Folly Beach - Dorothea Benton Frank [96]
“Do either of you know what kind of medicines she takes?”
“Everything’s in this bag,” Ella said and handed the doctor a Ziploc filled with vials.
“What other kind of symptoms is she showing?”
Ella described all of Aunt Daisy’s behaviors and her fever and spasms and everything she could think of to the doctor and he listened carefully, taking more notes.
“Do you know where she got that nasty gash on her arm? It’s infected.”
“I do and I told her that thing looked bad but she don’t listen to nobody!”
“How did it happen?” Dr. Ragone asked again.
“Oh! She caught her arm on a splintered board under the house where she had no business being in the first place. It was raining and she wanted some paper towels from the storage room. I said I’d go for ’em ’cause her foot’s in a cast . . . oh, Jesus! We forgot to bring her cast!”
“Don’t worry,” the doctor said, “we’ve got a few of those around here. But she won’t need it tonight. I’m going to admit her to intensive care and run some tests.”
“Intensive care! Oh Lord!” Ella said.
“Don’t worry. I’m putting her there because she’ll get the best care there. Her blood pressure is dangerously high and her breathing is very labored. She’s definitely got some kind of an infection. I’m going to give her a breathing tube to help her get the oxygen she needs until we can get her fever down. You folks can go on home if you want or you can wait until we get her in a room.”
“I’m staying,” I said.
“I ain’t moving from her side,” Ella said.
“I’ll go get us some coffee,” John said. “If you leave here just send me a text where to find you, okay?”
“Sure,” I said and took a deep breath, starting to relax somewhat.
It was going to be a very long night.
Chapter Twenty-one
Setting: The top of a sand dune near the front door of the Porgy House.
Director’s Note: Photos of the sunset on Folly, sand dunes, Romeo’s Streetcar, George Gershwin, an alligator, Gertrude Stein, Edna St. Vincent Millay, and Amy Lowell on the backstage scrim. Voice of DuBose comes from off-stage.
Act III
Scene 1
Dorothy: I remember one night, when the waiting for Gershwin was coming to a head, and after a quick dinner of leftover baked chicken and potatoes that was boring enough to peel the paint from the walls, DuBose and I were enjoying another spectacular winter sunset from the top of a sand dune no more than twenty yards from our front door. I surely did love the late of day after supper when it seemed like the world quieted down. I considered it my great reward for being industrious in the kitchen and tenacious in my dealings with Gershwin.
We were reluctant to venture too far from the house, because I had just tucked in Jenifer for the night and she wasn’t always perfectly compliant with her bedtime. If she thought she had been left home alone she would be hysterical for weeks. That said, I calculated the odds and decided that the advent of the purple and red streaks that slashed the horizon . . . ? Well, were they worth risking the wrath of our high-spirited child with her tall tales? Neither DuBose nor I ever imagined the energy it would take to be parents. I was beginning to think she was too vague and forgetful for her own good and had no idea how to deal with that. I usually did a lot of sighing when the day was done.
“Look at this sky! I’ve never seen such colors!” I said.
DuBose laughed a little, charmed I hoped, that I was always so taken by the majesty of the sunsets. He took them all for granted I suppose, but now that he was seeing the Lowcountry anew through my eyes I thought well, maybe this part of the world seemed like a slightly different place.
“Mr. Heyward! Are you laughing at me?”
“Absolutely not! I am thinking that being here and in this moment, I am a very rich man.” He smiled and dropped his chin in a manner that suggested knowing all the intimate details about me and stared at me lovingly with his enormous brown eyes.