drama cruise?” Trish wasn’t sure she really wanted to know.
“It’s rather interesting.” The woman maneuvered her walker. “They take you to the island where they film several of the soap operas.”
“Do you get to meet actors?”
“No, I don’t think so. Although Millie went on a K-drama cruise last year and got an autographed picture of one of the actors. She treats it like it’s an Academy Award.”
“Come sit down, dear.” Red Sweater gestured to a seat where several of them had re-gathered. “What’s your name?”
“Trish.” She was beginning to feel distinctly guilty for assuming the people in this place were just cheerful but quiet Alzheimer’s and dementia patients. Plus, she’d enjoyed hearing about the K-dramas way too much. She was supposed to be following rule number two, tell others about Christ. Here was a perfect opportunity. “So ladies, did you know that just as there are physical laws that govern the physical universe, so are there spiritual laws — ”
“Are you married?” Red Sweater leaned forward in her seat.
“What? No.” What a question. “Um, there are spiritual laws which govern — ”
“Boyfriend?”
“No. Spiritual laws — ”
“Are you lesbian?”
“No.” Man, get old enough and people feel entitled to ask anything.
“Good.” Red Sweater sat back in her seat.
Uh, oh. Not a good sign. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, nothing. I’m Clara.”
“Martha.” “Sumiyo.” “Eliana.”
“Nice to meet you.” She would forget their names in the next second.
One shriveled Asian woman sat nearby, not quite in their conversational circle. She scowled, not saying a word. How rude.
Clara leaned close to Trish. “She’s deaf as wood. We don’t even know her name.”
“Ah.” Trish smiled at the deaf woman, and the woman frowned back. She almost expected her to hiss and bare fangs. Woke up on the wrong side of the coffin this morning, did we?
“Are you coming back next week to watch with us?” Sumiyo (at least, she thought that was Sumiyo) asked. “You should come half an hour earlier so you can watch the whole show.”
Oooh, goody. “Okay. I’ll come at three-thirty.”
“It’s going to be a good episode. The doctor’s estranged father is coming back into town. I think he’s going to kill him.”
“You’re so melodramatic.” Clara didn’t quite roll her eyes, but if she’d been a few decades younger, she probably would have. “I don’t think it’s anything that bad.”
“How would you know?”
“I’m president of Young-Soo’s online fan club. I would be the first to know if they’re going to cut him from the show.”
“The actor has a fan club?” And this old woman was savvy enough to go online?
“Where’s your keychain?” “Show her your keychain!” Both Sum-iyo and Eliana flapped their hands at Clara, who smiled like a cat in the cream (or a rat in the stinky tofu).
She brandished her keychain, which didn’t actually hold keys — just dozens of fobs all picturing the same Korean actor. Oh, he was a hottie. Did rule number one count if Trish was looking at a picture of someone she’d never meet?
Eliana pointed to one of the fobs. “When he was in San Francisco, my niece went to his hotel and waited in the lobby until he came out.”
Can we say, stalker?
“She got a picture of him.” Eliana sighed dreamily. “I had it blown up into a poster in my room.”
“My nephew tapes every episode for me on his TiVo and burns it onto a DVD.” The fourth woman — Martha? — lorded it over the others for a brief moment as they all looked wasabi green with envy.
“My son’s father-in-law watches these too.” Sumiyo leaned in close. “He bought the entire season — had it shipped from Korea — and it cost a hundred dollars per DVD.”
Trish felt her tonsils wave in the breeze through her wide open mouth. “Shut up!”
All four women — with the exception of the nameless deaf one, who hadn’t heard her — drew themselves up straight in their chairs. “What did you say?” Clara had turned as red as her sweater.
Oops. “Sorry, it’s a figure of speech. It means, uh . . . ‘no way,’ or ‘I can’t believe it.’ ” Internet fan club notwithstanding, she had to remember these ladies weren’t her coworkers or her cousins.
They relaxed. “You shouldn’t use that term, dear. It’s very disrespectful.”
“I won’t.” At least not around them.
“Trish, time to go.” Christina came up to their group. “Hi ladies.”
They nodded hello.
She turned to the deaf-as-wood woman and raised her voice. “HI DEBORAH!”
Deborah glowered and turned her head away. Trish wasn’t sure she actually heard Christina, but at least now she knew her name.
“Huh? Who’s Deborah?” Clara looked around.
“Bye, ladies.” Trish rose.
“No, wait!” Clara reached out and grabbed her hand. Man, the woman had a grip like a falcon. “I want you to meet my nephew. He’s coming in a few minutes.” Clara beamed at her.
Oh, brother. She was as bad as Grandma. “That’s so sweet, Clara, but I’m sure he has a girlfriend already — ”
“No, he doesn’t.”
The other ladies nodded to affirm that yes, he was a single male under the thumb of the family matriarch, who obviously wielded power even from her assisted living facility.
“Maybe next time, then.” Christina managed to yank Trish’s hand out of Clara’s death grip. “Bye!” They escaped.
“Thanks, Christina.” Trish rubbed her bruised wrist. Clara had a superhuman grip on her like Grandma — maybe old age gave them manacles of steel?
“I didn’t do you any favors, unfortunately.”
“What do you mean? I avoided her nephew.” They exited the building.
“This week. Next week, you can be sure he’ll be here.”
Oh, no. Well, maybe he won’t be cute. What if he was boring? She’d have to sit and listen. Or maybe she could make an excuse to watch the K-drama with them. It seemed kind of interesting . . .
“Not only that.” Christina sighed. “The other ladies will make sure their nephews, grandsons, and any other single men remotely attached to them by blood will be there.”
Oh, brother.
She gave Trish a twenty-four-karat grin. “See you next week!”
NINETEEN
Trish had that same premonition — Today is going to be a really bad day — when she went to church on Sunday. It didn’t help that she’d overslept and was racing to get to Sunday school on time.
Once again, the Sunday school coordinator, Mrs. Choi, met her at the door.
“Such a wonderful idea about bringing their pets.” Mrs. Choi didn’t quite look Trish in the eye when she spoke. “I know you’ll make sure no one gets hurt?”
“Oh, of course.”
“Excellent.” Mrs. Choi hightailed it out of there when Trish opened the yellow door to the classroom.
The sound alone should have penetrated the walls to reach the sanctuary, but maybe the architects had been intelligent and put extra insulation in between the drywall. Next came the crashing wave of putridity that
made her gag.
Cages lined the rainbow-colored walls, and a few more were outside the back door in the playground area. Some kids hovered protectively over their pets, others flitted from cage to cage to annoy the residents within. It didn’t look like there were as many cages as children, so apparently some had forgotten, and some probably hadn’t been allowed to bring Precious or FiFi to Sunday school.
Griselle’s hair had become a bush again, but she lighted up when Trish came through the door. Then alarm flashed in her eyes. “No, Bobby, it’s not time to leave — Trish, the door!”
She slammed it shut before Bobby squirmed past her legs on his attempted prison break.
“Sorry I’m late, I oversl — ”
“At least you’re here now.” Griselle tried to smile, but it looked a bit more like a tortured death mask.
“Okay, everyone, sit down and we’ll start show and tell.”
The class took some time to assemble. Good — the more time they wasted, the less time each child had to show off their pets. The less show time, the less time said pets would be out of their cages.
“Who wants to go first?”
Hands shot into the air.
“Bobby, you go first.”
Whines rose like a symphony, then abruptly stopped when Griselle waved her finger.
Wow. How’d she get that to work? The magic finger.
Bobby got up, went to his glass cage, and emerged with —“This is Sammy, my snake.”
“Oooh.” “Aaaah.”
Ewwwww. Trish tried to stealthily back away.
“He eats mice.”
One girl shrieked and dove for her cage, where she wrapped her body around it. Hmm, one guess what her pet was. Trish had a vision of Sammy eating Mousey to the sound of wails and cheers.
Nope. Not while Trish had breath in her body and legs that ran faster than a snake.
“Thanks, Bobby. Next?”
Susie got up with a terrified kitten. “This is Kitty, my kitten.”
These kids weren’t too good on the originality scale.
“She eats mice, too.” Susie crossed her eyes at Mouse Girl, who started to sob.
“Ah, thank you, Susie.” Griselle had a pretty firm arm — she managed to manhandle Susie from the front of the room before she could wreak more havoc.
