Thursday’s Child Has Far to Go

by Kenneth A. Hill

Robert was standing in the lobby of the nursing home when he felt someone tap him on his back. He turned to see a smallish, elderly woman with long, grey hair, staring up at him and bearing a wide smile.

“Hello,” she said. “What’s your name?”

“Robert.”

“Hello, Robert. I’m Molly.” She gave him a quizzical look. “Are you new here?”

“I just arrived.”

“I thought so,” she said. “I don’t remember seeing you before.“ After a moment, she asked, “How old are you, Robert?”

“I’m seventy-eight.”

“Ooh, that’s nice. I’m seventy-six. I’ve always preferred older men.”

Robert nodded, then looked around the clean, well-lighted room filled with comfortable, pastel-colored furniture. He caught the eye of a nurse, who smiled warmly at him, then continued helping a resident who was attempting to maneuver his walker into an adjoining dining area.

“What day is today?” Molly asked, regaining his attention.

“I think it’s Thursday.”

She brightened. “Oh, I love Thursdays. My boyfriend always comes to see me on Thursdays.”

Not knowing what to say, he just smiled.

“Do you have a girlfriend?” she asked.

“Sort of.”

“Would she be jealous if you snuggled with me a little bit?”

“Not at all.”

She came into his arms and he squeezed her gently. He stroked the back of her head, running strands of her ginger-tinted grey hair through his fingers. Finally, she broke from the embrace, then reached up and gave him a soft kiss on his cheek.

“Thank you, Robert.” She yawned. “Snuggling always makes me sleepy. I need to take a nap now.”

“It’s okay, Molly. It was nice to meet you.”

She looked at him oddly for a moment, narrowing her green eyes and furrowing her brow. Then she turned and started to walk away. A young nursing assistant arrived to escort her down a long corridor. He watched her until she disappeared through a door at the dim end of the hall.

He stared at the closed door for a while, wondering about her. Presently, he heard someone behind him call his name. He turned to see a much older woman moving slowly toward him, struggling to rotate the large wheels of her wheelchair. He waved and went to greet her.

“Hi, Mom,” he said, smiling. “How are you doing?” He leaned down and kissed her forehead.

“Oh, I’m okay. Pretty much the same as last week. Nothing really changes around here, you know. At least I have my bridge.”

He laughed softly. “You’re still cleaning out their coin purses?”

“Of course. As I said, nothing changes.” Then a softness came into her expression. “How was Molly?”

His smile faded. He merely shrugged.

Affectionately, she reached up and put a hand against his cheek.

“You must have faith, dear. The nurses tell me that you’re the only one she ever approaches the way she does with you. I believe that means some part of her must still recognize you.”

He looked at her with a forced smile. “I suppose that’s true.”

“They say she’s physically healthy and fit,” she said. “She could live for years.”

He nodded, knowing the implications of that.

“All this time,” she said incredulously, “I don’t know how you do it.”

“It’s hard,” he agreed. He turned his gaze down the corridor toward Molly’s door. “But at least I seem to get her back, if only for a few minutes.”

She smiled. “Well, I’m famished. How about you?” she said, brightening the mood.

“I could eat.”

“Then wheel me into the dining hall, my boy. They’re serving steak for lunch.”

He complied by pushing her wheelchair toward the sound of cafeteria noises and the sweet aroma of baking bread.

Another nursing assistant arrived, offering to take over the chore of pushing the wheelchair. He politely waved her off, because it wasn’t very far to go.