My name is Paul Abernathy. Did I mention that? It’s safe in my room, and I like the quiet, but some days it’s more like I need to be there, and this might be one of them. Doesn’t always work, though, and it’s not working now. I’ve got to get out. It’s the voices, two of them, going back and forth. They fill up the place, steal the quiet right off me, so I have to get someplace with less quiet to get peace—does that make any sense? I get back to my room after breakfast, and my church ladies are at me.
What’s he doin’ now?
Him? Whataya think? Nothing.
He do that all day?
Yeah, pretty much.
And back and forth, only sometimes, like now, nastier, like after you pass gas, you can almost hear their noses crinkle up.
I had hopes for that boy, but no more, no, no more.
Such a spineless, useless thing!
Umm-hmm, such a disappointment to his daddy and his ma, God rest her. Lord have mercy!
Like I said, they take the quiet right off me. Ten forty-two in the a.m. and I have to get out of there, back downstairs.
* * *
It’s a great big house. I have my own room, third door on the left once you get to the top of the stairs, and next to the bathroom, which used to be a pain, what with the noise and smell, but it’s OK lately because I’m up and down going in there during the night, and I hardly need to wake up. That hall is just one good pace wide, and just under thirteen paces down to my door, once you step up there off the stairs. Not fancy, but nice.
Coming off the stairs now, the sun coming in the living room window shows up dust in the air; it’s not too bad now, but you can see it. Comfortable old sofa on my left and a broken down old easy chair with a print cloth thrown over it on the left side of that, so I’m passing that first, and a low table in front, a coffee table they call it, and be careful of that, you don’t want to trip, go flying. And no coffee on that table, it can spill or make rings on it. You drink your coffee and eat in the kitchen or at the dining room table only, that’s one of our rules. And to the right is the TV—got a big one last year—and a table with a lamp on it and some magazines, Real Simple and Oprah mostly, with the name and address on the mailing label blacked out. Ajoba brings them in; I’ve seen her.
There’s Archie in his usual spot in front of the TV with the sound turned down low. I give him a wave. Don’t know if he sees it, but he doesn’t look up, so maybe he’s not looking for company. Nobody else in the living room, and the door to the office is closed.
I tell you about our front porch, kind of on the front corner, so it’s on the side too? Looks like folks are out there now—Alice, Janine and Harry. It’s crowded, but then I’m looking for company.
“How bout we go on out the gazebo, have us a smoke?” That’s Alice.
Like I said, sometimes I like to go keep Alice company, but mostly not. Going way over there, I don’t know, and outside—most days I don’t like to be that far from my room.
That perks old Harry right up, though. “You got smokes?”
“Huh. Hoping you did.”
“Ain’t nobody round here got nothin’!” That’s Janine, too bratty loud for my taste. Nobody says anything after that. Still not the kind of quiet I was looking for. Maybe the living room’s not so bad.
I sit down on the edge of the sofa, not looking to stay long, just look around, figure out what’s next. Some quiet here, yes. Better. And here’s Alice coming around, on her way upstairs. She’s getting kind of heavy, started huffing and puffing—Seems like I’m always so tired—but we’re all that way, all the pills we got to take every damn day.
This time there’s a smile I’ve never seen before, almost like mischief. Well now, maybe I have seen that smile, but not for a lot of years—she and I go way back, I might have mentioned. There was a time we were both young, full of energy—full of ourselves, I guess. We had fun, but we were unhappy a lot of the time too—angry. We both lost all our friends and family, ended up here, and I guess we bonded over that. Got us in trouble, all that energy and rage, mouthing off, sometimes worse. Thing is, we stuck up for each other, even when everyone else in the place was mad at us. Like the time I lost it, threw the stew pot on the floor, messed up that staff girl’s dress, burned her leg. Alice spoke up for me then. She was the only one had a kind word for a long time after that. It’s different now, better in most ways, but I still remember how it was, and she does too.
She says “What do you think of our new man, Mr. Saldinho? Isn’t he wonderful?!”
Marcus, guy worked days, left last week—no reason, least not that they told us—and folks got shifted around, so we got a new guy on nights, this Saldinho. First name’s Gregory. He’s bossy, but no worse than most. So what is it about the guy that makes me so uncomfortable? Something about the way he looks at me. I can’t put my finger on it.
Alice looks so happy, I just nod and smile. Can’t be telling her what I think, that there’s something off about the guy. I don’t trust him, and I hope Alice doesn’t expect anything from him. I’m afraid she’d end up disappointed. But she keeps on going…
“He’s so friendly, and not bad to look at either.”
…and laughs in a way I haven’t heard in a very long time. I like talking to Alice, and it’s good to see her happy, but this doesn’t feel right at all. It’s making me knot up some. I want to get her off him, keep her distance, you know, but what can I do? Nod and smile, that’s all, and she moves on up the stairs. Just as well.
It’s quiet enough I can hear the clock ticking, but I like the sound, like it keeps things together. There’s something else too, voices from somewhere, the kitchen maybe? That new young staff lady, the pretty one with the short brown hair and one of those rings in her nose, name is Bree. She’s always asking questions, but in a nice, friendly way, and kind of perky and calm at the same time, like she feels at home here. I’m thinking, go in there, say hello, then come back and hang with Archie. I get closer to the kitchen door—it used to be closed and locked lots of times, but now it’s left open. Things are a lot more relaxed since Ajoba came; you can go in and get a little something pretty much any time, at least during the day.
Something’s stops me, sounds off, not right. It’s that young woman. It isn’t her normal voice, and she’s talking fast. I can hear who she’s talking to now, a strained, cracked little voice; it’s Lillian. That’s Lillian Chalmers, older lady, I might have mentioned, been here the whole time with me, got here a few years before me, maybe from when they opened the house. She’s been doing a bit poorly lately, and she sure doesn’t sound happy now, scared, more like, even though Bree’s trying to soothe her.
“…lovely place,” she’s saying, “take good care of you,” but in this voice, sounds pushed out, raw somehow, not sweet like usual. They sending poor Lillian along to somewhere else, that it?
That gets my attention. They making us move out of here? Where to? Good Lord, things have been rough enough without talk of moving somewhere else. And like where, I ask you, would folk like us go, anyway? There’s all the talk about goals, like you got to be working on some project or other, make yourself better, like here we go, another one telling us how we’re not good for much, got to change, get better, be better. Lately we’ve been hearing how we’re entitled, think we got to have everything handed to us, but you know, it’s not easy, no, it’s not. The voices… It’s hard enough dealing with all this around here without worrying about these written-out plans with things you got to do. It’s like a job, but it goes with you everywhere, even back to your own room, when you want to get some peace and rest.
Sounds like they’re going on at Lillian about that sort of thing. Well, we all got to deal with it, but moving somewhere? At her age? Must be seventy, can’t see so well anymore, or hear either, and started using a walker instead of her cane about twenty-seven days ago, I think. You can hear her walk around now, that click/clunk when she puts the walker down, a simple one, not like the fancy kind with the wheels and special handles.
“Wait till you see this place, Lillian, it’s really very elegant.” That’s Bree again, “They have lots of people there to take care of you, and…and no stairs to worry about. We can get you pictures of the place, it’s not too far, down in Milton, kind of on this woodsy street with paths in the back, and a beautiful garden to sit in. But they say they just have the one opening, and that’s really lucky, someone pulled some strings for you, but you’ll have to move really soon. I can help you get your things together and start saying goodbye to all your friends here. I know they’re going to miss you. I’ll miss you too, a lot.”
Well, that’s a mouthful for that little girl, usually listens more than she talks. Sounds real nervous, and why wouldn’t she, giving bad news like that? Not like she had anything to do with it, she’s just the hired help, come and go every year or so, move on to something else, pays them more, I suppose.
You know, they all hate to give you bad news, like you’ll get upset and yell at them, so what they do sometimes, they act like it’s good news—let’s all be happy, ain’t this great? Like that paperback Bible, Good News for Modern Man, we used to have at Pop’s church. Later you realize it’s not good at all, but by then it’s way too late and they’re long gone. This is real bad though, and this young girl, she’s not so smooth, can’t pull it off, so she’s going on like she can’t stop her mouth.
Bad things in there, give me that clenched-up-stomach feeling, like I’m floating. You’d think floating would feel good, but not this, not at all, no, it’s like a bubble inside you, like you’re one of those bubbles you blow from the bottle when you’re a kid, about to burst like they do when they bump into something, pop and you’re gone. Have to go back to the room. Go right on by Archie, duck, say something like later, man but it comes out a grunt, moving on up those stairs now, not now, not now, not now…
* * *
Back in my room, a little better now, looking up at the long, crooked crack in the ceiling, breathing deep like Ajoba taught me, or was it that other lady? Think about that later, just breathe now, think of something else. Put on the radio? Yes, do that, the radio, that’ll help. Stay here. That was fourteen steps down the hall—I was going so fast I took an extra one—and did I mention, nineteen steps up those stairs, that’s how I got here, and now the door’s closed, settling down a bit. Yeah, better.
Imagine, Lillian moving out, and at her age. And they spring it on her like that, in the kitchen. And then, like it’s her lucky day—hit the jackpot! Hah! Lord have mercy on poor Lillian, and all the rest of us.