loved one appears before you, it's your brain that fights it, not your heart.
Her first "appointment" lived in a small brick home in the middle of Lehigh Street, just two blocks from our house. There was a metal awning over the porch and a flower box filled with pebbles. The morning air seemed overly crisp now, and the light was strange, making the edges of the scenery too sharply defined, as if drawn in ink. I still had not seen another person, but it was midmorning and most folks would be working.
"Knock, " my mother told me. I knocked.
"She's hard of hearing. Knock louder. " I rapped on the door.
"Knock again. " I pounded.
"Not so hard, " she said.
Finally, the door opened. An elderly woman wearing a smock and holding a walker pushed her lips into a confused smile.
"Good morning, Rose," my mother sang. "I brought a young man with me. " "Oooh, " Rose said. Her voice was so high it was almost birdlike.
"Yes, I see. " "You remember my son, Charley? "
"Oooh. Yes. I see. "
She stepped back. "Come in. Come in. "
Her house was tidy, small, and seemingly frozen in the 1970s. The carpet was royal blue. The couches were covered in plastic. We followed her to the laundry
room. Our steps were unnaturally small and slow, marching behind Rose and her walker.
"Having a good day, Rose? " my mother asked. "Oooh, yes. Now that you're here. "
"Do you remember my son, Charley? " "Oooh, yes. Handsome. "
She said this with her back to me. "And how are your children, Rose? "
"What's that now? "
"Your children?"
"Oooh. " She waved her palm. "They checked up on me once a week.
Like a chore. "
I couldn't tell, at that point, who or what Rose was. An apparition? A real person? Her house felt real enough. The heat was turned up, and the smell of toasted bread lingered from breakfast. We entered the laundry room where a chair was positioned by the sink. A radio was playing some big band song.
"Would you turn that off, young man? " Rose said, without turning around. "The radio. Sometimes I have it too loud. "
I found the volume knob and clicked it off.
"Terrible, did you hear? " Rose said. "An accident by the highway.
They were talking about it on the news. "
I froze.
"A car hit a truck and crashed through a big sign. Knocked it right down. Terrible."
I scanned my mother's face, expecting her to turn and demand my confession. Admit what you did, Charley.
"Well, Rose, the news is depressing, " she said, still unpacking her bag.
"Oooh, yes," Rose said. " So much so. "
Wait. They knew? They didn't know? I had a cold flush of dread, as if someone were about to rap on the windows and demand I come out.
Instead, Rose turned her walker, then her knees, then her skinny shoulders in my direction.
"It's nice that you spend a day with your mother," she said. "Children should do it more often.
She put a shaky hand on the back of the chair-by the sink. "Now, Posey," she said, "can you still make me beautiful?"
MAYBE YOU'RE WONDERING how my mother came to be a hairdresser.
As I mentioned, she had been a nurse, and she truly loved being a nurse. She had that deep well of patience to carefully dress bandages, draw blood, and answer endless worried questions with upbeat reassurances. The male patients liked having someone young and pretty around. And the female patients were grateful when she brushed out their hair or helped them put on lipstick. I doubt it was protocol back then, but my mother applied makeup to more than a few occupants ofour county hospital. She believed it made them feel better. That was the point ofa hospital stay, wasn't it? "You're not supposed to go there and rot," she would say.
Sometimes, at the dinner table, she would get a faraway look and talk about "poor Mrs. Halverson" and her emphysema or "poor Roy Endicott" and his diabetes. Now and then, she would stop talking about a person, and my sister would ask, "What did the old lady Golinski do today? " and my mother would answer, "She went home, honey. " My
Her first "appointment" lived in a small brick home in the middle of Lehigh Street, just two blocks from our house. There was a metal awning over the porch and a flower box filled with pebbles. The morning air seemed overly crisp now, and the light was strange, making the edges of the scenery too sharply defined, as if drawn in ink. I still had not seen another person, but it was midmorning and most folks would be working.
"Knock, " my mother told me. I knocked.
"She's hard of hearing. Knock louder. " I rapped on the door.
"Knock again. " I pounded.
"Not so hard, " she said.
Finally, the door opened. An elderly woman wearing a smock and holding a walker pushed her lips into a confused smile.
"Good morning, Rose," my mother sang. "I brought a young man with me. " "Oooh, " Rose said. Her voice was so high it was almost birdlike.
"Yes, I see. " "You remember my son, Charley? "
"Oooh. Yes. I see. "
She stepped back. "Come in. Come in. "
Her house was tidy, small, and seemingly frozen in the 1970s. The carpet was royal blue. The couches were covered in plastic. We followed her to the laundry
room. Our steps were unnaturally small and slow, marching behind Rose and her walker.
"Having a good day, Rose? " my mother asked. "Oooh, yes. Now that you're here. "
"Do you remember my son, Charley? " "Oooh, yes. Handsome. "
She said this with her back to me. "And how are your children, Rose? "
"What's that now? "
"Your children?"
"Oooh. " She waved her palm. "They checked up on me once a week.
Like a chore. "
I couldn't tell, at that point, who or what Rose was. An apparition? A real person? Her house felt real enough. The heat was turned up, and the smell of toasted bread lingered from breakfast. We entered the laundry room where a chair was positioned by the sink. A radio was playing some big band song.
"Would you turn that off, young man? " Rose said, without turning around. "The radio. Sometimes I have it too loud. "
I found the volume knob and clicked it off.
"Terrible, did you hear? " Rose said. "An accident by the highway.
They were talking about it on the news. "
I froze.
"A car hit a truck and crashed through a big sign. Knocked it right down. Terrible."
I scanned my mother's face, expecting her to turn and demand my confession. Admit what you did, Charley.
"Well, Rose, the news is depressing, " she said, still unpacking her bag.
"Oooh, yes," Rose said. " So much so. "
Wait. They knew? They didn't know? I had a cold flush of dread, as if someone were about to rap on the windows and demand I come out.
Instead, Rose turned her walker, then her knees, then her skinny shoulders in my direction.
"It's nice that you spend a day with your mother," she said. "Children should do it more often.
She put a shaky hand on the back of the chair-by the sink. "Now, Posey," she said, "can you still make me beautiful?"
MAYBE YOU'RE WONDERING how my mother came to be a hairdresser.
As I mentioned, she had been a nurse, and she truly loved being a nurse. She had that deep well of patience to carefully dress bandages, draw blood, and answer endless worried questions with upbeat reassurances. The male patients liked having someone young and pretty around. And the female patients were grateful when she brushed out their hair or helped them put on lipstick. I doubt it was protocol back then, but my mother applied makeup to more than a few occupants ofour county hospital. She believed it made them feel better. That was the point ofa hospital stay, wasn't it? "You're not supposed to go there and rot," she would say.
Sometimes, at the dinner table, she would get a faraway look and talk about "poor Mrs. Halverson" and her emphysema or "poor Roy Endicott" and his diabetes. Now and then, she would stop talking about a person, and my sister would ask, "What did the old lady Golinski do today? " and my mother would answer, "She went home, honey. " My
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