Seeing Things, page 9
The timer ticked insistently. I explained about the fog and the gift of sharp peripheral vision. “At least, for now, that is. I’m end-stage.”
“My life’s a blur,” said Betty. “When I look at you, all I see is white fuzz on top of a featureless face.” She moved close enough that I felt her breath on my face. I wished she’d done a better job brushing her teeth that morning. “There, now you have eyes.”
Ruby said, “I had a Lucentis treatment Monday. It felt like the doctor emptied his sand pail into my eye, and it felt that way until yesterday afternoon. My eye leaked like a spigot, and I’m not exaggerating. I slept with a towel over my pillow. The doctor warned me, but I always think they’re covering their hineys with their doom-and-gloom warnings. All in all, I’m praising God that my eyesight is remaining stable.”
“When’s your next treatment?”
“In four weeks—the usual—unless I notice a change. But you have to hear this: I walked around the hospital yesterday with a coffee stain that practically covered my bosom. I didn’t have a clue until my husband pointed it out to me at dinner. I like to think my stained blouse provided a little levity for a patient or two.”
Betty leaned into me to whisper loudly enough for everyone to hear. “Ruby’s our Holy Roller. She goes to the Pentecostal church downtown.”
Ruby added. “And I’ve stopped driving.”
When I’d parked the Volkswagen in the garage for what I knew was the last time, I’d mourned the loss of my freedom as if both my feet had been amputated. Ouray was too small for public transportation, but then everything was within walking distance, albeit with steep hills to descend and climb back up again. Without the car, flights of fancy—like lunch in Ridgway for a buffalo burger—became organized field trips with my sighted friends. I traveled around the world and to Wal-Mart every other week with the Round Robins. Without them, I’d be forced to move to a bigger town, maybe even Denver. I took a breath to offer my condolences to Ruby, but an unknown voice announced her arrival.
“Hey, everyone, is there any coffee left?”
“Margie, you’re just in time,” Ruth said. “The timer’s about to go off.”
Margie’s voice sagged. “I’m done with treatments. And I’m done with pushing myself to go places, excepting here, of course. I’m tired of embarrassing myself.”
“Done with treatments?” Ruby asked.
“I can’t put myself through those shots one more time. The results aren’t that great, and I get so worked up the week before the appointment. It’s not worth—”
Ding!
“Ignore the timer, Margie. Tell us what’s really going on,” Ruth urged.
“There’s nothing to tell. I’m tired. I don’t want to live recuperating from one shot, just to anticipate the next.”
Ruth moved around the table to embrace Margie. The other gals reached out to touch her. Like hens cooing over a returned chick, the Bats offered their encouragement.
“You’ve been very brave.”
“You’ve shouldered plenty of disappointment.”
“I’m awfully glad you told us.”
“I’m relieved, really,” Margie said. “Bart and I want to focus on the grandchildren. As for my vision, it’s one day at a time, just as it is for Bart’s diabetes and my blood pressure. God will see us through. He always has. I’d rather live day to day than live under the tyranny of the treatment schedule. I must seem like a weakling to—”
“You’re a gladiator in my book.”
“I’ve always admired your strength.”
“Your faith encourages me.”
The room went silent. An expectation to add an exhortation nudged me. Before I could think of anything to say, Margie asked, “Now, is that Myrtle back from the dead, or do we have a new member?”
The group enjoyed a good laugh over my mistaken identity. I jumped in with the universal topic of delight. “How many grandchildren do you have, Margie?”
“Three, but if I don’t play by the rules, my daughter-in-law stops taking my calls. Don’t ask me why. I can offend her by stepping into the room. I don’t dare complain. The last time I did, I didn’t see the grandkids for six months. Sophie, the youngest one, didn’t know me. She screamed and clutched her mother’s legs when I reached for her. I tell you, seeing how I’d frightened that dear one was like dying from the inside out.”
Betty chimed in. “My kids live so far away, and the grandkids are in college. I never hear a word from any of them. And ‘thank you’ notes? I’m lucky if anyone makes it home for Christmas.”
“Birdie, you’re in a tough situation, aren’t you?” Ruth said.
“I think things are getting better, as long as I keep Bee—that’s my dog—in the bedroom with me.”
Ruby jumped in. “Listen, honey, this is a support group, and as such, we’re your personal counselors and prayer warriors. We’re here to help you live as a degenerate in a seeing world. Our lips are sealed.”
I never meant to tell the story all the way back to Andy and Suzanne’s engagement. I blame my verbosity on the fog. The ladies around the table could have been comatose with boredom, and yet I prattled on.
“That Suzanne is a controlling little thing, isn’t she?” Betty asked.
“She sounds just like my daughter-in-law,” Ruby added. “Are they churning these crazy women out at a factory somewhere?”
“Suzanne’s a cosmetic surgeon, but all she really wants is to be a mother,” I offered, surprised by my desire to defend her.
“I don’t care if she’s president of the United States of America.” Betty pounded the table hard enough to clank the silverware. “Who does she think she is? Can you imagine warning your mother-in-law to keep her dog off your floors?”
I’d only seen my mother-in-law when we traveled to North Dakota. Frankly, Mother Wainwright had spent too many winters listening to the mice in her pantry, but I loved her dearly and the kids adored her, even the mismatched socks she knitted every Christmas. She tipped the sherry bottle after dinner, told sentimental stories of growing up with her grandparents, and cuddled the closest child to her chest. I never thought to forbid her contact with the children. Even with all of her eccentricities, she’d generously displayed her approval, for the children and for me. For that, I remembered her fondly.
This conversation never should have happened. I tried to backpedal. “My son and his wife are trying very hard to balance their sense of duty with the demands of their daily lives. I’m so grateful. We all have our foibles. I know that better than anyone.” After all, I visited with an imaginary boy. What would the Bats think about that?
Ruth laid her hand over mine. “You’re right, Birdie. We should be talking to the One who can actually see into the hearts of our children. I have a daughter who’s old enough to retire next year. Her name is Jane. From the day she was born she owned my heart, even though I went on to have three more children. I guess I’m a terrible mother, but Jane was such a sweet, tender child.”
“She was all that and more,” Margie added.
“Speak up, Ruth. I can barely hear you!” Betty said.
“I remember Jane climbing into my lap and begging me to tell her another story about Jesus. She especially enjoyed the story about his healing the paralytic lowered through the roof by his friends.”
“I always wondered who got to clean up the mess from them digging through the roof tiles. You know it was a woman. It’s always a woman!”
Ruby said, “Healing the man was a small thing compared to forgiving his sins. At least, that’s what I always thought about the story, and Jesus did so because of his friends’ faith, not the paralytic’s.”
Ruth squeezed my hand. “I think you’re right, Ruby. That’s why it’s so ironic that Jane loved this story. The Bats know Jane’s story well enough, Birdie. I’ll just give you the highlights: Jane just married for the fifth time. She’s an alcoholic and a con artist. Every few years, once she’s depleted a husband’s bank account, Jane will divorce him and take him for whatever he has left. In between rich husbands, she scams senior citizens of their life savings. She’s been in prison twice.
“I can’t pull Jane onto my lap anymore to tell her stories about Jesus or sing her songs of his love and mercy. I barely hear from her at all, so I pray. I lower her into his presence on a mat, just like the friends of the paralytic. There’s no better place for her. In his presence is grace and forgiveness, healing and hope, rest for the weary.”
“That’s a beautiful picture of prayer.”
“But Jane isn’t a paralytic, and she isn’t a child at rest in my lap. I may lower her through the roof to Jesus’ presence, but chances are she hops off the mat and elbows through the crowd toward the door.”
Ruby raised her arms. “And sisters, that’s where the Holy Ghost comes in.”
“Yes, the Holy Ghost. I believe there will be a time when Jane stays on the mat long enough to look into the eyes of Jesus. Finally, she’ll behold his love. Knowing her, she’ll challenge him to offer her more than what a bottle of gin can offer, and he will. Until then, I’ll keep praying.”
Chapter 13
“Don’t come in!” Lupe rushed me at the door. “The floor, it’s not so dry yet.”
I slumped down to sit on the top step that led from the garage to the kitchen.
“No, don’t go sitting in the garage like a bad dog. Go around. The patio door, it’s not locked.”
I should have elevated my foot while at Ruth’s. Now my ankle burned. I pumped the boot tighter. The pressure smoldered the heat, if only moderately. “You’re usually done with the floors by now.” I regretted my whiny tone immediately.
“Your room is ready. I did it first, before I watched The People’s Court.”
“I thought you’d sworn off that show.”
Lupe held the mop across her chest. “You think I’ll feel guilty and let you in? You can forget about it.”
“I’m tired. I don’t have anywhere to go. I’m happy sitting here.” Ruth had percolated the coffee, a rarity to be savored. I’d had three cups, and yet lead ran through my veins.
“You want something to drink?”
I squeezed my legs together. “I’m fine, Lupe. I just want to rest.”
She leaned the mop against the wall with a huff. “Fine. Take your shoe off and leave the walker in the garage—”
“Doctor’s orders. Weight as tolerated, and I’ve overdone already. I’ve got plenty to keep me occupied.” Ruth’s story about lowering her daughter to Jesus had really hit home. I longed to dig through this roof until my fingers bled.
“You want I should turn on the television loud so you can hear the crazy people on Jerry Springer? They have big, fat girls who love their mother’s boyfriends on today.”
“Pass.” I pulled the door closed. From the soothing darkness of the garage, I yelled through the door. “I’m not here! Proceed as planned.”
The door opened. Lupe stood over me, hands on hips. “Take the shoe off, or I’ll clobber you with the mop. I’ll hold you up.”
“I’ll mark the floor.”
“Not so much. I’m stronger than I look.”
I looked up in time to watch Huck march toward the bedroom, leaving a trail of muddy footprints.
“You win. Take me to my room.”
Once inside the room, I pushed back the recliner and let the upholstery envelope me. Huck sat at the end of the bed, his legs dangling over the footboard. Although his feet were muddy, he wore a clean coarse shirt and trousers that he’d rolled up almost to his knees. And a belt. The outfit looked new except for a brown stain near the collar.
I leaned forward to whisper. “This isn’t a good time, Huck. Lupe’s in the house. She’s liable to hear me talking to you.”
Huck shrugged.
“That’s fine for you. No one will think you’re a loon.”
He hopped off the bed to stand over Bee who twitched and mewed in her sleep.
“She’s fine. Go ahead and pet her. I’m just going to watch you. Mum’s the word.”
The boy squatted next to Bee. He held his hand just above her shoulder.
“Go on,” I said too loudly. I covered my mouth.
Huck stood, shaking his head at Bee.
“She won’t bite, boy. Her ears are like silk. There’s nothing she likes better than a good scratching behind her ears.”
He hiked up his trousers to kneel beside Bee. Again, he held his outstretched hand over Bee for a long while. Finally, his hand fell to his thigh. “I can’t,” he said.
“What? You can’t what? Talk to me, boy. What is it you can’t do?”
Lupe knocked and opened the door. Huck jumped up to stand on the bed. He smiled broad enough to show a crooked incisor and hopped tentatively until he gained his sea legs, so to speak. He reached for the ceiling with each jump. The springs groaned under his weight. I didn’t dare scowl or say anything, not with Lupe there.
“I think maybe some ice would be good for your foot.” Lupe laid the ice pack on my ankle. “It’s funny, but I think I heard you talking to someone. My sister, she talks to herself all the time. Long time ago, when they were still in grade school, my brother talked her into catching pitches for him. One pitch hit her smack in the middle of her forehead. She still has a dent. She never seemed quite right after that. She lives with my mother’s sister. Otherwise, she wouldn’t know to take a bath, and boy, she can stink.”
Huck landed on his hiney and slid off the bed. He walked backwards toward the door, waving and grinning. I sighed and my shoulders lowered past my ears. I needed to change the subject. “Do you believe in prayer, Lupe?”
“I have to believe in prayer. One of my sisters, she’s a nun.”
“I thought I believed in prayer until—”
“No good will come of finishing that sentence, Miz Birdie.” She crossed herself.
“Yes, of course, you’re right, but I’ve been thinking about this more than usual. Mostly it seems God answers prayers for other people. I’ve seen people healed. The head usher at my church lived with debilitating back pain for years, could barely get out of bed on a winter morning. The elders anointed him and laid hands on him, and then they prayed. Nothing happened just then, but a strange popping along his spine woke him up in the middle of the night. He lay there, he told us later, breathing heavy, afraid to move lest his spine shatter into a million pieces. And then, a peace settled on him. Jim’s quite a fisherman, so he explained the peace like standing in the middle of a mountain stream unfurling his line in a graceful arc over and over again, never disappointed that the fly hadn’t attracted a hungry trout. Finally, he threw the covers back, which made Martha, his wife, grouse at him, and he took a few gingerly steps. No pain. He stretched his arms over his head. No pain. He bent to touch his toes. No pain. Martha says he pulled her out of bed to dance around the bedroom. The pain had plum vanished.
“I’ve seen people battered by life find the courage to live another day and another. I’ve seen relationships rekindled. Hope restored. People set free from terrible addictions. I guess I’m a bit jealous. I’m feeling like a second-class citizen in the family of God.” I reached out my hand to Lupe. “Will you pray with me?”
“Now?”
“Is there a toilet you’re dying to clean?”
“Nothing like that. Dr. Phil is coming on. I like him on the big screen. It’s like he’s sitting right in the living room with me. Some women don’t like bald men, but he is very strong, don’t you think? I like that. Besides, he has some catty sisters on today. I saw the previews. One of them looks like my third youngest sister.”
I moved to the bed and patted a place for Lupe to sit down. “This won’t take long.”
“Shouldn’t we kneel?”
“Jesus prayed standing up.”
“How do you know that?”
“It’s in the Bible.”
“With all those funny words in the Bible, how can you be so sure?”
“It gets worse. At the Last Supper, he prayed reclining at the table.”
“You better watch what you say. Everyone knows he sat on a fancy chair at a long, long table for the Last Supper.”
Part of me wanted to pull my Bible out to prove how very wrong she was. Instead, I slid my aching ankle over the side of the bed to kneel as I’d done all through my growing-up years. To my utter amazement, Lupe knelt beside me, shoulder to shoulder. She smelled of bleach and Jean Naté and sweat.
“What are we praying about, anyway?” she asked.
“The Bible says: ‘For where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them.’”
“With us? Who you talking about?”
“Jesus.”
Lupe shot to her feet. “I should clear this with Sister Corazon Barbara first.” She started for the door.
I grabbed the back of her pant leg. “Wait!”
“Miz Birdie, I like you and everything, but I don’t think this is a good idea.”
“Lupe, before you go, give me a hand up.”
She knelt beside me. “I guess kneeling here is okay, if I don’t say anything.”
I patted her hand and bowed my head. “Lord, I’m lowering my family through the roof to you because I believe you love them and want them to experience how wide, how high, and how very, very deep your love is for them.”
Lupe whispered, “I have arthritis in my knees.”
“Oh. Okay. Lord, I surrender my family to you. Amen.”
Lupe grunted as she pushed against the bed to stand. “I think Jesus had the right idea when he prayed standing up.”
“Next time.”
Chapter 14
“Dad’s going to kill me.”
“Your father complained about not having time to drive with you. I have tons of time. Now, adjust the mirrors and start the engine.”
Fletcher tapped the rearview mirror. “All I see is Bee’s face.”
I turned and swatted Bee’s rump. “For goodness’ sake, you sorry excuse for a hound dog. Lay down!”
“Is she still on the towel?”
