Turtleface and Beyond by Arthur Bradford Page B

and smiled. A funny joke! We exchanged limbs and I tried to kiss her again but she wasn’t having any of that.
    â€œI’m moving to South America,” she told me. “I’m going to work in an orphanage there.”
    â€œWhat about your husband, the bouncer?” I asked.
    â€œHe’s gone. I’m not married.”
    â€œOh,” I said.
    Her South America plan impressed me and I asked if I could join her, permanently. It sounded like a good, wholesome life. Lenore said it would be best if I thought things through before making such a move.
    â€œThat’s a big decision,” she told me.
    And she was right! I had no business in Ecuador, or whatever country to which she was moving. Visiting Lenore was an option though, she made that clear, and lately I’ve been thinking I might take a trip down there to see just what’s going on.

 
    ORDERLY
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    It was an irresponsible thing to do. I even knew it at the time, but still I went ahead. I was working as an orderly at a facility called Riverwood Retreat, which wasn’t really a retreat. It was a mental institution and a place for people with mild disabilities who couldn’t function well in the outside world. Originally my job was to clean the residential areas, mop floors, disinfect bathrooms, and so on. But they were short on staff and after a few months I began to assist the professionals with the care of the residents. I would help lift someone from his wheelchair to the bed, or walk with a resident to the cafeteria and help him choose his food. I enjoyed these tasks more than the cleaning.
    One of the residents was a strikingly pretty woman named Elsa. I couldn’t figure out why she was there. She seemed to be in control of herself most of the time, though she did walk with a limp. She had a shock of gray hair running from the top of her forehead and very intense piercing eyes. Several times when I was in the cafeteria I noticed that she was looking at me. Her face had these sharp features and at first I thought she was angry with me about something. But then I began to understand that it was a look she always wore. Some people are just like that. They look angry even when they are feeling calm, or merely curious. I wondered if this was part of the reason Elsa had found herself residing here in the first place. One time I took Joseph, the resident whom I was accompanying, over to her table and we sat down next to her. Joseph had a visual disability and would feel all of his food with his fingers before he ate it.
    â€œI hope you wash his hands before he does that,” said Elsa.
    I said, “We always wash up before we eat, right, Joe?”
    â€œThat’s right,” agreed Joseph, though now that I thought of it we had neglected to do so on that day. Elsa regarded his dirty fingers with disdain.
    â€œMy name is Georgie,” I told her.
    â€œI’m Elsa,” she said.
    I was going to extend my hand for her to shake, but I hadn’t washed my hands either, and I figured she could tell. We ate the rest of the meal in silence.
    Joseph told me that Elsa was “mental,” that she would fly off the handle sometimes and then she would have to be restrained.
    â€œThey give her drugs now,” he said, “and she’s more calm.”
    I hadn’t had much experience with women up until that point. In school, my advances had been met mostly with amused dismissal and it wasn’t until later, when I fell in with the bass player of a local band, that I had what could be described as a relationship with a woman. That bass player was ten years my senior and left me for another woman, a turn of events which I took hard. I realized then that I had developed an attraction to older women. Elsa was perhaps thirty-five years old, and I found myself thinking about her quite a lot.
    I suppose she could sense my interest. One time when I was eating with Joseph she walked by and brushed her hand