Cobalt blue on the slope of her shoulder. Prussian blue in the shadows of the cloth, invaginations draping down. Dark doorway, too stark and straight. I'd angle it a little, much more lively that way —
“…tuned out, I think. Not really present. Dr. Green, are you SLEEPY? Would you like to lie DOWN?” She smiles into my face.
I have to respond. OK, I'll nod. The nurses all do their best. But they’ll never be family.
“This isn’t his usual naptime.” That’s Dee’s voice. She knows.
“But look at him, dear. He nodded, didn’t he?”
“Come on, Sol. Get up. Let’s go out for a walk.”
Okay, let's. Enough of this room. Reach for the walker.
“No, no, no, Dr Green,” says the nurse. “That’s not the way PT taught you to get up. You know better, honey. You were a doctor!”
Oy, the doctor thing. They have too many patients to remember about each of us.
“Well, Stacy, he was a painter for twice as many years as he was a dentist.”
Thank you, Dee.
Okay, sit back and start over. Wait, make sure I have my tissue. I'm not going to ask someone every time I need a tissue. I know it's in that pocket. There it is. Bring it to where I can see it. May as well match up the corners, fold it straight and flat. I know, everybody's waiting. Too bad, things take time. Wait for my hands to do their job, never mind the shaking, we have all the time in the world.
Let's see, I’m supposed to push down on the arms of the chair, push down with my legs, grab hold of the walker.
Steady, breathe. The ache in the hip will subside in a minute.
“That’s the way, Dr Green!” Just what my mother would have said, except she'd say “Otta zay” in her singsong Yiddish, the way she used to every time a toddler managed a step.
Give her a smile, she means well. Feel the click on the handle, brake levers squeezed off, hang on, start the walker rolling. Oy, so tired from standing up? Aim for the door, one step after another. It's fun the way the walker glides along with me.
“Good job, Dr Green! Okay, you take him, Mrs Green, I’ll do it tomorrow. Bye.”
The nurse is gone. Now Dee’s walking away too. Follow her. Take your time.
Stand up straight, they tell me. Och, who cares. Just lean on the walker. Look at that floor, monotone, scuff marks cross the lines like brush strokes.
Dee’s talking to someone up ahead. I’ll catch up, then we'll walk together.
Oh, she’s really talking. This could be a long wait.
I'm getting there. “Dee,” I say. She doesn’t hear me.
I'm very close now. “Dee!” I shout. She’s probably telling a story, repeating herself, getting in all the details.
I have to lean in closer and yell. “Dee! What’s going on?”
What could be so important? How can she ignore me like this.
“Just a second!” she says. She’s aggravated. I’m walking on, she'll have to catch up. I can't look at her. Maybe if I had walked by on the side with my hearing aid, I could have heard what they were talking about.
Still no Dee, oh here she is. We're walking together now, finally.
She's not saying anything. Maybe she's mad about something. “Why did you go on without me? I was just chatting while I waited for you.” Her voice is cracking. I’m not going to fall for that one.
“Who were you talking to.”
“Your girlfriend Annie. I’m jealous.”
She can't just joke with me after completely ignoring me.
Now she’s close to me, her face nearing mine. She gives me a quick kiss on the lips. That’s nice. We laugh.
She pats my shoulder, and we’re off again, walking out the door, into the sunshine.
The sidewalk is smooth, the cracks file by, rhythmic lines in indigo-black. The grass is actually a darker value. So many different colors in there.
She’s taking my arm, I like that. Now she’s rubbing my back. I sigh.
“You like that?” She sounds delighted. I’ve made her happy.
“Yes, it’s wunnaful.” I wish my words came out better. My jaw feels too tired to even say it clearly. Or maybe my tongue is swollen and can’t move right.
Stop. I have to catch my breath. Can’t ever seem to breathe deep enough. Very fresh air outside, a warm blast of sun.
Dee’s waiting with me now. Not after me to keep moving, like the physical therapist. Patting my shoulder again. Why is that so nice.
“…over here?”
“Wha-a?” I missed it.
“Would you like to sit down over here?”
“That’s too far.”
“Oh come on, you go much farther for Stacy.”
Okay, we'll go where she said.
“Stand up straight, Sol.”
I can, yes. Oh, the bright yellows mix with indigos in the grass, orpiment orange glow in the blue shadows. Curving line of the bushes, matching the curve of the building if I carried it across.
Ouch, the hip again. Pause for a breath, there's time. No one rushing me today.
Here we are already, okay back up, feel the chair hit the back of my legs. Sit, no, wait, they’ll yell at me for that. Let’s see. Press down the brake on the handle. Feel the click. Right one, good. Left one, okay. Now reach back, lower myself down. Use my legs, let go. Ahh, sitting. Breathe.
So much time in bed, in chairs, at table with others hunched over pureed mush, attendants helping me, therapists making me walk.
They say I have to do everything they want so I can go home.
I don’t know about “home.” I’m really just waiting, seems like forever. Waiting for this moment, for her next to me.
~ ~ ~
I enjoyed this Ed. Like the character speaking and thinking , who is an artist, you start with some simple strokes. Then, reading on, I circled back to see how the next color or brush strokes fill out more detail. Your piece is timely as we have gone through rehab with a loved one or ourselves.
Looking for your next writing.
This is a very touching story. It made me think of my father.