LJ IDOL series 8. Week 24."In my wheelhouse"
The Brooch.
“He’s looking for his penis, you know, he thinks he’s lost it”, Doris said.
“You shouldn’t say things like that Doris” I replied, but smiled.
Some of the surprising statements uttered by Doris made conversations with her interesting, if at times confusing.
I worked at the nursing home as a carer. My craving for a life of luxury was unlikely to be realised. The fact that I enjoyed the work helped, the wages certainly didn't allow for caviar or champagne.
We both watched as Clem still searched his lap for an elusive something. Doris was ninety-two, and she wore her hair pulled so tightly in a bun, it seemed if you let it down and released the tension her face would crumple and collapse.
“I like men.” she stated, “Put me next to a man.”
Oh Doris I thought, you are a woman I admire!
How mis-matched her face and body were; her face was deeply lined; yet her body could have belonged to a younger woman. The skin so smooth, it was like alabaster. The beauty she had once been was easy to imagine. As I put her next to Clem she said “When I was young if you had sixpence you could buy anything.” Clem stopped looking at his lap and smiled in greeting.
During my lunchbreaks I took Doris to the garden and we talked as I ate my sandwiches. Flowers were bursting into bloom, the air was full of jasmine, and grass was thick around the edge of the concrete courtyard. Doris dozed under her floppy blue sun hat, and then woke again in time to share my chocolate biscuits. As she nibbled at her biscuit she gazed at a cherry tree, and told me a story of Paris, and a young man who had pursued her. Her mind was like a butterfly, flitting from one subject to another, telling me of husbands who died before I was even born and lovers she had known between her marriages. She talked of tea at the Dorchester in London, and of a brooch a suitor had given her. She looked tired though, so I said, “It’s getting cold Doris, we should go in.”
Next day the train was delayed at Richmond, so I was late. I usually breezed in to say hello to Doris first, but this day something made me hesitate, as I heard voices in her room.
The nursing director’s voice was low but insistent, “No, they requested no resuscitation, and no drugs, we must adhere to the wishes of the family and the resident.”
Doris lay still, her white bun tight on her head, but her mouth was open as she laboured to breathe, normally pale, her skin was flushed and mottled Out of the silence, one of the things she had told me returned….
“Had I known I could not have children I would have had such fun in Europe”
I didn’t want her to labour and struggle only to become a pale version of the Doris I loved. Her spirit was not meant to be erased so cruelly. Leaning close to her white head I whispered “Don’t fight Doris, just go to sleep, let go, I’ll hold your hand, please just go to sleep”. She gently squeezed my hand then released me.
The funeral was very small, about a dozen assorted mourners. Her niece shed no tears, but was pleasant to me. “She liked you.” Mandy said, “Thank you for all you did.”
“I loved her.” I said, and meant it.
“I have a small suitcase of things you might like to have to remind you.” Mandy said quietly.
Flustered, I said, “There’s no need.” but Mandy insisted. I knew Mandy had inherited well, so said no more.
Some weeks later I had almost forgotten about it, and I was sitting in my small garden, when a young man came to the back gate and left the battered case for me.
I sat with my bare feet in the sun, musing about my life, and how Doris had touched it. In my mind I saw all the places of her stories, I lived through her memories. As the shadows grew and deepened, I eventually clicked open the locks of the case and pushed back the lid.
Something soft brushed my hand; it was a white ermine cape, smelling of lavender. It was so elegant, creamy white and with a clasp of glittering stones. In the pocket I discovered a small silver perfume phial, the source of the musky smell, an icon of her earlier life-style.
At the base, on the yellowed paper lining of the case, lay a purple velvet purse with a silk tassel. The gold button closure was stiff, but with a little effort I opened it. Inside, was something bulky. It was the brooch, the one Doris had told me about.
My hands trembled as I took in the details, rubies, pearls and gold. The elegance of the design made me think it might be Faberge! This could make a difference to my life!
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Vivaldi flowed over me like a stream; my lap was covered in a crisp white table napkin. An attentive waiter hovered nearby. The sounds around me were the tinkle of teacups and quiet conversation. The Dorchester was just as Doris had described it.
“You would care for more tea Madam?” The quiet voice inquired.
“Yes please, and could you bring me more of those delicious cakes?” I asked, and then I raised my teacup and whispered. “Here’s to you Doris, I am going to have such fun.”
http://therealljidol.livejournal.com/559264.html
This is a story that contains grains of truth, real conversations, and perhaps a few dreams that didn't come true. RIP Doris.