Journal of a Living Lady
#109
Buddy snored heavily, interrupting my sleep and diverting my dreams.
This would be the night. The odds were greatly against it. I even had doubts myself. My eyes glanced at the jerky writing on the note that lay on the lighted night stand. It was signed “Would-be Queen.” God, please let it happen.
Vowed and determined to accomplish this one task, I was off on my secret mission. Come swell or high water, rain, sleet or snow, nothing was going to keep me from doing this act of kindness. If I didn’t make it back alive, well…so be it. It’s been a good life.
I was going among the living, well the semi-living. I consider nursing homes to be way-stations between earth and eternity. I have seen the best of them and probably some of the worst. Me, when my time comes, I prefer a straight ticket without the stop-over.
It was a long drive to this quasi-rest home. I can’t tell you where or even the when. Not even the who. But I’ll call her Mrs. Peacock. It was a night Mrs. Peacock and the living lady will not likely forget.
I get lots of mail. Not surprising some of my most loyal readers are lonely, little ole ladies as well as a few senior gents. Many are stuck away and abandoned by loved ones. You know how busy life gets. I consider these grand friends very special.
I turned off the car lights and eased my vehicle into the parking lot of a run-down old brick building. Happy Acres. That is what Mrs. Peacock sarcastically calls the place in her barely legible hand-printed letters.
I watched the emptiness of the long hallway. Finally I caught a glimpse of a singular worker carrying a cup of coffee. Gently closing the car door, I inched my way to the rear of the building. A broken concrete block in the doorway allowed some fresh night air into the malodorous hall. I dashed to an idle wheelchair in an alcove. A forgotten afghan became a cloak for my head and shoulders. Fortunately, right across the hall was Mrs. Peacock’s room. At least the name plate said so. The door was fully opened. I observed the old woman toss and turn When the coast was clear, I slipped into her room and sat in the straight chair beside her bed.
“Mrs. Peacock,” I whispered. “It’s me. I told you I would come.”
Startled at first, she stretched out her frail hand and felt my face.
“I just knewed you would,” she said. There was happiness in her voice
“Is the Midnight Queen up for a little ride?” I asked.
“I am if you are,” she said as she sat up on the bed.
I helped her put on a robe and some slippers.
“We won’t get in trouble, will we?” I asked.
“Who they gonna call?” Mrs. Peacock feebly asked. “Ain’t nobody gonna miss me.”
She was a consenting adult and was at Happy Acres on her own free will. Still I doubted they would approve such an unorthodox adventure. We snuck out the back door like mischievous school kids. I held onto her tightly, looking over my shoulder to be sure nobody was the wiser. Mrs. Peacock was escaping, albeit temporarily. This had been her fantasy. I was glad to be a part of it.
We drove a mile or two to a rustling stream and sat for a long time. We watched the moon and pretended to see trout jumping between the rocks. We laughed at silly knock-knock jokes. I gave her some party games to play with the old folks at Happy Acres: Spin the Mylanta Bottle. Red Rover, Red Rover, the Nurse says Bend Over. Twenty Questions Shouted into your Good Ear.
Mrs. Peacock laughed so hard I could smell urine. It was time to take her back.
In her room at Happy Acres, Mrs. Peacock settled down on the edge of the bed. In my coat pocket was a gift I slowly unfurled. Mustering my most magical voice I quietly announced, “Mrs. Leona Peacock, I hereby crown you Queen for the Night.” Then I carefully placed a golden cardboard crown on top of her wiry-white hair.
Mrs. Peacock removed the crown and looked at it in disbelief.. Tears welled in her eyes as her bony fingers felt around the diamond-shaped ridges.
“Put it on that rack,” she said, pointing to a shelf in front of her metal bed. “That way, I will always know that this weren’t a dream.”
Somewhere in Somewhereville in an old rest home is a Burger King crown sitting on a shelf. Proof that dreams do come true, even for the aged, if you only believe.
Night. Night.
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April 18, 2001