c. 2024 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(1-24)
Note to Readers – Townshend Carr Lincoln is a descendant of our noted and beloved 16th American president, and appears in all twelve volumes of the ‘Trailer Park Militia’ series. He lives at Evergreen Estates, a rural enclave in northeastern Ohio. He is a hermitic misanthrope, and enjoys Tennessee whiskey and solitude, both in plentiful amounts. Neighbors consider him to be something of a mystery. But after more than two decades as a resident, he has become accepted as a fixture in the community.
Sunday brought us a wintery mix from the west. Something that might have been pure snow in a seasonal pattern, if not for the fact that it had warmed up a bit since our Arctic blast. While having my coffee and toast, I listened to the pitter-patter of droplets on every window. This downpour was deemed to be the start of a slide into more frosty precipitation, later in the afternoon. But I noticed it only as background noise.
Amazingly, when Janis Mays called from her hallway phone at the nursing home in Ashtabula, she talked about wanting to go outside.
“I’ve been cooped up all day! It’s too much to take! I want a cigarette!”
I sat at my desk while listening. Her craving was one I guessed would have drastic effects on the health recovery that was underway.
“You’ll piss off the nurses there, by saying that word. Bite your tongue, chica! Smoking so much contributed to your strokes in the first place!”
She uttered rude, combative words that must have shocked her caregivers, if they could hear.
“Screw their advice, I’m having a nicotine fit! I could punch the wall right now! Unlock the damn doors! Let me burn off some cancer sticks!”
My head bowed and I closed both eyes.
“Is your roomie back from church yet? Go talk to her, it’s wet outside! We’ve been getting doused all morning! Ain’t it making a racket on the roof of your building?”
She responded with more curses.
“I’m stuck in here eating mush! And they have news on the television all day, in our activity room. What a load of crap! I don’t enjoy hanging out with these old geezers and biddies! They’ve all got oxygen tanks and walkers and heart monitors...”
I laughed to myself, while trying not to let it slip out audibly.
“You were on a feeding tube for how many months? Don’t judge those other patients. They want to get healthy just like you do, right? Cut them some slack...”
Janis belched pureed eggs and cornmeal.
“Kiss my backside, Townie!”
I protested with mock outrage.
“You’re not very ladylike!”
My ornery sidekick began to laugh out loud. The thought of being girly by any definition of the term made her brighten with amusement.
“HAHAHAHA! THAT’S HILARIOUS, DUDE! THERE’S NOTHING FEMMY ABOUT ME, I GREW UP FIGHTING WITH MY YOUNGER BROTHER AND COUSINS! WE HAD A ROUGH HOUSEHOLD UP BY THE LAKE! SHIT GOT BROKEN A LOT OF THE TIME!”
I closed my eyes again. Her life story was one that always tied my stomach in knots.
“I hear someone there with you, is that Julie Mora? I figured she would have made it back from Sunday Mass by now...”
A deeper, more mature voice rasped from the empty passageway. I could tell that her friend at the rehabilitation center must have already gone through menopause. Her accent was regal and very European.
“Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi: miserere nobis. Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi: miserere nobis. Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi: dona nobis pacem. Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world, have mercy on us. Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world, have mercy on us. Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world, grant us peace.”
Janis fretted with the funky, corded receiver. She wished for her cell phone from home, instead of the landline device.
“Julie gets weird after going to her church. She talks about being from Collinwood. Where is that, Cleveland? Her family came over from the old country when she was a little kid, I guess. I don’t care about all that mess, or her Bible nonsense!”
I clenched my teeth and hunched over the desktop.
“Stop already! You’ll hurt her feelings! Don’t you care about being polite in a public place like that nursing facility?”
My scolding did nothing except to arouse her contrarian attitude.
“HAHAHAHA! YOU’RE A DELICATE FLOWER, TOWNIE! I DON’T CARE IF SHE GETS PRISSY! NOBODY EVER CARED ABOUT ME, YOU KNOW? EXCEPT FOR GRANNY MAYS, WHO ENDED UP RAISING ME...”
My belly had turned sour.
“I care about you, dammit! I do!”
There was a long pause as Julie continued to recite Latin words from the traditional Catholic Mass. Then, my misbehaving chum retook her place on the line.
“Are you trying to make me cry? Stick it up your ass, loser! You’ve been sober for too long, that’s the problem. What time is it? Too early yet for a drink? Open a bottle and get wasted! Then you can call me back!”
I was red in the face, and huffing like a dog.
“You called me, remember? I was here getting things done. It’s too freaking damp out there to sit on my porch right now...”
She honked like a goose and then giggled.
“I was bored, okay? The biggest thrill they let us have in this place is playing Bingo. I hate that game! All these blind bats trying to win chocolate chip cookies or cheese puffs or whatever. And I can’t even get a real bite, unless they put it through a blender, first! Yuck! I’m tired of thickened water and slop!”
I knew that after around eight months, her endurance must have been put to the test.
“You’re almost there, don’t mess it up now by cheating! Don’t choke on a treat stolen from the kitchen! You’ll have a dangerous setback and get reprimanded by the staff, not a fun end to the day. Don’t go out to the yard for a coffin nail, either! Quit thinking about that dirty addiction! Another stroke might actually finish you off, where would your cat go for companionship?”
The mention of her feline child resonated more than anything I had declared, previously.
“My kitty! That poor little kitty!”
I heard the clunky handset slam down while waiting for her to regain composure. My comment must have tipped the scales. She had gone over the edge, emotionally. I should have avoided saying too much.
Sitting alone at the computer, I folded my hands and repeated her Italian cohort’s prayer, in a whisper.
“Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi: miserere nobis...”
Postscript: Thanks to my friend Mary Malloy Bramstedt for the Latin inspiration.
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