Original: "The Inmates" (snippet)
A couple of weeks ago, something odd happened. Out of the clear blue, my mother (yes, my MOTHER) asked me to write her a story. The only parameters she had was that she wanted the main characters to be named Richard and Rita. By pure chance, I happened to have a plot about a nursing home in my head (Mom worked in nursing homes most of her adult life). So I decided to see what I could come up with for her. I wrote this much and... stalled. So I thought I'd put it here, let people see it, and if enough people pushed me to write more it might inspire me to do so.
I have no doubt that a big part of it is knowing I'm writing specifically for my mother. It's just ODD. And no, there won't be any sexes in this story.
Okay, well. Maybe a LITTLE sexes in the version I post for you guys. I mean, you expect certain levels of smut in this journal. ~g~ (And also, this sorta-kinda merges with another story I'm writing ATM, so yeah ;-D)
The summary... a woman checks herself into a nursing home after the death of her "longtime companion" and discovers things may not be as idyllic as they seem.
The Inmates
The cab waited in front of Rita's home as she rattled the doorknob and then carried her bags down the front walk. She paused on the sidewalk to take a final look at the place before she put her bags in the trunk and got into the backseat behind the driver. She gave the address of her destination and the cab pulled away from the curb. She toyed with the belt of her coat, sat up straight in the seat, and refused to look back at the house. Louisa wouldn't have wanted her to look back, to linger. This was always the plan. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, waiting until they turned the first corner before she let it out and let herself relax.
It wasn't a long ride to Aurora Gardens, and the cabbie didn't attempt to make conversation. Aurora was officially an assisted living center, but as far as Rita was concerned, that was just another word for nursing home. The building was shaped like a horseshoe hugging the circular drive. The cab parked in front of the main portico, where two staff members were waiting with plastic smiles. She had called ahead to ask about someone being present to carry in her luggage, so she expected them. What wasn't expected was the nurse who was also standing by. She was young and blonde, dressed in a purple scrub top and pants. She opened the door for Rita when the cab came to a stop.
"Miss Musgrove?"
"Mrs. Musgrove."
The nurse smiled wider. "Welcome to Aurora Gardens. I'm Alicia, this is Dave and Doug." Rita eyed the aides as they took her bags from the back of the cab; they seemed competent enough. She took money out of her clutch and paid the driver before she tuned back in to what Alicia was saying. "--enjoy your time here, I thought I would take the time to show you around a little."
"I got the tour already when I signed myself up for this place."
Alicia's smile wavered. "Well, yes. But I thought a more personal--"
"I'd really just like to go to my room." To the men, she said, "If you insist on carrying those, be careful with them."
"Yes. Well." Alicia cleared her throat and made a subtle gesture for the men to take the bags inside. "At least allow me to escort you to your room."
Rita made a non-committal gesture and followed the men. Alicia walked beside her and the four of them entered the building through two sets of sliding glass doors.
The foyer of the home was disguised to look like the lobby of a posh hotel. The entrance was flanked by a wide seating area with plush furniture and a television set. A few residents were watching television, and one man was twisted on the couch to look out the window. He didn't acknowledge the new arrival. A nurse was helping one woman with the crossword puzzle.
She was happy to see no one was shuffling around in their pajamas and slippers, and everyone seemed to have full control of their facilities. She admitted she had bias against places like this, nurtured by horror stories on Dateline and the late news, but the tour had put her mind at ease. Now that she was officially a resident, she expected to see all the cracks and warts of the place she had overlooked when she was free to leave.
There was a front desk in the center of the main room, currently empty, and she could see wide double doors behind the desk that led to a dining room on the right and what seemed to be a rec room on the left. Rita followed Alicia and the men with her bags to the right, down a hallway of doors. Her room was at the corner where the building turned to form the northern wing, and Alicia clicked on the lights as they entered.
"Here we are. Home sweet home."
Rita stood in the doorway and scanned the room with a critical eye. Pale peach wallpaper was fine, and the afternoon sun was shining through one of the windows to illuminate the living space. She had her own bathroom and kitchen and, to the back of the living room, she could see a door leading into the bedroom. She had a loveseat and an armchair arranged around a coffee table, and a TV stood in the corner away from the window where the sun wouldn't glare on the screen. Generic paintings of waterscapes decorated the walls. Doug and Dave were waiting to be told what to do with the bags.
"They can just leave those in front of the couch."
Alicia motioned for them to do so, and the men left the room. Alicia waited until they were gone before she smiled again. "Is there anything else we can do for you, Mrs. Musgrove?"
"No. I just want to get acclimated."
"I understand. If you need anything at all, we're just a phone call away. M'kay? It's wonderful to have you here."
Alicia left, and Rita closed the door behind her. "Now how do you know that? You just meant me. I might be the worst thing that's ever happened to this place." She sighed heavily and took off her scarf and closed her eyes. "I'm not being cynical. I just can't stand useless people spouting useless platitudes. She could have said she was looking forward to getting to know me, or she hoped this would be a good fit. But no, it's already wonderful to have me."
She could almost see Joan's long-suffering smile as she went into the living room. Her living room. She took off her jacket and folded it over her arm as she looked for a place to hang it. She found hooks on the wall next to the door and put it there. The room was quiet, but a different kind of quiet than the kind that assaulted her at home. This silence fit the room. At home, the silence was an absence.
Rita unzipped her bag and flipped it open. Lying on top of her clothes was the last thing she'd packed, so she wouldn't have to stay in the house a minute longer without it on display. She took it out and made her first order of business to assign it a place. She looked around and finally decided on a credenza next to the window as an appropriate place of honor.
A gilded frame surrounded the black and white photo. It showed a tall, blonde woman in a black sweater and an ankle-length floral gown standing next to a waist-high stone wall. Her hair was cut short and curled to her cheeks, and she was squinting at the camera as if daring the photographer to actually take the shot. Her right arm was slightly lifted with the hand flat to the ground.
Rita met Joan Ivey on the campus of UW when she was thirty and Joan had just turned twenty-five. It was the very start of the sixties, before anyone knew Dallas had a schoolbook depository and the Beatles were still getting their act together. Joan was engaged to be married to a professor, and Rita was visiting the campus for work. It was a windy day, and they collided with each other outside of a small café.
Afterward, Joan would say the wind blew them into each other. She claimed fate had gotten them close and nature had made sure they crossed paths. Joan said a lot of things like that, and it drove Rita crazy. Joan liked to argue fate versus happenstance, whereas Rita was content to accept that sometimes things just happened. Whether they worked out or not was up to the individual.
She credited Joan with making it work in their case. Not fate or some cosmic puppeteer. Certainly Rita hadn't fought hard enough to make things work. The credit all went to Joan.
"Well, here we are." She looked around the room. "Not a lot of room for your puzzle table." She caught herself and pressed her lips together. "Guess that doesn't really matter."
Rita went back to the suitcase and began unpacking for her new life.
#
After unpacking, Rita remade the bed with her own sheets and blanket. She stretched out on top of the bedding, feet crossed at the ankles and her fingers laced on her stomach. She remembered pulling all-nighters, and now she needed naps just to get through the day. The light coming through the bedroom window was just about perfect, and she watched as it moved along the wall. She wasn't trying to fall asleep. She just wanted to rest her eyes. But soon she was back in the past, reliving the moment when Joan arrived on her front step.
"I ended things. With Alan. I ended it."
"I never asked you to do that."
"Maybe it's not about you, Rita."
She woke startled, unsure of where she was for the first few seconds. The room had become significantly darker, and she pushed herself up to lean against the headboard. She could hear music in the next room. She felt exhausted, more tired than she'd been before her impromptu nap, but she forced herself up. It was almost six. She planned to get dinner, come back to put her room into a bit more order, and then call it a night. She found her shoes and toured the room briefly before going to the dining room.
The picture of Joan caught the sunset light coming in through the window, and she turned it slightly so the glare wasn't reflected. She sighed and looked down at herself. What was the dress code in this place? She was pretty sure no one would show up for dinner in their pajamas, but did she have to dress to the nines? She decided a sweater and slacks would be more than fine and left her room. She hesitated with a hand on the doorknob before she fell in behind a man in a wheelchair heading the same direction she was going.
Her house was gone. Sold to a couple moving in from Illinois. They were getting ready to start a family, and Joan would have been happy to know the spare room would finally get used for a nursery. Her car was also gone, sold to a sixteen year old who was almost certain to crash it within the next few months. She only wished she could be there to see it; she hated the beast. It deserved to die a slow death in the dump's car crusher.
Joan's clothes were at Goodwill. That hurt. The idea of a stranger wearing that yellow sweater with the wide neck that always slid off her shoulder... no one could make that look as good as Joan did.
"You look a little lost in thought."
Rita was startled by the closeness of the voice. The man who had spoken was standing a few feet in front of her, not in her personal space but not quite at a comfortable distance. He was about her height or a bit shorter, with snow-white hair and a mustache that looked like the bristles of a fireplace broom. His shirt was button-down and he wore a red bowtie. His right hand gripped the head of a cane and, when she continued walking, he fell into step beside her.
"Richard Tomlinson. I've been here about four years. Could offer some advice if you were up for it."
"I think I'll be fine." She forced a smile. Richard let her go first when they got their food, and she could tell he was following her when she went in search of her seat. She sat down and didn't object when he took the seat across from her. He sighed and arranged his food in front of him, then placed a napkin in his lap.
"So what's your crime?" She raised an eyebrow. "You know, the reason for your incarceration with the rest of the inmates here. Me, I fell and broke my hip. Couldn't really navigate the stairs in my house. Never noticed how many of the damn things there were before I couldn't climb them. So my daughter has the house and I moved in here. You?"
"My wife died." Dinner was a hearty beef stew, and she sipped it to test how hot it was. It needed a little cooling. "We were together fifty-three years. When she went into the hospital I realized that there was no way I could live in our house without her. So I got rid of it and put myself in here until... well, until whenever."
Richard had stared at her throughout the story. Finally he blinked and looked down at his stew. "Well. I can't say I expected that. How are you... coping? I assume she passed recently."
"Her suffering ended recently. But we've been saying goodbye. For a while." She sipped her tea to give herself a moment. "I'm fine now. I've made my peace with her passing."
He nodded. "I'm sorry to have been so casual about it."
Rita waved him off and began eating her soup. He did as well, and they ate in a certain companionable silence for a few minutes. She appreciated the company; she was so used to having another person across the table from her that she knew it would have seemed odd to be by herself.
I have no doubt that a big part of it is knowing I'm writing specifically for my mother. It's just ODD. And no, there won't be any sexes in this story.
Okay, well. Maybe a LITTLE sexes in the version I post for you guys. I mean, you expect certain levels of smut in this journal. ~g~ (And also, this sorta-kinda merges with another story I'm writing ATM, so yeah ;-D)
The summary... a woman checks herself into a nursing home after the death of her "longtime companion" and discovers things may not be as idyllic as they seem.
The Inmates
The cab waited in front of Rita's home as she rattled the doorknob and then carried her bags down the front walk. She paused on the sidewalk to take a final look at the place before she put her bags in the trunk and got into the backseat behind the driver. She gave the address of her destination and the cab pulled away from the curb. She toyed with the belt of her coat, sat up straight in the seat, and refused to look back at the house. Louisa wouldn't have wanted her to look back, to linger. This was always the plan. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, waiting until they turned the first corner before she let it out and let herself relax.
It wasn't a long ride to Aurora Gardens, and the cabbie didn't attempt to make conversation. Aurora was officially an assisted living center, but as far as Rita was concerned, that was just another word for nursing home. The building was shaped like a horseshoe hugging the circular drive. The cab parked in front of the main portico, where two staff members were waiting with plastic smiles. She had called ahead to ask about someone being present to carry in her luggage, so she expected them. What wasn't expected was the nurse who was also standing by. She was young and blonde, dressed in a purple scrub top and pants. She opened the door for Rita when the cab came to a stop.
"Miss Musgrove?"
"Mrs. Musgrove."
The nurse smiled wider. "Welcome to Aurora Gardens. I'm Alicia, this is Dave and Doug." Rita eyed the aides as they took her bags from the back of the cab; they seemed competent enough. She took money out of her clutch and paid the driver before she tuned back in to what Alicia was saying. "--enjoy your time here, I thought I would take the time to show you around a little."
"I got the tour already when I signed myself up for this place."
Alicia's smile wavered. "Well, yes. But I thought a more personal--"
"I'd really just like to go to my room." To the men, she said, "If you insist on carrying those, be careful with them."
"Yes. Well." Alicia cleared her throat and made a subtle gesture for the men to take the bags inside. "At least allow me to escort you to your room."
Rita made a non-committal gesture and followed the men. Alicia walked beside her and the four of them entered the building through two sets of sliding glass doors.
The foyer of the home was disguised to look like the lobby of a posh hotel. The entrance was flanked by a wide seating area with plush furniture and a television set. A few residents were watching television, and one man was twisted on the couch to look out the window. He didn't acknowledge the new arrival. A nurse was helping one woman with the crossword puzzle.
She was happy to see no one was shuffling around in their pajamas and slippers, and everyone seemed to have full control of their facilities. She admitted she had bias against places like this, nurtured by horror stories on Dateline and the late news, but the tour had put her mind at ease. Now that she was officially a resident, she expected to see all the cracks and warts of the place she had overlooked when she was free to leave.
There was a front desk in the center of the main room, currently empty, and she could see wide double doors behind the desk that led to a dining room on the right and what seemed to be a rec room on the left. Rita followed Alicia and the men with her bags to the right, down a hallway of doors. Her room was at the corner where the building turned to form the northern wing, and Alicia clicked on the lights as they entered.
"Here we are. Home sweet home."
Rita stood in the doorway and scanned the room with a critical eye. Pale peach wallpaper was fine, and the afternoon sun was shining through one of the windows to illuminate the living space. She had her own bathroom and kitchen and, to the back of the living room, she could see a door leading into the bedroom. She had a loveseat and an armchair arranged around a coffee table, and a TV stood in the corner away from the window where the sun wouldn't glare on the screen. Generic paintings of waterscapes decorated the walls. Doug and Dave were waiting to be told what to do with the bags.
"They can just leave those in front of the couch."
Alicia motioned for them to do so, and the men left the room. Alicia waited until they were gone before she smiled again. "Is there anything else we can do for you, Mrs. Musgrove?"
"No. I just want to get acclimated."
"I understand. If you need anything at all, we're just a phone call away. M'kay? It's wonderful to have you here."
Alicia left, and Rita closed the door behind her. "Now how do you know that? You just meant me. I might be the worst thing that's ever happened to this place." She sighed heavily and took off her scarf and closed her eyes. "I'm not being cynical. I just can't stand useless people spouting useless platitudes. She could have said she was looking forward to getting to know me, or she hoped this would be a good fit. But no, it's already wonderful to have me."
She could almost see Joan's long-suffering smile as she went into the living room. Her living room. She took off her jacket and folded it over her arm as she looked for a place to hang it. She found hooks on the wall next to the door and put it there. The room was quiet, but a different kind of quiet than the kind that assaulted her at home. This silence fit the room. At home, the silence was an absence.
Rita unzipped her bag and flipped it open. Lying on top of her clothes was the last thing she'd packed, so she wouldn't have to stay in the house a minute longer without it on display. She took it out and made her first order of business to assign it a place. She looked around and finally decided on a credenza next to the window as an appropriate place of honor.
A gilded frame surrounded the black and white photo. It showed a tall, blonde woman in a black sweater and an ankle-length floral gown standing next to a waist-high stone wall. Her hair was cut short and curled to her cheeks, and she was squinting at the camera as if daring the photographer to actually take the shot. Her right arm was slightly lifted with the hand flat to the ground.
Rita met Joan Ivey on the campus of UW when she was thirty and Joan had just turned twenty-five. It was the very start of the sixties, before anyone knew Dallas had a schoolbook depository and the Beatles were still getting their act together. Joan was engaged to be married to a professor, and Rita was visiting the campus for work. It was a windy day, and they collided with each other outside of a small café.
Afterward, Joan would say the wind blew them into each other. She claimed fate had gotten them close and nature had made sure they crossed paths. Joan said a lot of things like that, and it drove Rita crazy. Joan liked to argue fate versus happenstance, whereas Rita was content to accept that sometimes things just happened. Whether they worked out or not was up to the individual.
She credited Joan with making it work in their case. Not fate or some cosmic puppeteer. Certainly Rita hadn't fought hard enough to make things work. The credit all went to Joan.
"Well, here we are." She looked around the room. "Not a lot of room for your puzzle table." She caught herself and pressed her lips together. "Guess that doesn't really matter."
Rita went back to the suitcase and began unpacking for her new life.
#
After unpacking, Rita remade the bed with her own sheets and blanket. She stretched out on top of the bedding, feet crossed at the ankles and her fingers laced on her stomach. She remembered pulling all-nighters, and now she needed naps just to get through the day. The light coming through the bedroom window was just about perfect, and she watched as it moved along the wall. She wasn't trying to fall asleep. She just wanted to rest her eyes. But soon she was back in the past, reliving the moment when Joan arrived on her front step.
"I ended things. With Alan. I ended it."
"I never asked you to do that."
"Maybe it's not about you, Rita."
She woke startled, unsure of where she was for the first few seconds. The room had become significantly darker, and she pushed herself up to lean against the headboard. She could hear music in the next room. She felt exhausted, more tired than she'd been before her impromptu nap, but she forced herself up. It was almost six. She planned to get dinner, come back to put her room into a bit more order, and then call it a night. She found her shoes and toured the room briefly before going to the dining room.
The picture of Joan caught the sunset light coming in through the window, and she turned it slightly so the glare wasn't reflected. She sighed and looked down at herself. What was the dress code in this place? She was pretty sure no one would show up for dinner in their pajamas, but did she have to dress to the nines? She decided a sweater and slacks would be more than fine and left her room. She hesitated with a hand on the doorknob before she fell in behind a man in a wheelchair heading the same direction she was going.
Her house was gone. Sold to a couple moving in from Illinois. They were getting ready to start a family, and Joan would have been happy to know the spare room would finally get used for a nursery. Her car was also gone, sold to a sixteen year old who was almost certain to crash it within the next few months. She only wished she could be there to see it; she hated the beast. It deserved to die a slow death in the dump's car crusher.
Joan's clothes were at Goodwill. That hurt. The idea of a stranger wearing that yellow sweater with the wide neck that always slid off her shoulder... no one could make that look as good as Joan did.
"You look a little lost in thought."
Rita was startled by the closeness of the voice. The man who had spoken was standing a few feet in front of her, not in her personal space but not quite at a comfortable distance. He was about her height or a bit shorter, with snow-white hair and a mustache that looked like the bristles of a fireplace broom. His shirt was button-down and he wore a red bowtie. His right hand gripped the head of a cane and, when she continued walking, he fell into step beside her.
"Richard Tomlinson. I've been here about four years. Could offer some advice if you were up for it."
"I think I'll be fine." She forced a smile. Richard let her go first when they got their food, and she could tell he was following her when she went in search of her seat. She sat down and didn't object when he took the seat across from her. He sighed and arranged his food in front of him, then placed a napkin in his lap.
"So what's your crime?" She raised an eyebrow. "You know, the reason for your incarceration with the rest of the inmates here. Me, I fell and broke my hip. Couldn't really navigate the stairs in my house. Never noticed how many of the damn things there were before I couldn't climb them. So my daughter has the house and I moved in here. You?"
"My wife died." Dinner was a hearty beef stew, and she sipped it to test how hot it was. It needed a little cooling. "We were together fifty-three years. When she went into the hospital I realized that there was no way I could live in our house without her. So I got rid of it and put myself in here until... well, until whenever."
Richard had stared at her throughout the story. Finally he blinked and looked down at his stew. "Well. I can't say I expected that. How are you... coping? I assume she passed recently."
"Her suffering ended recently. But we've been saying goodbye. For a while." She sipped her tea to give herself a moment. "I'm fine now. I've made my peace with her passing."
He nodded. "I'm sorry to have been so casual about it."
Rita waved him off and began eating her soup. He did as well, and they ate in a certain companionable silence for a few minutes. She appreciated the company; she was so used to having another person across the table from her that she knew it would have seemed odd to be by herself.