WATER FOR ELEPHANT - Sara Gruen [106]
“What time does the show start?”
“It starts at three,” she says. “It’s two now.”
“I’ll wait in the lobby. I want to leave straightaway when they get here.”
Rosemary waits patiently while I lower my creaking body into the wheelchair. As she wheels me out to the lobby, I clasp my hands in my lap, fiddling nervously.
The lobby is full of other old folks in wheelchairs, lined up in front of the bucket seats meant for visitors. Rosemary parks me at the end, beside Ipphy Bailey.
She is hunched over, her dowager’s hump forcing her to face her lap. Her hair is wispy and white, and someone—obviously not Ipphy—has combed it carefully to obscure the bald spots. She turns suddenly toward me. Her face lights up.
“Morty!” she cries, reaching out a skeletal hand and clapping it around my wrist. “Oh, Morty, you came back!”
I yank my arm away, but the hand comes with it. She pulls me toward her as I recoil.
“Nurse!” I yell, trying to wrench free. “Nurse!”
A few seconds later, someone pries me loose from Ipphy, who is convinced I am her dead husband. Furthermore, she is convinced I don’t love her anymore. She leans over the arm of her chair, weeping, waving her arms in a desperate attempt to reach me. The horse-faced nurse backs me up, moves me some distance away, and then places my walker between us.
“Oh, Morty, Morty! Don’t be like that!” Ipphy wails. “You know it didn’t mean anything. It was nothing—a terrible mistake. Oh, Morty! Don’t you love me anymore?”
I sit rubbing my wrist, incensed. Why can’t they have a separate wing for people like that? That old bird is clearly out of her head. She could have hurt me. Of course, if they did have a separate wing, I’d probably end up in it after what happened this morning. I sit up straight as an idea occurs to me. Maybe it was the new drug that caused the brain belch—oh, I must ask Rosemary about that. Or maybe not. The thought has cheered me, and I’d like to hang on to that. Must protect my little pockets of happiness.
Minutes pass and old people disappear until the row of wheelchairs resembles a jack-o-lantern’s gap-toothed smile. Family after family arrives, each claiming a decrepit ancestor amid high-decibel greetings. Strong bodies lean over weak; kisses are planted on cheeks. Brakes are kicked free, and one by one old people exit the sliding doors surrounded by relatives.
When Ipphy’s family arrives, they make a great show of being happy to see her. She gazes into their faces, eyes and mouth wide open, baffled but delighted.
There are only six of us left now, and we eye each other suspiciously. Each time the glass doors slide open our faces turn in unison and one of them brightens. And so it goes until I’m the only one left.
I glance at the wall clock. Two forty-five. Dammit! If they don’t show up soon I’ll miss the Spec. I shift in my seat, feeling querulous and old. Hell, I am querulous and old, but I must try not to lose my temper when they arrive. I’ll just rush them out the door, make clear that there’s no time for pleasantries. They can tell me about whoever’s promotion or whatever vacation after the show.
Rosemary’s head appears in the doorway. She looks both directions, taking in the fact that I’m alone in the lobby. She goes behind the nurses’ station and sets her chart down on the counter. Then she comes and sits next to me.
“Still no sign of your family, Mr. Jankowski?”
“No!” I shout. “And if they don’t show up soon there won’t be much point. I’m sure the good seats are already taken and I’m already going to miss the Spec.” I turn back to the clock, miserable, whiney. “Whatever is keeping them? They’re always here by now.”
Rosemary looks at her watch. It’s gold with stretchy links that look like they’re pinching her flesh. I always wore my watch loose, back when I had one.
“Do you know who’s coming today?” she asks.
“No. I never do. And it doesn’t really matter, just so long as they get here in time.”
“Well, let me see what I can find out.”
She rises and goes behind the desk at the nurses’ station.
I scan each