Sleeping Alone

The Stores opened at Midnight over at the big-box mall south of town. This is apparently intended to enable the unemployed and under-resourced to pile up more consumer debt. According to NPR this morning, it is apparently one of the better Black Fridays in recent memory. I love this system!

I knew something like this was coming- not the huge shopping day today, the stand-alone secular semi-holiday that follows the official day of thanksgiving. That was a good one, too, or at least one that was as memorable as possible considering that the people I was here to see have lost theirs.

I started with Raven in the morning, which is where things began to come off the rails. Dad was at the little circular table in the lounge adjacent to the television room where he spends most of his time.

A tray was in front of him- the deal was this: I was taking Big Mama down to Torch Lake to have dinner with a dear old family friend, her grandchildren and a Great-Grandchild. A pretty impressive brood- Olivia’s mom called from Stockholm to warn us that Belgium was going to melt down as soon as trading opened on Black Friday, and even the German Central bank’s last auction of securities had fallen flat.

Note to self: check the European markets early. Plan for melt-down of global economy. But I am getting ahead of myself, as usual.

I ran through the plan for the holiday with Big Mama before I checked off the clock the night before. “We are leaving at two,” I said. “That will get us down to Torch Lake around three, and we are supposed to dine at four or four-thirty.”

Big Mama looked at me earnestly with her pale blue eyes. “Of course. That is the plan. But when will I know when we are supposed to go?”

“At two, Mom. I will see you before that, but don’t worry about lunch. We will have plenty to eat in the afternoon.”

“No lunch,” she said.

“Right. That is the plan. I have to go over to the Bluffs and talk to Doctor B and check on Bill.”

“That is nice of you to do. I have been concerned about him. Phil?”

“Bill, Mom. Your husband Bill.”

“That is very good of you, Victor. I have been concerned about him. Will the Doctor be there?”

“Absolutely,” I said, and as the new day dawned, the streets of the little resort town strangely empty, I calculated the time of arrival at the complex on the bluff above the north shore of the Bay to coincide with that of the lunch service.

The parking lot was jammed despite the lack of traffic on the roads, and I realized the families of the residents must be there in force to share the holidays.

The glass doors opened at my approach. They only do that one way- I will not reveal the secret access code you have to enter if you are on the controlled side of the doors. We could not have that, I assure you. Raven would be gone in a flash- or at least, he would have only months ago.

Although he tried an escape his first day in residence, he had either given up or the staff here just took periodic jailbreaks in stride.

I wanted to see him at lunch. The schedule that kept Big Mama happy was to be at lunch and dinner with her- that left some time with Raven’s after-breakfast nap to sit with him in the television lounge, but I wanted to see how the feeding was orchestrated, and this was, after all, Thanksgiving.

With any luck, I could have the meal with both of them.

First Turkey Day apart in 63 years, I marveled. The public area behind the receptionist-slash-gatekeeper, long tables had been set up and family groups sat with ancient loved ones. The kids looked kind of spooked and the adults looked kind of like me. It was sort of uplifting, and I hoped that the afternoon would work out for us, too.

I was just sitting down on the stool next to Raven, who was intensely occupied with a small glass of cranberry juice. A cafeteria tray occupied the space in front of him with a plate of shredded turkey, a dollop of dressing, submerged in brown gravy, some orange creamy stuff that might have been sweet potatoes at one time, and a soft white roll.

My phone went off as I was reaching for a fork. It was Jackie at Potemkin Village.

“Hi,” I said, reading the name on the illuminated screen. “Is she agitated?” I already knew the answer, of course, but hope springs eternal.

“We thought you were going out for the day.”

“We are. I just wanted to stop by and see Dad before we went. I am sort of thin today. There is only one of me.” I hoped I didn’t seem too querulous. It occurred to me that Big Mama may be on the way here sooner rather than later.

“No, she is fine, we just want to know if we should serve her lunch.”

“That wasn’t the plan, but that would be swell, Jackie. Sorry.”

“We just wanted to know,” she said “Don’t worry about it,” and clicked off.

I looked back at Raven, who had placed his cup down on the table an was looking intently at a younger resident who was twisted in his wheelchair in some permanent rigor. Though he appeared unconscious, periodic snorts emerged from nose and mouth.

Erin was one of the three staff working the four residents, all in scrubs. “Does Eddie seem like he is distressed?” There was no staff consensus on the issue, and I viewed Eddie with mild alarm.

I managed to get Raven interested in turkey and mashed potatoes, and asked if I could get him more cranberry juice, since he had finished his cup well before embarking on the lunch itself.

“It is in the fridge,” said Erin “But we need to keep track of what he drinks, so remember how much you give him.” I was impressed by that level of solicitude, which must have something to do with the larger rhythm of the place and its residents, and then went back to stimulating my Dad with a raised fork.

We reached that point in the meal where he had control of his fork, and moved things around on his plate with precise motions, as if he were mixing hues of color on the palette he used when he was still a gifted painter

Eventually he stopped moving things and I took the tray away and slid it into the slot in the tall food-cart.

“How much did he eat?” asked Erin, seeing the table empty before him. “We have to record that, too. Most? Half?”

“I would give it half,” I said. “He did pretty well.”

Erin outlined what was next on the schedule and I did not want any part of it. I kissed Raven on top of his balding pate and told him I loved him, though I could hear Meat Loaf’s lyric in the back of my mind: “I won’t do that.”

When I got back around the Bay and up to the lunchroom, Big Mama was seated at the service table in the front. I was pleased she was not wearing her coat. I gave Carla the waitress-cum-majordomo a hug.

“She just had a few breaded shrimp and a little of the frosting off her pie,” she said. “That should leave a little space for later.”

“Good,” I said. “Sorry about the confusion.”

“I thought it was part of the plan,” said Big Mama, and I gave her a big smile.

“Completely under control,” I said.

—————-

Author’s Note: I want to make a special, and out of character, digression to thank Dee, who threw her house open to ten people for a Thanksgiving Dinner with all the trimmings at her lovely home on Torch Lake. Recently voted the second most beautiful lake in the world, she overlooks the azure inland waters, and served up a wonderful brown juicy Bird, stuffing, broccoli a fromage, mashed taters with sour and cream cheese for an extra kick, relish, sweet potatoes and those wonderful sweet rolls from the island of Molokai.

She hosted Jane who lives next door, and, who like her, had lost her husband only a few years ago. Jeanne, who brought Russell, who is fading with Parkinson’s, and her grandson Adam with his wife Jennifer and toddler Chase, and Olivia, the lovely granddaughter who left Stockholm for East Lansing to attend college in the states. And Big Mama and me, of course.

Big Mama was amazed at the length of the drive, going to a place she had never been and that she knew well. Or maybe that is the other way around, I don’t know. It was a pretty free-form conversation going down the road in the Grand Cherokee and I was losing track of the narrative.

We did not watch football- the Lions got pummeled by Green Bay from what I could tell- and rather watched the activities of the two-year-old. He was a pistol, and his Mom observed that his name- Chase- was actually a verb.

The little guy was a positive tonic, and he really liked the Reddi-Whip topping for the three kinds of pie: Cherry, Pumpkin Chiffon, and Pecan. It was a delightful festive spread and Big Mama seemed to enjoy the interplay between the four generations under this roof.

We made our excuses as the light faded- I don’t see well at night any more and was as much concerned with safety on the road as separating myself from Big Mama’s delusion.

The darkness was full and complete by the time we emerged from the trees and got on the big road at Eastport. There were merry Christmas lights strung against the Northern blackness along the road at Bay Harbor and on the little houses that lined the road. There were no stars as I pulled up to Potemkin Village, popped the disable placard on the rear-view and walked Big Mama up to the front door, across the lobby and into the slow elevator to the third floor.

We entered the apartment and I took her coat and hung it in the closet. I mixed her a weak wine spritzer and brought it to her as Turner Classic Movies murmured in the background. I was thinking it would not be a weak vodka I poured when I got back to the house.

She looked at me with her blue eyes luminous in the reflected light. “When are you coming to bed?” she asked.

“I am your son, Mom, not your husband.”

“I still want to sleep with someone,” she said sadly. “I did for a long time.”

“I know, Mom.”

Copyright 2011 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com