by Kenneth M. Kapp<\/p>\n
~ 1~<\/p>\n
A Rose<\/strong><\/p>\n \n The pillowcase, once white, was now as gray as the old man\u2019s stubble. Indeed, Carl\u2019s motionless head looked like an adolescent\u2019s art project abandoned years ago, parked as it was between large lumps of the pillow. Blankets were pulled up to his chin from under a beaten patchwork quilt.<\/p>\n Pale light from the early morning sun crept around the shade and revealed a certain wetness on and under Carl\u2019s chin; a faint rattle escaped his lips along with his fetid breath. And with the additional light, from behind lids still red from last night\u2019s drinking, he stared at a small, framed mirror resting at an angle on another pillow. This one, even in the dim light, appeared to have been recently purchased and had a bright, colorful chrysanthemum pillowcase, promising pleasant dreams even for the mirror.<\/p>\n The silence was broken by a dumpster backing into a bin. The apartment building was its first stop, five minutes before 7 AM. The tenants often joked about their weekly alarm clock.<\/p>\n A skinny hand, liver spots randomly distributed, pushed out from under the covers. Carl wiped his chin, his fingers crab-walking to the mirror, his eyes still shut.<\/p>\n First, they caressed the frame and then traced an imaginary outline from one side of the mirror to the other. Two fingers tapped the glass and then Carl drew his hand back under the blanket, puffing a kiss to the fingertips as they passed his chin.<\/p>\n He squirmed, struggling to resettle in the depression formed overnight in the old mattress. Soon it would be time to look; there would be enough light to see the reflection in the mirror. He could tell, when his cheeks got warm, it would be time.<\/p>\n When the time came, he slid his right arm under his rib cage and pushed his upper torso away from the bed, the covers sliding off his shoulders. The light was sufficient to see his own reflection in the mirror. There was no head nestled next to him or at the side of the bed, bent over, kissing his neck.<\/p>\n Carl glanced at the nightstand. There was a single rose, its faded petals drooped over the rim of a small glass vase.<\/p>\n \n \n <\/p>\n ~ 2 ~<\/p>\n Sansevieria Trifasciata<\/strong><\/p>\n \n Trevor knocked on the door, waited a minute, and knocked again. Told himself to be patient then rang the doorbell. He hated the chimes that went on and on. He\u2019d enough of them when he was growing up. At the end of the month, Dad\u2019s moving into the assisted living home. Be the end of those chimes.<\/em> His father had to be home; he had called, asked Trevor to come over. \u201cYou\u2019re five minutes away, spare your old man a half hour. I\u2019ll make some coffee. Bring your oat milk creamer if you want.\u201d<\/p>\n Trevor grunted, jammed a hand down in his pocket and took out his keys, hoping his father hadn\u2019t fallen or worse. He stepped into the front hall and yelled, \u201cDad! Dad, are you ok!\u201d And then the sounds of yelling came from the den. Sunday afternoon football. No wonder his father hadn\u2019t heard a thing. Better this than ringing that emergency button or calling me every time he can\u2019t find something. Karen\u2019s lucky she lives across the state.<\/em><\/p>\n He didn\u2019t bother knocking on the door to the den. \u201cDad, I\u2019m here.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSit down, fourth and short. What do you think they\u2019re going to do?\u201d<\/p>\n Trevor looked at the line. \u201cQuick snap, run to the right.\u201d<\/p>\n The play was called: a run was up the left side, which was stopped.<\/p>\n \u201cNice call, Son. I needed to talk to you. Thanks for coming over.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo problem, Dad. But you know Nancy likes to see me Sundays \u2013 or more likely wants me to spend quality time with the kids, get them out of her hair.\u201d<\/p>\n Earl on Trevor had tried to make excuses for his father. He didn\u2019t like to admit there might be signs of dementia, Patrick struggling at times for words, locking himself out, buying milk, apples, and eggs three times in one week. Finally, last year he and Karen insisted he move into assisted living. \u201cWhy don\u2019t you, Dad? Now it\u2019ll be easier. You\u2019ve already got a couple friends living there.\u201d<\/p>\n The commercials were over and Patrick turned back to the TV. Trevor grabbed the controls and turned the power off.<\/p>\n \u201cDad, I don\u2019t have time for this. You called. What do you want?\u201d<\/p>\n His father scratched his head, rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. \u201cAh, your mother\u2019s grandmother plants. I moved them all to the side door. You should take them home. Just back up the driveway. Take a minute.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDad, I told you I didn\u2019t want them; Grandmother plants are not my thing. I think they\u2019re ugly.\u201d<\/p>\n Patrick made a face. \u201cTrevor, how many times I tell you beauty is in the eyes of the beholder. You took the aloe, didn\u2019t you?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYeh, but I could use those for bites. But the cats got to them. They went after those tall spikes day one. I don\u2019t have time to clean up all the dirt, especially since they\u2019re liable to think they\u2019ve just made themselves some kitty-litter. Why don\u2019t you move them into your new place? Plenty of space and you\u2019ve south-facing windows. It\u2019ll remind you of Mom; she was always going on about how she got them from her own grandmother. Makes them fourth generation or something.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYeh, but I heard that from her, bless her soul, for what felt like ten generations. They need a new place too.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou call my house new?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWell, you got a better idea?\u201d<\/p>\n Trevor swallowed, took a deep breath, and pleaded, \u201cDad, OK, how about this? You move them to your new place. It\u2019s got a clubhouse, right? Well, I\u2019ll come over to help you unpack as we planned. We\u2019ll just carry them over to the clubhouse at night when no one\u2019s there, put them in the common room with a sign on a popsicle stick: Sansevieria Trifasciata<\/em>. In two days, people will think they\u2019ve been there forever. Someone asks if they\u2019re yours, you just say you put yours on the curb when you move, no one\u2019s the wiser. And Mom, from wherever she is can look down and smile.\u201d<\/p>\n Patrick turned on the game. \u201cGood idea, son. Hey, see if there\u2019s a couple of beers in the refrigerator, finish out the half with your old man.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019ll get you a beer, Dad, but I really must go. Think you can remember about the plants?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSure, son. What\u2019s to forget.\u201d<\/p>\n \n \n \n ~ 3 ~<\/p>\n A Bowl of Succulents<\/strong><\/p>\n \n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 The aide knocked on the door, \u201cMrs. Shutz, Mrs. Shutz. Are you ready?\u201d She looked at her watch and knocked again. \u201cSylvia, can I come in?\u201d<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Sylvia had returned to her room in the assisted living home after breakfast. She was proud she could use her walker to take care of personal business. She complained to her daughter, \u201cMaddy, they got so little patience with old people here. When I can\u2019t do my own toileting, you can take me out and shoot me. I may be slow, but I get there.\u201d<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 She was indeed slow. The aide knew she would be sitting in her recliner waiting to be taken downstairs to the common room. She grumbled to any of her friends who\u2019d visit, \u201cTwice a day, they insist on their \u2018socialization hour.\u2019 Claim it\u2019s good for your brain. Nothing wrong with my brain. If I wanted to visit with my old bowl of succulents I\u2019d have kept them in my room instead of sharing. Figured out in the common room they\u2019d get more of that carbon stuff they need to grow, all the old people jawing away, passing wind like some calliope in a circus parade.\u201d<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Sylvia rang the little bell on her lap. Anyone in the home who couldn\u2019t shout was given a bell to shake to let aides know where they were, or if they were ready to go, or needed help. \u201cMaddy, it\u2019s a madness. After supper, sometimes people get silly and start ringing their bells like it was Christmas. And we\u2019re all there sitting in the dining room. What are they ever thinking?\u201d<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 The aide came in and helped her into her wheelchair. Then she fetched the old Pendelton wool blanket from the foot of the bed, spreading it across Sylvia\u2019s lap. \u201cMrs. Shutz, you want your book and glasses?\u201d<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Sylvia rolled her eyes and called over her shoulders. \u201cYes, thank you.\u201d She chuckled, \u201cBook wouldn\u2019t do me any good without the glasses.\u201d She straightened the blanket, feeling for crusted spots, then smiled to herself.<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 The elevator was slow in coming. Sylvia was tempted to tell the aide to wheel her over to the top of the stairs, muttering to herself, \u201cRace you down the stairs. First one to break their neck wins!\u201d<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cDid you say something, Mrs. Shutz?\u201d<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cNo, Dearie. Well, maybe I nattered that the elevator is slow this morning.\u201d<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 The aide stopped with the wheelchair just outside the common room. Sylvia had insisted that she navigate the \u201clast mile under my own steam; otherwise, you can put me out to pasture.\u201d<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cIs this OK, Mrs. Shutz.\u201d<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cJust as perfect as it was earlier this week.\u201d She pointed to a scuff mark on the linoleum. \u201cSee that mark? It\u2019s my mark in the sand. Any further, OOMOS \u2013 only on my own steam<\/em>. Yes, Sweetie, I like to admire the view out the bay window from back here. Big picture if you know what I mean.\u201d<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cOK, you have a good morning. I\u2019ll get you when they\u2019re serving lunch.\u201d<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 There was a low table in front of the bay window with a bowl of small succulents. Sylvia squinted, trying to bring them into focus. She sighed and found two crusted spots on the blanket.<\/p>\n I told Maddy I\u2019d only move here if they let me take those damned succulents and this blanket. They had to promise not to wash the blanket. Maddy said, \u2018The succulents you grew for Dad.\u2019 Well, I didn\u2019t need to grow them for myself. Figured I stood a 50-50 chance of them surviving Roger. Well, Roger went two years ago. I don\u2019t need succulents to remember him; I got this blanket. They made a big deal of me putting the plants in the common room. These succulents make lots of babies. Only too happy to give them to the old biddies, keep them in their own room. Good they\u2019re always forgetting to water them; too much water rots the roots.<\/em><\/p>\n Sylvia saw that the far corner was empty and wheeled herself across the room, stopping in her usual spot. She glanced at Roger\u2019s succulents. She caressed the crusted spots and smiled. Never told anyone how Roger liked to roger me on the wool blanket. Hah! What leaked out of me was the best part of him and made the crusts. He told me not to wash the blanket. \u201cSylvie, it\u2019ll give you something to remember me by. Wait, you\u2019ll see.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n She looked out the window. A drizzle was falling. She wheeled herself closer to the window, trying to determine if the rain would get worse. She smacked her lips and tried to look past the clouds, \u201cWell, Roger, maybe it\u2019s time I washed that blanket.\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" by Kenneth M. Kapp ~ 1~ A Rose The pillowcase, once white, was now as gray as the old man\u2019s stubble. Indeed, Carl\u2019s motionless head looked like an adolescent\u2019s art project abandoned years ago, parked as it was between large lumps of the pillow. Blankets were pulled up to his chin from under a beaten […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_feature_clip_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false},"categories":[1914,77],"tags":[1915,1123,1738],"class_list":["post-16497","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-egophobia-91","category-english","tag-egophobia-91","tag-english","tag-kenneth-m-kapp"],"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p6DakB-4i5","jetpack_featured_media_url":"","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/16497","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=16497"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/16497\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":16498,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/16497\/revisions\/16498"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=16497"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=16497"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=16497"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}