After the Fall

by Brad Graber

  “Is anything wrong?” Sheila asked.

  “When are they fixing that?” Daisy pointed at the offending block. She’d complained about it at the last Homeowner’s Association meeting.

  “Next Tuesday. I received the notice yesterday.”

  “Oh, that’s good.” Daisy gently nudged a loose stone back with her foot into the small rock garden that decorated the side of the gatehouse. “And how’s your mother feeling? Is her back any better?”

  “She’s much better,” Sheila answered.

  “Oh, I’m so glad,” Daisy said, checking the chalkboard on the side of the gatehouse. She didn’t expect to see her name on the list of residents who had packages waiting to be picked up, but checking the board was as much a habit as retrieving the mail. She laughed at her own foolishness.

  “And how are you feeling this morning?” Sheila asked.

  “I awoke with such an unusual burst of energy,” Daisy recalled. “So eager to greet all the flowers and shrubs and say hello to my four-legged friends. Silly, isn’t it?”

  Daisy adored the dogs of the Biltmore. Unlike Sheila, who knew every resident by name and house number, Daisy knew the neighbors through their dogs.

  “And who have you seen so far?”

  “I saw Jasmine go by with her two Dads. And Millie on her way to Starbucks at Fashion Mall with her folks.”

  “Lovely,” Sheila said as the eastern sky started to brighten. “The sun will be up any minute. It’s almost time for the shift change. Bert should be here soon.”

  Daisy repeated the weather forecast from the morning news. “It’s going to be eighty-five with lots of sunshine.”

  A gentle breeze stirred the smell of orange blossoms. Both women inhaled and sighed.

  “Spring is in the air,” Daisy wistfully acknowledged. “Ah, another year older come May.”

  “I just hope when I’m seventy-five,” Sheila said, “I look as good as you.”

  Daisy was pleased to see the admiration in the younger woman’s eyes. “Yoga,” Daisy declared. “Stretching is the best medicine. I’m going this afternoon to a hot yoga class.”

  “They have hot yoga for seniors?” Sheila asked in disbelief.

  Daisy frowned. “It’s not a seniors class,” she said. “Why would I be in a seniors class?” It irked her that anyone would make such an assumption.

  “Oh,” Sheila said, seemingly unaware of her faux pas. “But aren’t you uncomfortable . . . can you keep up?”

  “Absolutely. And I love young people. All tatted, like walking canvasses. You can learn a lot about them based on their artwork.”

  Sheila giggled.

  Daisy bent down to retie a lace. “When you’re young, there’s so much to occupy your time. Jobs and school . . . oh these young people come and go . . . in such a rush to get to the next place. I’m practically standing still watching as life passes by. It can be a bit lonely.”

  Sheila looked astonished. “You . . . lonely? I don’t believe it. You always seem so active. Going to all those meetings for the Democratic Party. And the Breast Cancer Walks. And gathering signatures on the latest petition drive. My goodness. I don’t know where you get the energy.”

  “Well, I do try to stay engaged and mentally sharp. Oh, but I get lonely. I’ve lost so many friends over the years. I almost hate to read the obituaries. And those poor souls who wind up in nursing homes . . . that’s the worst. I guess life’s a crapshoot. You never know how it’s going to end.”

  Unnerved by the conversation’s sudden change in tone, Daisy decided to move on.

  “Well, dear . . . it was wonderful seeing you . . . you have yourself a glorious day,” she said sweetly, waving goodbye.

  * * *

  Charlie stood with Dave at the luggage carousel at Sky Harbor Airport. He placed his right foot on top of the of conveyor belt, staking out his territory as the other passengers crowded about.

  “I can’t believe the oxygen mask dropped,” Dave said. He shook his head as if reimagining the entire fiasco. “That scared the shit out of me.”

  “Me too,” Charlie admitted. “In all my years of flying, that’s never happened.”

  Dave slipped out of his pullover. The change in climate from the Bay Area to Phoenix was already noticeable. “That last hard bounce must have tripped open the compartment.”

  “Did you see the look on the stewardess’s face?” Charlie laughed, remembering the woman’s frantic expression. “I thought she’d have a cow.”

  “Well, to her credit, she jumped right up and tried to close it.”

  “But you’d already put on the mask.” Charlie roared with laughter, capturing the attention of nearby travelers. “Prepared to go down with the plane,” he said, index finger in the air.

  “Hey, there’s nothing wrong with my reflexes,” Dave defended himself, now standing behind Charlie. “In a real emergency, I’d have been breathing. You’d have been starved for oxygen.”

  “Small consolation. In a real emergency, I’d rather not know what’s happening.”

  “Is that why you didn’t put on the mask?”

  “I couldn’t,” Charlie admitted. “My heart stopped.”

  They both laughed, grateful for the release of nervous energy on what was otherwise a stressful day.

  “Well, it’s all behind us now.” Charlie placed his hands on his hips and gently twisted. “Damn those airplane seats.” He spied the electronic board. “It’s only 9:15. We did okay on time.”

  “I hope that flight wasn’t a bad omen.”

  “Oh Dave, knock it off. Nothing good comes from a negative attitude. You know, you always find what you’re looking for. Stop putting out negative vibes. Phoenix is a terrific place. There’s culture, it’s young and hip. Lots of bars and restaurants . . . we’re going to love it.”

  Dave hated when Charlie lost his patience. “God, you sound like the freaking Chamber of Commerce.”

  “You’ve got to look on the bright side,” Charlie lectured.

  Dave nodded. “The bright side.”

  Charlie continued. “You’ve worked hard. We deserve this. In a month, you’ll be comfortable in the new job. In three months, you’ll feel like you’ve lived in Phoenix your whole life. Just give yourself time to adjust.”

  “I know,” Dave answered. “I have to go easy.”

  “You do that,” Charlie said as the luggage carousel came to life, “and I’ll grab the bags.”

  * * *

  Daisy pulled up to the Biltmore Greens gate in her red Honda Fit. She rolled down her window and greeted Bert who worked the morning shift.

  “Bert, it’s so good to see you. How are you feeling?”

  Bert stepped out of the little gatehouse. “Much better, Ms. Lee. It’s kind of you to ask. The doctor told me it was just a touch of sciatica.”

  “Oh, I’m so glad you’re better,” Daisy gushed. “I hear that’s very painful. “

  “Yes, it most certainly is,” Bert answered, rubbing the affected leg.

  “Well, it’s wonderful to see you back.”

  “Thank you.” Bert blushed. “Where are you heading this morning?”

  Daisy’s voice perked up. “Sprouts. They’re having a big sale on pineapples. They’re usually $3.99. Today, they’re 99 cents,” she whispered in a conspiring voice.

  “That does sound like quite a sale.”

  “Would you like me to bring you back one?” Daisy offered.

  “Frankly, Ms. Lee, pineapple makes me gassy. I think I’m better off sticking to protein bars.”

  Daisy had never had a protein bar. She wondered if she’d like it. “Is there anything you might need while I’m out?”

  “You’re too kind. Please don’t bother about me. I’m just fine,” Bert replied.

  “Well, I better get going then. I’d hate to get caught in noontime traffic when church lets out.”

  “You have a few hours for that,” Bert chuckled, checking his watch. “It’s only ten o’clock now. “There’s n
ot a lot of traffic on a Sunday.”

  “But there’s nothing worse than driving when the roads are crowded,” Daisy confided. “People tailgate, honk their horn, wave wildly at me. I can see them in the rearview mirror. It’s so distracting.”

  “Maybe you’re driving too slowly?”

  “Oh no, I’m a terrific driver,” Daisy said indignantly. “I’m just cautious. My only problem is finding my car in the parking lot.”

  Bert frowned. “I had an aunt who got lost in a shopping mall. It was quite an ordeal for the family. She was diagnosed with early onset dementia.”

  “Oh dear, that’s terrible. But it’s not my memory that’s the problem. It’s the other cars. They dwarf my little Fit. Last week, my car was parked between a Ford Super Duty and a Chevy Silverado. My Fit looked like a clown car at the circus.”

  Bert chuckled. “That can certainly be a problem.”

  “Well, it was lovely seeing you, Bert. I better get on with the day.”

  “Enjoy the morning,” Bert called.

  Daisy stepped on the gas pedal and without yielding at the stop sign, brazenly pulled into the intersection, busy thinking about the best way to select a pineapple, by smell or by the ease in which leaves at the crown release. It was too late for her to stop when she finally became aware of the Allied Van Line truck, thanks to the driver leaning down hard on his horn. The squeal of metallic brakes was unmistakable.

  * * *

  “What do you think?” Dave asked Charlie as they looked about the furnished rental. The relocation company had arranged for the turnkey apartment with its faded beige carpet, old oak furniture, and white walls sporadically decorated with cheaply framed posters of desert landscapes. Dave thought it horribly ugly.

  “It’ll have to do,” Charlie answered, “though I wish we’d talked before you agreed to this particular apartment.”

  “Why?” Dave asked. “They assured me every apartment is exactly the same. There’s a second bedroom for your office. When they connect the Internet, you’ll be all set to work. And it’s close to shopping and the freeway. Besides, it’s only temporary until you find us a house.”

  “Yes, but we face west.” Charlie tapped on the window that looked out onto the community pool below. “That means intense afternoon sun. And with these cheap, single pane windows, it’ll get nice and toasty.”

  “Oh geez, Charlie, I didn’t even think about that.” Dave was suddenly aware that the room was already on the warm side. He’d have to find the thermostat and turn on the air.

  “Well, it’s okay. We’re here now.” Charlie waved a hand, the sign that he was ready to make the best of it.

  “How bad can it get?” Dave wondered, setting the thermostat at sixty-eight, upset that he hadn’t asked for Charlie’s input before he made the final arrangements.

  “May is when the heat really ratchets up to triple digits.”

  There was a violent rumble above as the air conditioning unit situated on the roof jerked into action. A musty odor filled the room.

  “Well that settles it,” Dave announced. “We’re going to have to be in a new house by May.”

  “Two months isn’t a lot of time to find a place,” Charlie warned, flopping down on the tan sofa. The expression on Charlie’s face warned Dave that the cushions were hard. Charlie poked at the fake potted fern on the oak coffee table. “Are they kidding with this?” He held up the green plant by one of its floppy plastic leafs. “This thing weighs nothing.”

  “How hard can it be to find a place?” Dave called out as he opened the cabinets in the tiny galley kitchen, finding the glassware and dishes. “We’re sitting on cash from our sale in California. We should be able to find a terrific house.” He ran a finger over the white linoleum countertop. They’d need to purchase cleaning supplies. “Remember the homes you showed me in that real estate magazine?”

  “Too far from your office,” Charlie said, bending the plastic leaf on the fake cactus back and forth.

  “But they’re all new subdivisions,” Dave remembered. Some of the houses appeared palatial.

  “That’s Chandler and Ahwatukee,” Charlie answered, shaking the coffee table to determine which leg was loose.

  “Awaa . . . what?”

  “Never mind. The Phoenix metropolitan area is huge. We’ll need to find something closer to your office so that you don’t spend your drive time in bumper-to-bumper traffic.”

  “Well, you’ll find something.” Dave was certain. “I have faith in you.” He began loading the cheap ceramic dishes directly from the cabinet into the dishwasher. “When you’re done over there,” he said to Charlie, who was still playing with the coffee table, “how about stripping the bed? I think we better wash everything before we sleep on it.”

  Charlie checked his watch. “Okay, it’s ten after ten now. I say we spend an hour or so working on this place, unpacking, and then head off to lunch.”

  Dave nodded. “You got a deal.”

  * * *

  Daisy’s forehead rested on a deployed airbag. She felt slightly nauseous from the adrenaline coursing through her body. The truck had slowed, and still, the Honda Fit had taken a hit to the passenger side. Daisy’s body had jerked hard against the driver’s side door before coming to rest. She’d heard a crack, like stepping on a branch in the forest. The sound had seemed to come from deep within her own body.

  “Ma’am, are you okay? Please tell me you’re okay.” A man with a deep, gruff voice pleaded as he removed his Arizona Diamondbacks ballcap to reveal beads of sweat pouring from his brow. “I’ll never forgive myself if you’re dead.”

  “I’m not dead,” Daisy finally confessed as she lifted her head, face flushed. “I’ll be fine.” She looked at the expression on the poor man’s face and took pity on him. “I’m just a little stunned.”

  “Thank God,” the man said, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. “You really should pay closer attention,” he now scolded her. “When was the last time someone gave you a driving test? Jesus. You gave me the scare of a lifetime.”

  “Ms. Lee, are you okay?” Bert called, running up to the site of the collision, cell phone in hand, the 911 operator still on the line.

  “She’s fine,” the truck driver answered, eyeing the damage to the car. “She’s absolutely fine.”

  “Now you stay still,” Bert advised. “The ambulance should be here any minute.”

  Daisy could hear the approach of emergency sirens. “Oh Bert,” she softly said, “I don’t need an ambulance.” But when she tried to move, there was a gnawing pain in her left hip. She winced as the ache intensified.

  “Now please, Ms. Lee. Don’t move,” Bert instructed as the first EMT approached. “I’m here with you. Don’t you worry.”

  Daisy felt flush. “Oh Bert” were the last words she managed before everything went black.

  * * *

  Phoenix’s well-trained EMTs surrounded the vehicle as Daisy came to. On a scale of one to ten, the pain was fifteen. Daisy cried out in agony as she was lifted from the car and placed on a stretcher. Any movement was sheer torture. The sharp, stabbing sensation in her left hip ruled every breath.

  The ambulance ride was a blur.

  At the hospital, a young emergency room physician, with blond wavy hair and an angelic smile, provided morphine. Daisy sighed as the drug, injected directly into her IV, immediately took effect. “Thank you,” she said, her heart full of gratitude as the pain finally receded.

  “While you rest,” the doctor quietly advised, “we’re going to schedule that hip for surgery.”

  “Oh dear,” was all Daisy could muster. Surgery is such serious business, she thought, focusing her attention on the doctor’s mouth, watching and waiting for his lips to once again move.

  The doctor scanned Daisy’s chart as he engaged her in light conversation “The paramedics said you were lucky. Your age . . . the nature of the accident . . . you could have been seriously hurt.”

  His comment rubbed her the w
rong way. Adrenaline surged through her small frame and perhaps due to the morphine, she spoke sharply before thinking. “This isn’t serious enough?”

  The doctor pulled up a chair and sat beside her bed. “Ms. Lee, your broken hip was not a result of an auto accident,” the doctor explained. “We see this all the time. A woman who presents as perfectly healthy suddenly falls to the ground. She thinks she’s tripped. She hasn’t. It’s osteoporosis. The disease generates weak bones and in women of a certain age, fragile hips. You broke that hip in a seated position. It was primed to break.”

  Daisy could hardly believe her ears. She’d heard of osteoporosis, but she’d always thought such a condition was evidenced by poor posture. She hadn’t realized that someone who stood perfectly straight could experience the effects in places other than the spine.

  “It could have happened in the supermarket or in the privacy of your bathroom. You were lucky. There were people around. Have you spoken with your primary care physician about osteoporosis?” His warm blue eyes pressed her for an answer.

  She folded her hands in her lap, fingers intertwined, like a schoolgirl, politely waiting for the teacher to reveal the day’s lesson. “No,” Daisy admitted. “I don’t have a primary care doctor.”

  The young physician was unable to hide his surprise. His response was quick and abrupt. “And why is that?”

  Daisy hesitated. She wondered if it might be rude to share her theory about doctors with a doctor. She’d always been a confident woman, and yet here, in this antiseptic environment, with everyone dressed in white coats and green scrubs, clearly knowledgeable about things she only guessed at, she reconsidered her opinions.

  The young physician awaited her response.

  She cleared her throat and lifted her chin slightly, believing a regal posture lent authority to her words. “I think doctors overmedicate seniors. For every complaint, they write a prescription. I don’t believe in drugs. I don’t think they’re good for you. I think they bring on confusion in people my age.” She paused and took a deep breath before continuing. “There’s nothing in my medicine cabinet besides lipstick and face powder,” she proudly boasted. “I’ve been healthy all my life. Why would I pay a doctor to search for problems where none exist?”