Fiction Short Story

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Fiction Short Story

Betty Kreier-Lubinski

Visiting Hour

When she woke, she knew she'd been grinding her teeth and had chewed the inside of her mouth raw. "I've been bad," she thought, "I shouldn't do that."

She looked around the unfamiliar room. A strange lady was sleeping in a bed close to the windows, and there was a wooden thing between the two beds against the wall. It had a big mirror and five drawers down the front, and she couldn't remember what it was called. On top, there were water bottles and stuff, and a framed picture of a smiling little girl. She wondered who the little girl was.

She bit her lip and pulled the sheet tighter around her shoulders. She didn't know where she was or how she got here. From down the hall, the loud noise of crashing dishes frightened her. The noise seemed to be coming closer. She clamped her hands over her ears.

The red-haired lady in the other bed sat up suddenly and opened her eyes.

"Margaret, are you awake?" She looked around but she couldn't see any Margaret. Just the two of them were there. She looked out the window, and could see some bushes with flowers. They were pretty.

"Margaret, have you forgotten your name again?" The lady in the other bed spoke patiently. "Your name is Margaret. I am Ione, and you are Margaret."

"Oh," Margaret said, shaking her head in confusion. "If you say so." She wasn't sure Margaret was her name, and she didn't trust that Ione person.

"You need to go to the bathroom now so you won't pee the bed. Come on, I'll help you." Ione got out of bed, came over and started to pull Margaret's covers down. Margaret didn't want to be uncovered. She yanked the covers back up around her neck. Ione started to pull the covers down again, and Margaret clenched them more tightly, a low growl emanating from her throat.

"Come on, Margaret. You know you don't like it when you pee the bed. It's messy, and it stinks, and it makes our nurse mad."

Margaret didn't know what Ione was talking about. What nurse? What was she doing here anyhow? She seemed to remember waking up in a different room some other time, but couldn't remember where or when.

Ione reached up under the covers to feel the bed. Margaret slapped at Ione, and Ione yanked her hand back. "Oh, dear, your bed is wet. You've already peed. Our nurse is going to be mad. She's always mad when she has to change the beds before breakfast. I better call her now so we can get it done before the food comes." Ione buzzed the nurse.

Margaret didn't register what Ione was saying, but she knew she'd been bad. Tears started rolling down her cheeks. What would the nurse do? Margaret scooted down under the covers and pulled the sheet over her head so the nurse couldn't see her.

"No, honey, don't cry." Ione said. "You can't help it. You just forget, that's all. It's okay. Don't cry."

The nurse came and hustled Margaret out of the bed and into a rocker while she cleaned up the bed and changed Margaret's gown. "Breakfast will be here any minute," she said, "then you're going to have company, Margaret. Won't that be nice?"

"Wish I had company," Ione said.

The nurse smiled. "Margaret needs company more than you do. You'll be going home at the end of this week, but Margaret is not going home."

Margaret is not going home. Margaret is not going home. Margaret rolled the words around in her mouth, but they were tasteless. She didn't know where home was, or what it was, and who the visitors might be. She glanced back at the flowers, the pretty flowers, and wished she could have them in her room. Breakfast was warm oatmeal with brown sugar. Margaret's hand was unsteady, and she spilled as much on her robe as she got in her mouth. The icky stuff stuck to her fingers and gown. The nurse had to change it before the visitors came, and she jerked the new gown over Margaret's head.

"Your visitors are going to be here any minute," she said. "We have to hurry. Now, don't spill anything more." Then a tall, elderly man, a bit stooped in the shoulders, came in, a very serious look on his face. Behind him was a young woman. Margaret didn't know either of them.

"Hi, sweetheart," the man said.

"Who are you?" Margaret asked.

"I'm Keith, your husband." He came over and hugged Margaret. She liked hugging so she hugged him back, although she wasn't sure he was her husband. You couldn't always tell when people were telling the truth.

"Mother, I'm Karen, your daughter," the younger woman said. "Look, we brought you some flowers and candy."

"I like flowers. They're pretty." Margaret watched as Karen got a vase and water for the flowers and sat them on the dresser.

"Here's the candy," Karen said, opening the box of chocolates.

Margaret remembered sweet. Candy was sweet. She picked up a piece and stuck it in her mouth.

"Mother, no," Karen said sharply. "Don't eat the paper on the candy. That's awful."

Margaret chewed faster so that Karen couldn't take it away from her.

"Here, I'll take all the papers off for you." Karen started to pick up the candy box. Margaret reached out and snatched up a handful of candies before Karen could take them away. She put another piece in her mouth, and another. Karen tried to grab the paper off the pieces Margaret was putting in her mouth, and Margaret jerked back and hit Karen's arm, then quickly crammed another piece in.

"Oh, Mother," Karen scolded. "You can't eat that much candy at one time, and you absolutely can't eat the paper. It'll make you sick."

"No," Margaret mumbled. "I'm not your mother. My daughter is prettier than you." She glared at the younger woman. Her words slurred with candy and paper. She grabbed the box of candy and held it tight to her chest so Karen couldn't get it away from her. "I remember you. I hate you. You're the lady who comes and steals my clothes."

Karen burst into tears. She got up suddenly and rushed out to the hallway.

"Sweetheart, that's not nice. Karen is trying to help you." He patted his wife's shoulder awkwardly, and said, "She loves you very much."

"She's not my daughter. She comes and steals my things."

"Steals your things?"

"Yes, every time she comes, she picks up some of my clothes and sneaks them away with her. She thinks I don't notice. Pretty soon I won't have anything left."

Keith smiled. "Honey, she takes your clothes home to wash and iron, and then we bring them back to you. See, I've got some of your clothes right here in the suitcase. These are all things Karen washed."

"All I know is that she steals my stuff."

"You hurt her feelings."

"I don't care. She steals my stuff."

Keith sighed and let it go. "Your birthday is coming up, Margaret. We're going to ask permission to take you out for dinner. Won't that be fun?"

Margaret didn't know if that would be fun or not. "I'm not sure I want to go."

"Sure, you want to go," Ione said. "My gollies, you'd get some good food for a change. The stuff they serve here is awful."

"Maybe," Margaret said. She wasn't sure. "As long as we don't have to take that girl who steals my stuff."

Keith grimaced. "Sweetheart, that's Karen, our daughter. She does not steal your stuff. See, I brought it all back, all your clothes that she took. She wants to go, too. It won't be any fun if the whole family can't go."

Margaret panicked. She didn't understand, she couldn't absorb it, but she felt pushed into something she didn't want. She wondered if this was really her husband. Was this what husbands were like? If so, she hoped she didn't have one. Margaret was relieved when her visitors were gone.

They waited outside to see the nurse, to get some more information about how Margaret was doing. She gave them a quick rundown on Margaret's physical condition. Then she mentioned Margaret's distress during the visit. Keith said, "She thinks Karen is stealing her clothes when she takes them to wash. I couldn't seem to get through to her. She doesn't recognize Karen."

"Please, Mr. Taylor, don't let that bother you. Alzheimer's patients sometimes get weird ideas. Usually they let go of them after awhile, and go on to other things. You need to let it go in one ear and out the other."

Karen's eyes watered. "It's hard when I remember how she was before."

The nurse nodded sympathetically. "It's harder for you than her. Most of the time she doesn't remember how she used to be. You just have to take each day as it comes."

Karen said, "I may not come to visit any more. All I do is upset her."

"She might be even more upset if you didn't come. On an unconscious level, I believe your mother knows you love her and care about her. She likes to be hugged. Hug her a lot."

"Yeah," Karen said. "We'll see."

After they walked out, Margaret stuffed the last piece of chocolate from the box into her mouth. It hurt. She couldn't chew; her mouth was too full. She tried to spit it out, but it just stuck there. She dug out some of the chewed chocolate and paper with her fingers. They got all sticky, and she couldn't figure out what to do with the chewed glob. She shuddered, and wiped it on her nightgown. She pulled up the edge of the sheet to wipe the chocolate juice dripping from her mouth, smearing it on her face.

Ione looked on in horror and said quickly, "I'm going to call the nurse."

Margaret started to hide under the covers again, but just then, she noticed the pretty flowers on her dresser and wondered where they had come from. That was a nice friendly hug that old man gave her. She wondered who he really was.

© Copyright 2002 by Betty Kreier-Lubinski