Nobody Reads This Page – “Tin Can”

 

c. 2024 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(7-24)

 

 

One of the things I have learned in retirement is how quickly the human brain may become disoriented without a fixed schedule of regular activities. For decades, the pace of my life was dictated by weekly responsibilities, including working a regular job and helping to take care of my oddball friend Janis, someone I had met at a retail workplace in Geneva. This routine kept me positioned as if guided through each week by an onboard GPS system. I not only knew the time and date according to a calendar that hung on the kitchen wall, but also felt this flow of continuity in my bones. No one had to remind me of the hard facts relating to chronology. I knew my place in the vast continuum, and kept it well.

 

Yet with my career at an end, and Miss Mays hospitalized, suddenly, these lifelines were cut. Every cycle, from morning to night, took on the same characteristics. I would rise too early, curse the distance to my bathroom which was at the opposite end of a singlewide, mobile home, and make coffee. Then putter around at my desk in the home office, and eventually reach a suitable hour for enjoying an alcoholic beverage on the front porch. An inset cubicle designed to shield me from rain, snow, and prolonged exposure to sunshine.

 

The foundational concept that weekdays were somehow different from weekends, or that holidays had a special place in the march through a 12-month year vanished. I found myself drifting in space. Emotionally and psychologically like the astronaut character depicted in David Bowie’s ‘Space Oddity’ of 1969.

 

“Ground Control to Major Tom

Your circuit’s dead

There’s something wrong

Can you hear me, Major Tom?

Can you hear me major Tom?

Can you...

Here am I floating ‘round my tin can

Far above the moon

Planet Earth is blue

And there’s nothing I can do...”

 

When I tried to discuss this mood of disorientation with my institutionalized cohort, it did not register. Because for her, now a resident at a skilled-care facility in Ashtabula, a similar paradigm had taken hold. She had survived a heart attack and three strokes, and was therefore unable to eat solid food or to manage her affairs with the liberty of an independent citizen.

 

That was the line of demarcation between us, one that was inconsequential for practical purposes. She floated in the ether, while being cared for by others. I drifted in a fog of irrelevance and isolation, while still technically being in control of my faculties.

 

We were both socially disconnected. Yet able to cope.

 

A recent conversation revealed our unique, shared perspective on having arrived at such a point by chance. My friend called as I was working on a manuscript for an online newspaper, the Geauga Independent.

 

“RODBERT! PICK UP YOUR DAMN PHONE, DUDE! I KEEP GETTING THE VOICEMAIL! WHAT’S WRONG OVER THERE, ARE YOU ASLEEP AGAIN?”

 

I answered her message after rummaging through my refrigerator for a cold brew.

 

“No, I’m not asleep! C’mon now, you know what time it is, I was working at the desk, just like every day. You know my routine!”

 

She must have been outside at the pavilion in their courtyard. I could hear her flicking a butane lighter, to spark cigarettes as we conversed.

 

“TIME? I DUNNO, WHAT TIME IS IT? WHAT DAY IS IT? AND, WHO GIVES A SHIT?”

 

I thought at first that she must have been in a joking mood. But then realized that she was sidelined intellectually by her confinement.

 

“Okay, you’ve got a point there. Neither of us actually care about following the timeline per se, but its Monday. We’re halfway through the year, it’s the first of this month. Independence Day is coming soon! Do they have American flags and streamers hung up at your nursing home?”

 

My scoundrel friend snorted and sneezed. I could hear the rustle of her pajamas and slippers.

 

“HAH! THAT STUFF IS FOR OLD PEOPLE LIKE YOU, RODBERT! I DON’T CARE ABOUT... WHAT DID YOU CALL IT? DEPENDENCE DAY?”

 

I huffed at her disinterest in celebrating the national anniversary.

 

“Independence Day! Get it right! You know, the Fourth of July!”

 

Janis sneered and whistled, impatiently.

 

“WHY DIDN’T YOU JUST SAY IT WAS THE FOURTH? SHEESH, EVERYTHING HAS TO BE A RIDDLE, HUH? YOU CAN’T JUST ACT LIKE A REGULAR GUY!”

 

I reddened with embarrassment. But maintained a sense of calm.

 

“We’re not quite there yet, it’s on Thursday. Today is Canada Day, though. They’re celebrating north of the border! You know, right across Lake Erie. That always makes me think of watching Trailer Park Boys. Julian, Ricky, and Bubbles will have a reason to get drunk and stoned...”

 

She hissed like a feral cat.

 

“I’D LIKE TO BE STONED RIGHT NOW! NOT DRUNK THOUGH, I DON’T LIKE TO DRINK AND MY KIDNEYS ARE RUINED ANYWAY.”

 

Her confession hit me with a tingle of sadness.

 

“Ruined? Why, what happened? Is that from your strokes, or all the medicines you have to take? Can blood thinners cause kidney issues?”

 

My medical interrogation made her irritated. She lit another smoke before answering.

 

“I DON’T KNOW! DON’T ASK STUPID QUESTIONS, RODBERT! I DON’T EVEN REMEMBER GOING TO THE HOSPITAL! MY ROOMIE SAID SHE FOUND ME IN OUR KITCHEN, I HAD CRASHED ON THE LINOLEUM. GRANNY PUT THAT DOWN BEFORE I WAS BORN, IT’S ALL SLICK AND SLIPPERY! WHO’D WANT THAT SHIT ON THEIR FLOORS, ANYWAY?”

 

I was going cross-eyed trying to follow her line of thinking.

 

“You don’t remember anything but know you hate linoleum?”

 

Janis groaned and belched pureed mush from her lunch.

 

“NEVER MIND THAT, DID I TELL YOU THAT AN AIDE HERE FIXED MY PHONE AGAIN? SHE GOT THE NEW ONE TO ACTIVATE! I PUT IT IN THE PURPLE WALLET-CASE YOU ORDERED. IT’S REALLY GREAT, FOR ONCE, YOU PICKED SOMETHING GOOD!”

 

My recovering pal had broken two cellular devices since moving to her venue in ‘Bula. I hoped that the third one would be charmed enough to survive, with its sheath of vinyl protection.

 

“I’m glad you like it, and I hope it lasts more than a week...”

 

She reacted to the sarcasm in my voice by going off like a firecracker.

 

“WHO CARES ANYWAY? IT’S MY MONEY, RIGHT? WHO CARES? WHO CARES, RODBERT?”

 

I couldn’t feel my face anymore, both cheeks had gone numb. I scratched my shaggy beard and shrugged while holding the phone.

 

“You know I care, if nobody else does, you can always count on me...”

 

Other voices began to mumble in the background. I could tell that she had received guests by her perch under the playground gazebo. She changed her tone and relaxed before finishing our chat.

 

“Alright then, thanks for having a big heart, buddy! One of the old farts here got me some more menthol smokes. I gotta pay up for his favor. Take it easy, I’ll call you again tomorrow, maybe. If I remember!”

 

The line went dead before I could reach for my device. I sat still for a moment, pondering what she had said. Then, began to sing to myself.

 

“Here am I floating ‘round my tin can

Far above the moon

Planet Earth is blue

And there’s nothing I can do...”