LJ Idol: Week 1 - Resolution
"Mr. Corley, it is the decision of this board that your outside privileges should be restricted only to excursions with a family member or qualified employee of the Autumn Acres Retirement Community. With the documented rise in your wandering behavior, we feel this is a necessary status change in order to ensure your safety. We will continue to monitor your mental health and, if necessary, will transfer you to our memory care wing where you will receive more comprehensive care for dementia."
Martin Corley glared at the review board from beneath a tangle of bushy eyebrows. His gnarled hands gripped the padded armrests of his Forsyth Flyer mobility scooter and he leaned forward menacingly.
"Sons of bitches," he growled. "You can all go to hell." The one woman on the board raised her eyebrows. "And you too, HELEN," he spat, with blazing contempt.
"Y'all know I ain't got no family. Ain't had a visitor in three years. There ain't nobody to take me on an 'excursion' but ME. Going outside was the only good thing about this god damned concentration camp. It sure ain't the food, and the nurses? I ain't never seen so many flat asses - and I spent eight months in a military hospital in 'Nam!"
"Mr. Corley," Helen Castleberry intoned, leveling her gaze with irritation at the surly senior before her. "I would appreciate it if you refrained from using that kind of language..."
"Godammit, woman" Mr. Corley interrupted. "Don't talk to me like I'm twelve. I am a decorated veteran of the United States Marines! I lost my leg serving this country! I may just be an irritating cripple to you now, but I raised three daughters..."
"And if you were as polite to them as you're being to me right now, it might explain why they don't come to visit you any more." said Helen. "When you were first admitted to Autumn Acres, your girls signed custodial rights over to us, giving us the power to make these kinds of decisions regarding your welfare when the time came."
Mr. Corley leaned back against the padded headrest of his power chair, deflated. Sure, he hadn't been the best father. He was brought up with the barked praises of an Army dad himself, taught to hunt and fight and fix a diesel engine. He didn't know how to be a "daddy" to the three pink bundles his wife had handed him. He'd loved them the only way he knew how - kept them fed, kept a roof over their head - but that hadn't been what they'd wanted, what they really needed, and now he was paying the price for his failure. He'd just never known how to tell them that they were the prettiest little things he'd ever seen and now he was screwed. His stubbly chin wobbled in frustrated sadness.
Helen Castleberry saw the glimmer of tears in Mr. Corley's eyes and her tone softened. This wasn't the first time she'd had to give this news to a senior and it was never easy.
"We know you have enjoyed the freedom afforded to our less restricted members and we will do our best to make this change..."
Mr. Corley interrupted her again. "Members? More like inmates," he grunted as he abruptly turned his scooter and motored out into the hallway.
......
Martin Corley holed up in his room for three days, stewing, pushing his watery mashed potatoes around his plate while he watched The Price is Right on the Game Show network. As the sunlight shifted from east to west, his medals, in shadow boxes on the wall, would glint and catch his eye, making him squint. He stared at his hunting trophies, antlers and boar tusks from the good years before Charlie took his leg and he thought about October afternoons trekking through the woods, his gun slung across his back, crisp leaves crunching beneath bothhis boots. What choice did he have now? He'd have to make these new rules work.
And then he ran out of orange slices.
Now, Martin Corley did nothave diabetes. That was one thing he could be glad about. He might not be able to run to Cracker Barrel for a bowl of chicken dumplings anymore, but they did still give him a cookie on his dinner tray at night. And, he loved candy. Once a week he would power up his Flyer, head out the front door of the facility and ride the sidewalk less than a block to the shopping center on Elm. This was actually what had gotten him in trouble. Twice, on recent trips to the store, he had gotten a little confused on his way back and kindly citizens had returned him, belligerent and blustery, to the retirement center.
When he was on his excursion, he would visit the Dill's Galaxy Grocery store and roll out with a six pack of canned Co'Colas and a bag of bargain sweets - tart cherry balls and starlight mints and his favorite, plump and fruity candy orange slices. He loved the way their sugary coating crunched between his dentures and the tang of the jellied filling.
Now it was late Thursday afternoon, Jeopardy was on the television and he was feeling a bit snacky. When he reached into the bag on his nightstand, Martin's fingers came out with nothing but a sprinkling of sugar coating. Surprised, he looked in the sack and realized he'd eaten all his treats. He'd just have to go to the store and get some more.
He rang the bell for a nurse to escort him and the new orderly, Jacob, soon stepped into his room.
Jacob was overly cheerful and overly loud and annoyed the hell out of Martin.
"Mr. Corley!" Jacob boomed. "What can I do for you this fine afternoon?"
"Jesus son, you don't have to yell at me. I'm not deaf! I would like to go to the grocery store and I need an escort," Mr. Corley snapped, spitting the last word like an insult.
"Now, Mr. Corley, you know the rules. We can only spare nurses for outside trips between the hours of 12 to 3, Monday through Friday. It's already 4:00."
"But I am out of orange slices," Mr. Corley said stiffly.
"You have to sign up in advance," Jacob replied, smiling apologetically. "You aren't the only person who needs a trip to the store...or the beauty parlor," he said with a wink.
"I do NOT need a trip to the beauty parlor," Mr. Corley barked. "I need to go to Dill's Galaxy."
"We can't make an exception, Mr. Corley. If you sign up tonight, I noticed some spaces are still available on Monday."
Mr. Corley's face turned red. "Monday? Monday? You mean I am going to have to wait the entire god damned weekend before someone will take me outside like a zoo animal? I have to wait three more days before I can go to the fucking grocery store?"
Jacob just smiled patronizingly. "Well, you said it yourself, Mr. Corley, you aren't deaf. I know you heard me right!"
Martin Corley's wrinkled face screwed up into a rictus of rage. How dare this snotty puppy orderly talk down to him? How dare this joke of a retirement home try to cage him like a beast?!
Before he knew what he was doing, his arm shot out and he grabbed the deer antler bookend off his shelf and swiped out at Jacob with it. He caught the orderly in the gut and blood gushed from the wound. Jacob clutched his stomach where the antler had torn through his shirt and skin and gasped "Mr. Corley!" in shock.
"That's my name, don't wear it out!" Mr. Corley cackled, snatching Jacob's keycard from his belt as he zoomed into the hallway.
Dinner service had just begun and no one was watching as he headed for the nearest exit, scanned Jacob's card and stretched up in his seat, smacking the plunger that would open the doors to the outside. There was a beep, the heavy metal doors swung outward and then he was free, the breeze in his face and the late afternoon sun shining warmly on his pink scalp. Driving at top speed in his Forsyth Flyer, a swift eight miles an hour, he headed across the parking lot and down to the sidewalk, off to Dill's Galaxy and the promise of orange sweets.
.........
As dusk settled over Elm Street, nurses, orderlies and admin from Autumn Acres fanned out, searching for their escaped "member."
Driving the wheelchair van, Helen Castleberry turned a corner a few blocks from the retirement home and saw a mobility scooter laboring slowly away from her on the sidewalk. She pulled the van over and moved carefully toward the scooter and its driver.
Mr. Corley glanced at her fearfully as she approached. By the looks of his red rimmed eyes, he had been crying. His mouth was rimmed with sugar sprinkles and his lips were a curious orange color.
"Ma'am" he began "I seem to have lost my way." He held up the ID card on a lanyard around his neck. "Would you happen to know how to get to the Autumn Acres Retirement Community? I'll give you a Coke if you'll show me the way!" He offered her a sheepish smile and a red can from the basket of his cart.
Helen nodded slowly, sympathetically. This was the hardest part of her job, watching patients who had once been so independent decline this way. This one was going to take some special monitoring.
"I'll do you one better," she said, accepting the Coke from Mr. Corley's raised hand. "I'll give you a ride there."
She lowered the wheelchair lift and Martin Corley drove gratefully back into captivity.