The nursing home

buiscuit2168

All thoughts welcome - good or bad.

I rubbed my hand over the shiny dashboard and inhaled the smell of new leather, but this was only a distraction to avoid looking at the building in front of me. I raised my eyes slowly and stared at the buildin, which hadn’t changed since the 60’s. I felt old; it was 40 years ago since I had journeyed this road to school.

I adjusted the front mirror to check my new hair colour, which I had to get done every three weeks. Some would consider this an inconvenience, a trip to the hairdressers, but I didn’t, It kept my mind occupied. The hairdresser had asked me was I going somewhere nice? I told her it was to see an old friend. Friend? She wasn’t a friend. She was evil. I hated her. Life was unfair, every day I read in the papers or heard from friends about people who got cancer, or another incurable disease – yet why was she still alive?

I heard a door creak open, and I pushed myself lower into the seat. A nurse in a crisp white uniform wearing a navy cardigan supported a grey-haired woman shuffled out onto the tarmac. Was it her? No, she was too tall. I sat up straight – too straight. I rubbed the small of my back and watched the nurse, and old lady go to the bench under the cherry blossom. A gentle breeze blew the flowers onto the lawn, creating a patchwork quilt effect of pink, white and green.

Bang. I looked up to one of the top windows; a nurse thumped the window open allowing the first breath of spring enter the musty building. The harsh winter had ensured all windows had remained shut tight for months.

I rubbed my wrists; I was used to things being harsh. Unwanted memories pushed their way to my frontal cortex, and I used the techniques my therapist had shown me to get rid of them.

More residents shuffled outside to the garden. My heart stopped. I broke into a cold sweat when I saw her. Some of the residents used walking aids. Her once black hair was now grey and the cruelness of age which nobody is immune to had shrunken her bones. She walked behind them. Alone. That in itself wasn’t unusual; nobody stayed long in her life. They eventually saw her for what she was like.

When she moved into the nursing home first. I phoned to make regular enquiries. They told me she drove everyone mad. She thought she was in a hotel and constantly rang the bell demandingcoffee in her room. One Christmas the nurses put a Christmas tree in the hallway outside her room. She told them the lights annoyed her. They ignored her complaints. When a nurse turned on the lights. They didn’t burst into the usual cacophony of colours. The nurse called the handyman. He checked the fuse. New bulbs were put in. He turned the lights on. Nothing happened. The handyman checked the wire. It had been cut.

She used a finger scissors to cut the wire one night. It was funny. The woman who told me the story said it’s a pity the lights weren’t on.
A lovely thought. There was no justice in this life. I couldn’t understand how a person like her functioned. Did she not feel guilty? Had she remorse? All the pain she caused by the poison-pen letters she wrote. The distress she caused families. She wrote to women saying their husbands were having affairs. She wrote to people saying daughters were prostitutes and one couple believed the lies she wrote. They disinherited their daughter. Did she think about the physical and mental pain inflicted on her own children? How did she feel when she found her daughter in a pool of blood? Did she think about her son lying cold in the ground?

I looked up. She was nowhere to be seen. The people who had been in front of her now stood in front of the pond and wrestled with a bag filled with bread for the ducks. The cruelty of old age.

Where was she? Had she gone inside? Frantically I looked around the garden. I sat forward in my seat with my hands on the steering wheel, my knuckles white. My eyes scanned everywhere. She was nowhere to be seen. The shade of the large redwood blocked my view of the end of the garden. I wondered whether to get out of the car. The journey brought me this far. No point in giving up now.

Slowly I opened the car while keeping an eye on the garden in front of me and got out while putting my hand over my eyes to shield them from the sun.

A cough behind me. I turned. I looked at her and said, ‘Hello mother.’

(BTW I wrote this on the laptop from my other, old account while sitting outside in the glorious sunshine. My other account is Femur61 so apologies if I confuse people by replying from the other account)

Livvie

Really good. Could benefit from a little editing which I'd be happy to elaborate on if it wasn't 00.15

As a read, though, it was very enjoyable.

Mr.Nice Guy

I enjoyed it.

A small quibble: I would suggest altering the wording of this part which I don't think sits well in the piece:

Unwanted memories pushed their way to my frontal cortex,

But overall, it was very good.

femur61

Mr.Nice Guy wrote: »

I enjoyed it.

A small quibble: I would suggest altering the wording of this part which I don't think sits well in the piece:



But overall, it was very good.

Thanks, I'll think of another way of saying it. Often my redundant science degree which I did many moons ago tries to wiggle it's way into my writing.

femur61

BTW I posted this piece from my laptop and didn't know my password so I'd to use my other (old) account in case people think I'm taking credit for someone else's work!

femur61

Mr.Nice Guy wrote: »

I enjoyed it.

A small quibble: I would suggest altering the wording of this part which I don't think sits well in the piece:



But overall, it was very good.

Thanks, I've replied from my other account. I used my laptop to upload the piece/short story/ beginning of a novel and only had my old account on that, I'll have to update it.