The Almost Visit
by Shauna Checkley
Dodi settled into the plum-colored, vinyl recliner, the only other chair in the room. She turned her attention immediately to the woman who was staring out the window: her mother. There was no one else there, just the two of them. The nursing home was quiet, which made Dodi feel it was later in the day than it actually was, only three p.m. The summer sun beat effortlessly through the streaky bay window.
“So, mom, how have things been going?” Dodi queried. When her mother didn’t turn to face her, Dodi thought, Is mom ignoring me? Better than an ugly blast, though.
Chuckling lightly, her mother said, “There they go, the two of them. Same time every day, without fail.”
Her mother stood at the windowsill, one gnarled, purplish hand resting on it while she gazed out onto busy Spadina Avenue. “I wonder what she named the dog. Oh, it’s stopping to spray the sign!”
Dodi could only partly make out her mother’s facial expressions, though her mother presently had an open-mouthed visage of humorous wonder. “Now it’s doing number two! And wouldn’t you think she would at least carry one of those doggy-doo bags with her?” Her mother paused. Clicked her tongue.
Leaning forward in the recliner, which was set to upright, Dodi repeated, “So, mom, how have things been going?”
“Can you believe that? Here comes a skateboarder! I sure hope he’s able to jump over that mound of poop out there. You see them making those crazy jumps all the time. He’d better hope it works this time.”
Not certain if her mother was just distracted or was purposefully ignoring her, Dodi felt a twinge of impatience. However, she quelled her own restlessness. I never was one to sit still, that’s for sure. Yet one thing was surely fact: the steel-trap soundness of her mom’s mind.
Her mother then broke out into loud, screechy, grating laughter that her late husband always said reminded him of two cats having sex.
“What’s so funny, Mom?”
“Right on cue, he jumped over the poop and kept going.” She laughed with her hand over her mouth, her face promptly turning a bright red, which could be seen even as she continued to stand sideways facing the window.
Dodi exhaled. She was wearing Levi jean shorts and Puma flip-flops. It was an outfit she often doffed in her down time. They were her go-to clothes when she left corporate Canada promptly at five o’clock every day. However, today was her day off, yet it was careening along as surely as the skateboard had been.
Earlier on, Rosalind, the only attendant on duty, had smiled as she met Dodi at the door. “Think your mom will so appreciate this visit. Why, it’s her very first.”
“I sure hope so, girlfriend, but I’m bracing myself, y’know.”
Shifting in her seat, Dodi heard and felt the vinyl release from her bare legs with a puckering sound and a pronounced pull of skin. Shh-whapp! It almost hurt.
The small bedroom was just as Dodi recalled it from the day of moving in. The penguin candy dish with pastel-colored candies so old and hard they were a danger to teeth. The same party-lite candles and cat knick-knacks on her blond wooden dresser. Towels and face cloths neatly folded on her mismatched end table.
It was a minimalist existence, one deeply foreign to her ex-hoarder mother. The staff had been alerted to this tendency and were ever vigilant over piling newspapers or Kleenex. So, her room always had a tidied look to it.
That very hoarding had actually been the tipping point in placing her mom into a home. When the family abode had become a veritable obstacle course, knee-deep in stacked Chatelaine magazines and discarded craft projects, Peek Frean boxes and popsicle-stick glory, it led her undaunted daughter to act.
Taking a deep breath, Dodi then said, “So how have things been going, then?”
Her mother’s head bobbed from one side to the other as she continued straining to see out the window. It reminded Dodi of the bobble-headed Taylor Swift doll she had on her desk at work. Her mother now had her back completely towards Dodi. All that could be seen was the powder blue housecoat with a smear of coral lipstick on the side pocket and a thinning, fine gray crest of hair. It was like she was the imperial gatekeeper to some faraway kingdom, coy sentinel.
“Look, Mom, I have asked you three times now how you are. Why don’t you come and sit down and talk to me like any normal person would?”
“Oh, I’m fine, I suppose,” her mother finally said. It came out sounding like a rhetorical question, however. She continued to stare straight ahead.
“That’s good” Dodi said. At last, I am starting to get somewhere now... If she would only just turn and face me, look me in the eye... How can I turn this into a regular, pleasant visit after all? Just how? Home visits were always fun.
It reminded Dodi of a time in her first year of college, when two girls in her dorm invited her to the bar with them and then coldly ignored her all night, refusing to speak or even look at her, a pre-meditated snub on their part. It was ideological bullying at its finest, as only students can do. She had been on the other side of a heated debate, of course. When memories as black as that resurfaced, she shivered. She hated such chilling, backward glances. Yet still they came.
Her mother continued to look out her window. She paused only for a mini-coughing fit that lasted momentarily.
“Are you okay?” Dodi queried.
Her mother cleared her throat. Nodded.
“So, come and sit and talk with me—”
“Wouldja look at that? Stopped at the light! It is one of those party buses! Those horrible bachelorette buses. Look at that tart with her pink sash up prancing and dancing at the pole. No shame whatsoever. And no sense, either.”
Springing to her feet, Dodi strained to catch a glimpse of the riot on wheels. But the bus sped off. Dodi sank back down in her seat, disappointed.
Standing with her arms akimbo, her mother clicked her tongue: Tch. Tch. She continued to stand facing the window, however.
Recalling the careful manners and behavior that her parents instilled on her as a child, continuous promptings for please and thank you and excuse me and such, Dodi recoiled. She was tempted to throw this in her mother’s face: Look who’s being the rude one now! But she thought better of it. Mom’s aged, just cut her some slack... Besides, it’s just old demons rising to the surface, the mother-daughter dynamic that dear old Dad used to marvel at. Those fierce attachments.
Sighing, Dodi shifted in her seat, crossing and uncrossing her legs. To any onlooker she would have appeared mildly annoyed or frustrated, with her brow crinkled, sporting a pained expression.
Finally, Dodi spoke in earnest: “Look, Mom, I am sensing that something is wrong. So just tell me, okay. What is going on?”
Dodi saw her mother stiffen, ramrod straight. “Oh, there is nothing going on. Just that my neighbor to the left gets berated on the phone by her crazy, drunken daughter, and Vera’s so lonely she just stays on the phone and takes the abuse. It’s all the attention that poor Vera ever gets. Then there’s Lucy, on the right, whose sole visitor is her grandson with Tourette’s Syndrome, who spends most of the time shouting, ‘Cunt!’ It’s a wonderful life after all.” Her tone was acidic, ironic.
Dodi swallowed hard. “Well, uh... Then it’s nice to be having a normal visit, isn’t it?”
Her mother threw her hands up. Then she reached for the windowsill once again.
They paused and a heavy silence ensued. Like a backdrop or prop had fallen from the ceiling separating the women, so it felt. They were two solitudes trying to make sense of the world around them. Yet it seemed rather dark and chaotic from any vantage point these days. Still, Dodi was determined to try and make the proverbial best of things.
I so need to get her attention. I gotta try and turn this visit around, somehow. I knew this visit would be beyond awkward, given our mutual histrionics over the move and downsizing, of course.
Hearing the clatter of footsteps and then the vacuum cleaner in the hallway, Dodi looked in that direction. Probably just Rosalind out there, working.
Her mother kept staring out the window, however.
Casa Bella Care Home was a level-one facility. It was for seniors needing minimal care. The large, white stucco building was carefully landscaped with lawn and caragana bushes and a big sign with gold lettering that read Casa Bella. Situated close to a shopping mall and medical clinic, it was said to be an idyllic set-up for the aged. The family had recently moved their mother there. Being the only nearby progeny, Dodi had been left to deal with her almost entirely.
Kay had resisted the move from the very outset, though: “Obscenely expensive, y’know it goes against more than just common sense, more like plain decency.”
Dodi couldn’t argue the point but just went ahead with the inevitable regardless of cost. That had been nearly two months ago, but Kay still hadn’t settled in, apparently. Nor had she forgiven Dodi.
What can I do? Why won’t she even look at me, face me? How can I break the ice? Dodi racked her brain for answers. Just what is the proper protocol, anyhow?
Pointing one long index finger at the windowpane, her mother remarked, “Look at those clouds moving in. I wonder if we’re going to get rain later.”
“Didn’t hear the forecast today,” Dodi said.
“And look at those teenagers staring at their phones. They could get mowed down so easy, and they wouldn’t even know what hit them.” Shaking her head, she clucked her tongue. Tch. Tch. Tch.
“That’s why they’re called ‘screenagers’ nowadays, I guess,” Dodi began. She had a sudden cold vision of her earlier self, mouthy and defiant. There were no 32 limits to the characters that I spouted back in the day!
Feeling herself soften at that telling revelation, Dodi beseeched her mother: “Don’t you get tired of standing all the time? You could come—”
“Oh no! The poor squirrel!” her mother squealed. “Thank God, it made it across the street! I thought it was going to get smucked for sure.”
Feeling her impatience rising again, Dodi stiffened in her seat. Just when she was about to implore her mother, the care attendant walked in.
Rosalind was a hefty, middle-aged woman with a round, pleasant face and a warm demeanor. Dodi had encountered Rosalind several times before and had instantly liked her.
“Well, ladies, I hate to break up the party, but it is supper time,” Rosalind announced. The crease between her eyes deepened.
Rising out of the chair, Dodi took it as her cue to leave. What else can I do? What good is it trying to talk to Mom? There’s no sense in even being here. She hasn’t accepted the move at all.
“Okay, then. See ya, Mom. I’ll stop by again soon.”
Turning finally, her mother faced her and smiled warmly. “Please do! Things just take time in getting better, that’s all. Life always has been that way between us. Bye, dear.” Then she turned back around.
Speaking to Rosalind, her mother said, “Will you look at that crazy squirrel out there. Poor thing’s likely going to get hit.”
“Aww, poor little feller,” Rosalind replied. They clucked in sync.
Dodi walked to her red Ford Escort SUV and got in. The parking lot was half full. As she pulled out, Dodi looked toward the Care home. Then she turned toward Spadina Avenue. She looked for the two women in her mother’s window. It seemed very lit up, like another light switch had been flipped on. Dodi thought she got a glimpse of two figures, but wasn’t certain. Her earlier feeling that it was later in the day than it actually was began to let go, like an unseen hand being released. She smiled and cruised on home.
Copyright © 2023 by Shauna Checkley
