Nobody Reads This Page – “Sideways Sunday”

 

c. 2024 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(5-24)

 

 

Despite being retired for nearly eight years I still have the imprint left after a lifetime of school and workplace schedules. This worrying idea that things need to occur with the discipline of an artificial timeline remains stuck in my head. So, when the weekend arrives, it brings notions of off-duty chores being accomplished. I typically make a trip to check my post office mailbox in Chardon, something left over from newspaper days. Letters and packages do not arrive there frequently, but I still use the address in all of my books, and on related websites and blogs. Therefore, I try to keep up-to-date with new arrivals, every week or two.

 

On the way home from this lazy excursion, I stopped for a case of beer at a favored depot in Hambden Township. A convenient RediGo store, which also offers Sunoco fuels. I noted that they had removed a row of refrigerator and freezer cases, which were troubling to maintain. The product contained therein didn’t seem to move quickly enough to justify being carried, anyway. I liked the extra space on that side of their emporium. Once this limited remodel was finished, I reckoned it would improve the flow of customer traffic, and offer more opportunities for merchandising what those patrons seemed to prefer. Namely, beer, wine, and salty snacks.

 

Coming home to my residence park in Thompson, I pondered that it was Mother’s Day. Somewhere in the back of my mind were recollections of the Anna Jarvis house, in Webster, West Virginia. A notable structure because it was the birthplace of she who sanctified this special date on the calendar. I would often pass that cultural temple when traveling to see my parents, who lived in Philippi.

 

In modern times, my celebration of the moment was muted by the fact that I had no living mater to visit, or call on the occasion. Yet I took joy from wishing good cheer to those who once carried the seeds of tomorrow in their wombs. In my family, and around the neighborhood.

 

Back at my home base, I sat outside on the front porch, with a brew. Our community matron, who lived across the street, was being escorted to a festive dinner by her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. I remembered that she had reached her mid-80’s. So it seemed proper to call out a wish of good cheer, as she was climbing into her son’s vehicle. But when I delivered this ebullient vocalization, she returned the gesture by wishing me the same sentiment. Something I had not expected.

 

I had to laugh. My amusement caused beer foam to dribble everywhere.

 

While pondering the day, my cell phone began to ring. I had to rummage through a pocket to find my device. When I did, sun glare obscured its screen. But finally, I located the proper icon to click in response. My friend Janis, who had been receiving skilled care for health reasons over the past year, answered with a gasp and a gag that had me sitting up straight.

 

“Gahhhh! Hack! Hack! Hello, Rodbert! Ptooey!”

 

My right hand trembled while cradling the wireless link.

 

“Are you okay? What the heck is going on?”

 

Her explanation sounded ridiculous, but entirely believable in terms of her skewed thought processes.

 

“I tried to eat a slice of bread. That mush they feed me is disgusting! So, I managed to sneak something off of a friend’s plate. But it got stuck on the way down. I thought some chocolate milk would wash it out of my throat. Yuck! But nah, that only made it worse! Gahhhh!”

 

As she coughed and choked and spit, I started to panic.

 

“CALL FOR HELP! YOU SHOULD’VE HIT THE PATIENT ALARM! WHY THE HELL DID YOU DIAL MY NUMBER INSTEAD?”

 

She reacted with a predictable amount of sarcasm, while making noises that were troubling to hear.

 

“You’re a sissy, Rodbert! I’m okay, the bread just clogged my pipes. Gahhhh! Gahhhh! I thought something solid would taste good. That crap they send me is like bird poop! I hate it!”

 

I closed my eyes, and drooped with futility.

 

“Well now you must be a mess, right? Did you vomit all over yourself?”

 

My ornery friend cackled and continued to spit up moist crumbs of bread.

 

“Nah, I grabbed the trash can by my bed! They might have to wash it out though. Gahhhh! Ptooey!”

 

My face was burning. I had turned red with embarrassment.

 

“This is Mother’s Day! I know you don’t have any kids, but you’re a cat mom, at least! I thought maybe the nursing home would throw a little party or something...”

 

Unintentionally, my comment struck a raw nerve.

 

“MOTHER’S DAY? WHO GIVES A DAMN? I DON’T, MY MOTHER DIDN’T DO SHIT FOR ME, EXCEPT SHIP ME OFF TO GRANNY WHEN I WAS A KID! ABOUT EIGHT YEARS OLD, I THINK. THAT WAS IT FOR OUR RELATIONSHIP. WHEN SHE DIED, I FELT NOTHING. NOT A THING, RODBERT! DOES THAT MAKE ME A BAD PERSON? IF IT DOES, THEN YOU CAN KISS MY ASS! GAHHHH! GAHHHH!”

 

My belly grumbled with sorrow. I had to wipe moisture from my eyes.

 

“Yeah, I forgot. I’m sorry to have mentioned it at all! You’ve talked about your situation in the past. It had to be a hard experience to process. I don’t understand it happening that way. You’ve always been unconventional. But not worthy of being rejected by the one that carried your life forward, inside her own body. It makes no sense. Forgive me...”

 

Janis refused to deliberate over my comment. She raised a shield of defiance.

 

“DON’T GET ALL EMOTIONAL ON ME! I HATE IT WHEN YOU ACT MOODY! BOO HOO! BOO HOO! QUIT FEELING SORRY OVER IT, SCREW HER AND SCREW MY FAMILY! AND SCREW THIS STUPID PIECE OF BREAD! GAHHHH! HACK! HACK!”

 

I heard more spit bombs landing in her waste receptacle.

 

“Are you really okay? A nurse should check you out! You’ve got to quit violating those eating guidelines. They implemented them for a reason. You’ve had three strokes! There are consequences to what happened. Let them take care of you!”

 

She wheezed out the last of her ill-advised treat while gagging loudly. Then, wiped her mouth on a towel that had been left by the bedside.

 

“I don’t know why I called. It was the first thing that came to mind! Anyway, quit worrying. I’m okay, my throat is clear now. It’s a good thing, because this bucket is full! Hah! I’ll get yelled at by the staff. Oh well! Let them bitch about me, my nickname is ‘Scoundrel.’ I like it! That’s what I am, right, Rodbert?”

 

She didn’t give me a chance to reply. The line went dead before I could open my mouth. I wanted a fresh beverage to numb away the conflicted mood she had aroused. So, I fumbled for my cane, and stood up with both knees popping.

 

Sunday had gone sideways, but it didn’t matter. There was a full case of Miller Lite in my fridge.