Authors: Kathy Reinhart
“Okay, do you want to step into it?”
An honest reply would have been no, but I stepped into the dress carefully, while I held my hair back, out of her way.
As Helen began the task of buttoning, I admired myself in the mirror. I wasn’t certain yet whether I liked it, but from what I could see, it held more promise than any of the previous gowns had. I turned my head toward Helen as I felt her hands come to a stop less than halfway through the buttoning.
No matter how hard she tried to keep from staring, in the mirror I watched as her eyes involuntarily returned to the scar that ran from my left shoulder to the top of my right buttock. It hadn’t occurred to me earlier that the ugly and unexpected scar might make her uncomfortable. I had lived with it for so many years; I often forgot it was there. And giving thought to the scar meant giving thought to how I got it so I found it easier and much less painful to forget.
“Oh, I’m so sorry! If I had—I wouldn’t have chosen a scoop back—maybe you’ll want to choose another...” She timidly began to slide the dress from my shoulder.
Taking hold of her hands, I calmly said, “Helen, please finish buttoning this for me.”
“But…”
“But…” I offered a consoling smile, “so far, I like this one best.”
I felt her hands tremble slightly, as she slowly began to button the dress again. I stood silently for a moment. Although I wasn’t really in the mood for explanations, seeing how upset she was I felt as though I owed her one.
“I received that when I was very young. So young really, that I don’t remember the pain of it much now.” I stared at an imaginary object within the mirror, as I continued, “It was a car accident. My parents and I were on our way back from my grandparent’s house in Willoughby late one night when we were hit head-on by a drunk driver.” I casually smoothed the bodice as if I were talking about something as trivial as recipes, my voice showing little emotion. “I was hurled through the windshield by the force of the crash and as awful as that sounds…” I hesitated. “Well—I was the lucky one.”
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry.”
Before Helen had a chance to shower me with expired condolences, I urged her hands back to the buttons.
“Thank you, but the time for I’m sorry was twenty-five years ago. Now, it’s time to look ahead.” Pausing long enough to lighten my tone and expression, I added, “Let’s see what this gown looks like with a veil.”
Helen worked in silence after hearing the condensed version of my tragic past and I gave little more thought to the subject. Instead, I focused on the trip to the nursing home I would make once I finished here and the must-attend dinner party later this evening. Dread shrouded me as I thought of the pompous men in expensive suits who would speak loud and laugh even louder in an attempt to impress the guests of honor. Sometimes I thought it was an unspoken rule among lawyers that the one who was able to get the most attention, garnered the most prestige. Brian and I rarely discussed his work and I was secretly grateful for that. I had little interest in the practice of law or the cock-and-bull it was built upon.
“Well, what do you think?” Obviously pleased with her choice, Helen smiled broadly, as she stepped back so I could see the entire gown in the mirror.
I stared at my reflection and swooshed gently from side to side. Prepared to find fault, I found none. The skirt wasn’t too full, the bodice was form fitting but not tight, just enough lace, dainty detailing—I loved it. I offered one energetic pirouette in the tiny room and watched as Helen’s eyes lit up as brightly as my own.
“You like?”
“I like!” I felt giddy. Radiantly giddy. “I’m going to show the girls!”
I walked slowly down the hallway leading into the lobby. Knowing Cory and Charlotte as well as I did, their eyes would tell me what they really thought of the gown long before any verbal reaction could.
Charlotte was the first to take notice of my presence in the room. She stared intently but the slow forming smile told me what I needed to know. Cory’s attention left the window briefly as she glanced around the room, her eyes darting back to me as she did a double take.
“Holy wow, Meg! You look totally awesome.” Nodding in approval, she added, “If you didn’t already have a hubby on the line, that gown would get you one!” That was about as serious as Cory knew how to be, and I thanked her for the compliment.
Turning my attention toward Charlotte, I remained silent as she formed her opinion into words.
“Meg, I don’t know what to say. You’re… well, you’re absolutely stunning!” Reaching out, she touched the floating chiffon panels lightly and added, “You’re gorgeous and I’m jealous!”
I smiled and gave her a hug, murmuring, “Thank you.” With a hint of doubt in my voice, I asked, “This is the one, isn’t it?”
“Definitely!”
“Yeah?” Giving myself another once over in the mirror across the lobby, I confidently answered my own question. “Yeah.”
While I arranged to come back for nips and tucks, Cory and Charlotte said their goodbyes and caught a cab home. I had to pick up my grandmother in Willoughby before heading to the nursing home in Brickway. It wasn’t a nursing home really, but more of an informal institution. My Aunt Karen had been there for as long as I could remember and although I often wondered how my grandparents afforded a place such as Cherry Hall, they had raised me with enough respect to never ask.
The ride from Willoughby to Brickway took twenty minutes by cab, not nearly enough time to prepare for what awaited us. The Cherry Hall Facility was a place where financially secure people sent family members who had crossed the imaginary line between unfortunate loved one to burden. Whenever someone new would admit a family member, it was a sad but familiar scene. Tears would be shed, promises would be made and within three months, the visits would be cut in half. Within a year, half again.
“So, how did you make out today, dear? Did you finish your errands?” Gram asked.
“Yes, actually. Of course, I had to try on most of the gowns at Miz Blaine’s, but I did find one I absolutely love. I just hope Brian likes it.”
Normally, Gram would have been very interested in what I had to say, but anything I said on the way to Brickway was small talk she wouldn’t remember when she got home. Chitchat helped prepare her for the sights that saddened her at Cherry Hall.
“Did he go with you to pick it out?”
I knew her reason for asking me this question went beyond idle conversation.
“No.”
Picking imaginary lint from the sleeve of her sweater, she replied, “Well, he should have gone with you because his opinion expired the moment he forced you to choose it yourself.”
I let out an almost silent chuckle. “I know you’re right, Gram.”
Gram was no nonsense. As far back as I could remember, she called things either black or white and although people respected my grandmother for her brutal candor, honesty had a way of attracting enemies along with that respect. She was superstitious beyond reason and in her eyes; things were what they were, and only the imprudent tempted fate. She believed the wise lived in caution while the fool hearted lived in the moment.
As the cab came to a stop in front of Cherry Hall, I took one deep breathe. It was a futile attempt to prepare myself for what waited on the other side of the heavy double doors. I came each week hopeful that conditions had improved, but each week I left with tears stinging my eyes. Images of sick, lonely people and the smell of death and urine followed me home.
My heart ached for the patients. I found their emotional states tragic. They longed for visitors who never came. Some couldn’t get out of their beds. Others hadn’t a clue where they were or even who they were. That would be my Aunt Karen. Although I often thought I saw recognition flash through her eyes when I spoke, Gram assured me it couldn’t be so. She said her daughter didn’t know who she was anymore—let alone who I was.
Each physical forward step I took through the lobby and main desk area, took me three mental steps backward. This weekly trip had sadly become an obligatory visit; one Gram insisted I accompany her on.
“Good afternoon, ladies. A little chilly for this time of year, hmm?”
Sporting a mouthful of bad teeth and scour pad hair, Norma was too cheerful for her surroundings. I felt certain I’d find a bottle of Prozac if the opportunity to search her purse ever arose.
“It certainly is, Norma. Is my little girl in her room?”
“She is, Ms. Embry. Listening to Bach today.”
Gram insisted on referring to Aunt Karen as her little girl even though she was almost forty-two, the same as she insisted that classical music play in her room during waking hours. She thought a constant stream of tranquil music might eventually drive away the demons that lived in Aunt Karen’s head, leaving room for normal thought patterns. Naturally, it wasn’t working, but Gram was as stubborn as the demons she was trying to exorcise.
As we started down the long hallway, I tried to ignore the desperate faces and pitiful stares that lined the walls. I felt heartless ignoring them, but knew if I hadn’t, I would be unable to contain my tears.
“Come here and talk to me… somebody…
somebody
please talk to me.” The begging voice echoed through the hall. A frail woman reached out for my hand, her pleading tone rang in my ears.
I swallowed hard and offered my best counterfeit smile as we continued to Aunt Karen’s room.
The man standing in the doorway of room one-nineteen grabbed his crotch and uttered obscenities, as he did every time we passed. I felt myself shudder. There had to be a better answer for people like my aunt, but I’d be damned if I knew what it was.
Each week I’d watch my grandmother transform from quiet and disheartened to cheery and anxious, as she’d cross the threshold into my Aunt’s room. For a couple hours every Saturday, she’d live in a make believe world. Speaking as if her daughter knew who she was, telling her stories as if she were listening and asking her questions as if she’d answer. I felt a little ridiculous talking to someone who didn’t acknowledge our presence, let alone our conversation, but every once in awhile; I’d see
that
look in Aunt Karen’s eyes. Not a look I could easily explain, but it was as if she had something to say—only to me. I’d see a thousand words in her languid green eyes but before I could figure one of them out, they were gone.
Aunt Karen sat in a chair facing the only window in her small but tidy room, staring at something—or nothing—on the other side of the glass.
“How’s my little girl doing today?” It didn’t bother Gram that her daughter didn’t answer, and she continued. “Oh, I’m so glad to see they didn’t put summer pajamas on you, it’s much too cold for cotton even though… why aren’t you wearing slippers? For heavens sake, you’ll catch your death of cold running around here barefoot...”
I sat quietly on the bed as Gram searched the room for a pair of pink, fuzzy slippers—cursing the staff under her breath.
Aunt Karen could have been a four-year-old child, judging by the way that Gram doted on her. She fussed with her hair, straightened her clothes, re-made the bed and organized the dresser drawers.
When she was through fussing, she would sit on the cast iron radiator next to Aunt Karen’s chair and hold her, gently rocking back and forth. It reminded me of the many hours she’d spent holding me after my parents died and I hoped my aunt found the same comfort in it as I always had.
The smile Gram forced throughout the visit eventually took its toll and she grew more pensive toward the end of our stay. She made one last check around the room, making sure her daughter had everything she would need until the next visit. Then, with a kiss on the top of her head, she muttered the same words I heard her say each week. “No one will ever hurt my little girl again, I promise.”
I offered a goodbye, but before I could turn to leave, I caught the pleading expression in my aunt’s eyes. Somehow, without a word passing between us, I got the undeniable feeling she was asking me to stay. As much as I loved my aunt, I spent my visits counting the minutes until we left, but today, my mind was racing, trying to find a legitimate excuse to stay.
As we made our way down the hallway, I said, “Gram, the book you used to read to Aunt Karen, what was it? Of Mice and Men, I think.”
“Hmm, I believe so.”
“Is it still in the bedside table?”
She offered a half-hearted nod. “Why do you ask?”
Not wanting to raise too many questions, I tried to sound as casual as possible. “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll stay awhile and read to Aunt Karen. That is, if you’ll be okay to ride back by yourself.”
Without realizing it, I had been holding my breath, waiting on her answer.
“Why, isn’t that sweet of you. I’m sure she would enjoy that very much, especially coming from you.” She nodded in approval. “Yes, I think that’s a wonderful idea. I’ll be just fine; you stay and enjoy your visit.”
As my grandmother disappeared through the front doors, I turned and stared down the long narrow hallway. Not sure what I’d say to her or even why I felt compelled to go back, I headed in the direction of my aunt’s room.