by Ron Merkin<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 The name should have warned him. Fifty six residents had signed a petition to change their title\u00a0 from its original \u201cEast View Senior Living Home\u201d. Strange to make an understatement. But Professor Milcowitz needed the money.<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 So as twelve people sat around a table in the home\u2019s library he launched his first session by asking what they were hoping to learn in his creative writing workshop.<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cI\u2019d like to refine my engineering skills, particularly regarding bridge construction,\u201d said a man sitting three places to the professor\u2019s left.<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Bridge construction? There must be a misunderstanding, Professor Milcowitz was about to say. But then another man – facing him from the other end of the table – shot his hand in the air. \u201cHow long will each of these classes take?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Annoyed, \u201cFifty eight minutes, twenty two and a half seconds,\u201d Milcowitz informed him.<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cOh\u2026 well as long as it\u2019s so close to an hour, why not round it out to sixty minutes?\u201d Milcowitz studied the man. He\u2019s not joking, he realized.<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cI tell you what,\u201d Milcowitz decided. \u201cInstead of going around the room to introduce ourselves and indicate what our goals in this writing workshop are, why not plunge right in with an exercise? I see everyone has come prepared with paper and pen or a lap top computer. I was planning to ask you to free-write a scene for ten minutes that describes some situation from your recent or distant past that made you angry. Don’t edit, just let your writing flow. This is the type of raw material you may be able to use to shape your fiction as we meet on a weekly basis.\u201d Professor Milcowitz glanced at his watch. \u201cLet\u2019s start now,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Milcowitz didn\u2019t participate in the writing exercise. When the ten minutes were finished he asked, \u201cWould anyone like to share what they\u2019ve written?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 A man dressed in a soiled looking flannel shirt halfway around the table raised his hand . \u201cOK.\u201d Professor Milcowitz nodded.<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Lowering his eyes to a lined yellow paper pad on the table in front of him, \u201cOne day, fifteen years ago, I left my bicycle on a sidewalk, locked to one of those inverted U shaped parking racks,\u201d he read. \u201cWhen I came back forty minutes later I tried as hard as I could to uproot the pole so I could get my bike. But the pole wouldn\u2019t budge. Somebody walking by who noticed me struggling happened to have an adjustable wrench in his briefcase. He tried unsuccessfully to unscrew the bolts that fastened the pole to the pavement. Finally three more passersby plus myself pulled with all our might. It wouldn\u2019t move. This happened in Philadelphia, not my native city. I’d brought my bike on the plane as a convenient way to get around but had to catch a flight home in an hour and a half. So I walked away and left my bike where it was. I never saw it again.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 A pause. Then, \u201cWhy… didn\u2019t you… unlock the bike chain with your key instead of trying to uproot the pole?\u201d The woman asking this seemed genuinely confused<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cOh, sorry…\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cCome to think of it, that never occurred to me.\u201d The man looked at the ceiling. Then oblivious to the laughter around him, \u201cI consulted a lawyer when I got home,\u201d he continued. \u201cBut he told me it\u2019s very hard to sue municipal governments, especially over faulty bike racks.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Another pause. Then, \u201cIs that the whole piece?\u201d Professor Milcowitz asked.<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cYes,\u201d the man said.<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cWell, thank you for your contribution\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cThat\u2019s the entire\u00a0first\u00a0<\/em>piece. I wrote two others for this exercise…\u201d<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cWell, maybe we should give someone else a chance.\u201d Professor Milcowitz smiled.<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 From her place two people to the professor\u2019s right, Katherine shot him a skeptical glance. Noticing, he thought that woman\u2019s probably wondering if I really want to give someone else a chance or if I\u2019m hoping that a volunteer with a more lucid text might read next. He also noticed that Katherine was dressed in a prim looking tweed suit and her hair was carefully coiffed. A more promising appearance, so nodding in her direction, \u201cMight you like to share what\u00a0you\u2019ve<\/em>\u00a0written?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cSure,\u201d she answered, then eyes focused on her lap top screen, \u201cWhen I was a little girl\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cThat\u2019s not an advisable beginning.\u201d A man sitting next to the professor interrupted her. \u201cIt doesn\u2019t arrest the reader\u2019s attention right from the beginning.\u201d<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201c\u2026.I was sitting on the front edge of a garden rocking chair in my family\u2019s backyard one day. Jeffrey, my neighbor of the same age, was standing behind the chair and rocking it forward and back. It was a playful motion, but suddenly I felt something pierce my back. \u2018Ouch!\u2019 I screamed. I jumped up and ran into the house. It turned out there was a rusty nail that had somehow loosened from a back plank of that chair and was pointed at me. It never occurred to me until writing this today that Jeffrey must have seen that nail. He either purposely aimed it at my back or did nothing to stop it once he saw where it was headed.<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cMy mother took me to the emergency room of our local hospital. I needed a tetanus injection and maybe some stitches – I can\u2019t remember about the last. I do remember that the doctors said the nail missed my spinal column by less than one quarter of an inch. If it had penetrated there, I might have been disabled for life.\u201d Raising her eyes from her screen, Katherine looked at the man who\u2019d read his sketch about a Philadelphia bicycle rack. \u201cThis is not part of what I wrote,\u201d she added, \u201cbut I wonder if Jeffrey has ever thought back to that incident and felt remorse.\u201d<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 No one said anything. Finally, \u201cMale chauvinist!\u201d exclaimed a man in a suit and tie sitting directly across from Katherine.<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cMale chauvinist?\u201d Katherine asked.<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Standing up, the man threw a handkerchief he was holding onto the table in front of him. \u201cGod damned right,\u201d he said, and stormed out of the room.<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Katherine\u2019s eyes followed him.<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cI feel like I\u2019m in an insane asylum,\u201d said a woman. Shrunk looking, age ninety or older, all heads turned in her direction. Until he saw her, Milcowitz assumed she was reacting to the atmosphere in the room. She wasn\u2019t. She was reading what she\u2019d written.<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Head sunk nearly to the table top, her eyes squinted through enormous black rimmed glasses over the paper in front of her, \u201cI never wanted peach pie,\u201d she read. \u201cI wanted toe bells and a tiara modifier! No one gave me these, so what was I to do? I couldn\u2019t manufacture them- it was the days before radio fireside chats had even been invented! Billy made money, don\u2019t get me wrong. My frustration was caused by the fact that he couldn\u2019t understand<\/em>\u00a0my tapestry dactofidles!\u201d Glancing up, she looked at her audience.<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 So this is what I get for agreeing to lead a weekly workshop, Professor Milcowitz thought. \u201cI have to leave early today,\u201d he told his audience. \u201cIt\u2019ll be less than the full hour indicated in the description of this course. But why don\u2019t we finish the session by doing what I\u2019d originally planned, at the beginning? Let\u2019s go around the room to introduce ourselves and explain what we\u2019d like to learn in this class.<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cWe\u2019d better not take too long.\u201d It was the man who\u2019d suggested at the beginning of the workshop that fifty nine minutes be rounded to a full sixty. Glancing at his watch, \u201cWe have six minutes, twenty two and two thirds seconds to make it exactly a half hour,\u201d, he explained.<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 “What?”<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 “Driving backward is dangerous. You might collide with cars coming in the opposite direction.”<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 “Oh,” said Milcowitz.<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Once home the bizarre events during Milcowitz\u2019s first day discomforted him enough that he went to bed. A nap – some rest from the unbelievable – should calm him, he reasoned. But eleven hours after he\u2019d nodded off, a dream bolted him awake. Catapulting to a sitting position, he re-experienced visions whereby participants in the writing workshop who had read their work were reading it all again. As their recitals moved from person to person\u00a0each reader looked and sounded exactly like… Milcowitz. <\/em>Not only that, Milcowitz\u2019s verbalization was so expressive – alternating from sad to glad to angry to deeply moved, it seemed like all the nonsense he\u2019d heard during the first writing session had happened in his \u2013<\/em> not the class participants\u2019 –\u00a0life.\u00a0In fact just\u00a0before awakening he\u2019d realized it was\u00a0he<\/em>, not the workshop participants, who’d written all this \u201cprose\u201d!<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Milcowitz shuddered.<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Glancing at his watch he saw it was 4:13 AM. Then remembering the pad and pen he always left on his bedside table, – oh my God, he admonished himself. Is it not there to write down my dreams? The inspiration they provided were almost as valuable as a completed completed manuscript.<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Reasoning that the time since he’d been jarred awake was short enough to remember his last dream, he grabbed his pad and pen, switched on the light, and started scribbling. But his fingers went slack after “One day fifteen years ago I left my bicycle on a sidewalk…” His hand in midair and not understanding why, he continued with something totally unrelated. A poem, it came at lightening speed:<\/p>\n Can distance be measured?<\/p>\n Can Time be Eliminated?<\/p>\n These questions discomfort me<\/p>\n As I feed my cat oats.<\/p>\n She doesn’t like oats<\/p>\n I don’t like corn meal<\/p>\n Can distance be measured?<\/p>\n It remains to be seen..<\/p>\n Then sensing that something more was straining for expression: Danger is Danger. Don\u2019t underestimate it, he scribbled.<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Without pausing to read what he’d written, Milcowitz\u2019s hand raced to the third line of the first stanza. In the sentence \u201cthese questions elude me\u201d, he crossed out the word “elude”. Then he substituted “unsettle”. Then he crossed out unsettle and substituted “disturb”. Then he crossed out that and wrote nothing. Hey, maybe despite how insane the writing workshop participants seemed, they might be able to help me decide which of these words to use, he reasoned. The implied faith in their opinions if he asked for their assistance might flatter \u2013 it might\u00a0coax<\/em>\u00a0them – toward lucidity, an extra benefit, he thought. Anyway It was premature to cancel the workshop after only one session. The fact that none of his writing had been published for more than a year reinforced his salary motivation to continue teaching the course. That decided, he lay down and fell back to sleep.<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Professor Milcowitz was feeling optimistic as he strolled into the conference room the second week. Once everyone was seated, he announced “I’m going to begin today’s session with a new approach. You see I wrote something between last week and this that I’d like to get your opinions about.\u201d<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Uncertain about the word he\u2019d\u00a0kept changing after\u00a0writing\u00a0his poem, he used “confuse” when reading to the class. When he finished, there was silence. Thinking this was just as well – it gave him time to\u00a0ask\u00a0the woman whose coiffed hair, neat dress, normal seeming demeanor and authentic sounding prose the week before suggested she might provide more coherent feedback than the gobble de gook he’d heard from most participants, he leaned in Katherine’s direction. “Might you have a\u00a0suggestion\u00a0you’d<\/em>\u00a0like to share?” he asked.<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Looking uncomfortable, Katherine didn’t say anything. Then, “Um… I think… your poem’s symbol<\/em>ic. Indirectly it describes the expensive rent we have to pay in this retirement house.”<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 What<\/em>?<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 “That’s ridiculous,” said the oldest looking woman – the one who’d closed the first session by reading her “I feel like I’m in an insane asylum” contribution. “Dr. Milcowiz\u2019s poetry” she continued, “is about the melting, uh… the joining of Time and Space! Like liquid metal – hot- the heat both are experiencing propels them toward each other. They combine as putty, then grow by cooling and solidifying. This causes both perfection and stupefaction \u2013 oneness, in other words, but by fusing instead of remaining independent, the transformation gives them unlimited authority. That confuses, it terrifies us humans!\u201d<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 My God, thought Milcowitz.\u00a0Could\u00a0this woman have somehow resurrected from senility during last week’s session to profundity the next? Did her\u00a0ill-logic last week somehow enable\u00a0<\/em>her to interpret phenomena so esoterically lost on just about everyone?\u00a0“You know,” he told her, “The word I originally wrote after” – Micolwiz glanced at his paper -\u201c ‘these questions confuse me as I feed my cat oats’ was propel. You,” – because he didn’t want to admit he didn’t know her name, “mentioned ‘propel’ in your analysis. How did you happen to think of that?\u201d<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 “I don’t know. Incidentally, my name’s not Agnes,” she told him.<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 “Not Agnes. That’s a strange name, isn’t it?” It was the man sitting directly across from her. Professor Milcowitz did not remember noticing him last week.<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 The woman looked uncomfortable. “I didn’t mean that my\u00a0name<\/em>\u00a0is Not Agnes,” she said. “I meant that I’m\u00a0not\u00a0<\/em>Agnes.”<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Leaning forward, his bow tie inching up his neck, “Do you realize you just contradicted yourself twice? You affirmed<\/em>\u00a0both times that your name is Not Alice!”<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 “Oh, for Christ’s sake, can we stop all this bullshit?” Bellowing, a man at the far end of the table stood up. Before anyone could respond, a gelatinous yellow pudding-like substance sailed through the air and splattered in his face. More than one person must have brought dessert in from lunch. Another one hit Professor Miocowitz, then another man got up and threw his randomly. Where it landed Milcowitz couldn\u2019t see. His eyes were coated\u2026..<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 I’d better get out of here, Milcowitz decided. So hunched over to escape any further blows, he began running to the door. Within three feet of it the edge of a laptop someone had thrown hit him in the back of his head. How could a man my age throw that across the room? the perpetrator wondered. It\u2019s not so light weight.<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 The last thing Milcowitz saw before losing consciousness was a dollar sign. That must symbolize the amount of money I’ll be able to make from a law\u00a0suit,\u00a0he thought. Hopefully it’ll be enough so that I won’t have to lead anymore writing workshops.<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 It was three days later\u00a0when\u00a0Milcowitz woke up. Looking around groggily he realized he must be in a hospital. An oxygen tent stood at the foot of his bed.<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Glancing to his left he saw a woman in civilian\u00a0dress- not a nurse\u2019s uniform – sitting in a chair and reading. “Who… are you?” he managed.<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Gasping, the woman turned to face him. \u201cOh,\u00a0Daddy! You’re awake!\u00a0My God,” she yelled. Tossing her book on the floor she raced to him, sat on the bed, and took his hand. “Daddy,\u00a0Daddy<\/em>, how do you feel?”<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 By now Milcowitz was staring at the air.<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Eyes closing, “Uh… my name’s Not Agnes,” he slurred.<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 A second later the door to his room burst open. Five people marched in. All of them dressed in costumes, the two women in the group wore wide pleated skirts that flowed to their ankles. Suspenders securing their waists made them look like German folk dancers several centuries ago. The men were dressed in shorts and T shirts.<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 “What the…” Milcowitz’s daughter managed.<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 She was interrupted. “We’re here to pay our respects,” one of the women clarified. “Doing so might make it less likely that your… is Professor Milkowitz your father?” Joyce nodded yes “won’t initiate a law suit.”<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 “Huh? Who\u00a0are<\/em>\u00a0you? Where are you from?”<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 “The Last Place You’ll Live Retirement Home.\u201d.<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 “The… what<\/em>?”<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 “The Last Place You’ll Live…”<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 “It was\u00a0named\u00a0<\/em>that way?”<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 “Well, not originally. We submitted a petition – all the residents – to change the name. Before that it was…”<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 “But what does that have to do with my father? What are you\u00a0doing\u00a0<\/em>here?”<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 “For heavens\u2019 sake, your father was teaching us writing!” This from a man – tall, unkempt looking.<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Lowering her head, hands supporting it, “Oh, yeah, Daddy told me he\u2019d gotten a job leading a workshop of lunatics…”<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Someone started playing a tambourine. Moving toward Joyce, everyone was dancing.<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 “Get\u00a0out\u00a0<\/em>of here, this minute!” Joyce had\u00a0stood up.<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Hearing her, a nurse rushed to the door.”What’s the matter?”<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 “I want these idiots… out\u00a0<\/em>of here!” Joyce screamed.<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 “I don’t understand. They said they were your father\u2019s relatives.”<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 “What?!”<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 “Oh, golly.” The nurse glanced at Milcowitz. “Yes, you’ll all have to leave,\u201d she said. Waving her arms toward the exit she managed to usher the group out the door. Exiting herself, she glanced back nervously at her patient’s daughter. \u201cI\u2019m awfully sorry,\u201d then: why the hell didn\u2019t I ask if Milcowitz\u2019es daughter wanted visitors, she asked herself?<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Hey, wait a minute,” Joyce yelled. And walking into the hallway, “Is any one of you named Agnes?”<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 “I’m Agnes,” one of the women said. “Why?”<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 “My father woke up just before you broke into his room. He said ‘I’m not Agnes, then fell back to sleep. Do you know what that might mean?”<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Agnes starting giggling. Then guffawing hysterically, she bent over.<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cI hardly know what’s funny about this.” But before Joyce could say anything more the nurse started shooing the group toward the elevator. Just as they were about to get in the woman turned around. Facing Joyce, she swept her hand in an exaggerated, upward movement.<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 “Your father has a crush on me! It’s not because of my money. It\u2019s his obsession about what ‘I’m not Agnes\u201d means! A man in their group grabbed Agnes\u2019s shoulder and jerked her into the elevator. Then the door closed.<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Thank God, they were gone. Walking back to the chair next to her father’s bed Joyce pondered why – lunatic or not – anyone in a retirement home would circulate a petition to change whatever the original name of the place was to “The Last Place You’ll Live”\u2026..<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Then the possibility occurred to her that contrary to what she’d heard about elderly people making peace with death, the closer they got to it, the more terror they really feel. Maybe anxiety had influenced these idiots to adopt a name that as a daily reminder could enlist the power of thought to hasten the inevitable and therefore reduce the amount of time they had to experience fear. Unconsciously, in other words, had they changed the name of their home to help them get death over with? Then, why am I thinking this? Joyce wondered.<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Glancing at her watch she realized she could sit and read for another two hours before the baby sitter she\u2019d left at home had to leave. Maybe her father would regain consciousness before she had to go\u2026.<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 He didn’t.<\/p>\n \u00a0So can distance be measured?<\/p>\n Is time insincere?<\/p>\n Will a cat eat oats<\/p>\n only when a human\u2019s near?<\/p>\n Does death intimidate –<\/p>\n a logical end?<\/p>\n Have species unspecific –<\/p>\n Misinterpreted a friend?<\/p>\n (And P.S! The incident about a boy rocking a chair so that a soiled loose nail would sear through that girl\u2019s back?)<\/p>\n It really happened! (It\u00a0 really <\/em>\u00a0did!)<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" by Ron Merkin \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 The name should have warned him. Fifty six residents had signed a petition to change their title\u00a0 from its original \u201cEast View Senior Living Home\u201d. Strange to make an understatement. But Professor Milcowitz needed the money. \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 So as twelve people sat around a table in the home\u2019s library he launched […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[1681,77],"tags":[1682,1123,1679],"class_list":["post-15073","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-egophobia-79-80","category-english","tag-egophobia-79-80","tag-english","tag-ronald-merkin"],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p6DakB-3V7","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/15073","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=15073"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/15073\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":15093,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/15073\/revisions\/15093"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=15073"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=15073"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=15073"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}\n