True Love
Linda hums an off-key set of notes as she shuffles to the table. Her singing volume slightly increases as she reaches to set a plate in front of Pepper. His index finger, crooked with arthritis and barely mobile, attempts to dig in the box labeled “Morning” in a Wednesday pill box.
“Linda, where’s my Namenda?” Pepper barks.
“Darlin’, remember, you take your Namenda in the evening before supper.”
Linda kisses Pepper’s bald scalp and gradually makes her way back across the 10-feet of floor to the kitchenette.
“How you only remember the name of your Alzheimer’s pill will forever amaze me.”
“What?”
After 64 years of marriage, the couple knows more about each other than some people will ever know about themselves. It has been four years since his diagnosis and Linda has noticed a hastening in his progression. Lately, she has been watching his every movement like a cataractous hawk.
“Linda, close those blinds would ya. I can’t see a damn thing with the sun in my eyes.”
“Ok, my darlin’.”
Linda saunters over to the window and rotates the white plastic dowel attached to the blinds. The 800 square foot apartment brightened by indirect afternoon sunlight slowly fades into darkness. She flips a nearby light switch, illuminating the dim dining area, and makes her way back to the kitchen.
As she makes her way back to the kitchen, Linda notices Pepper focused and determined at his Wednesday pill box. He manages to flick out one small orange disc and one red oblong pill onto the table. Parkinson’s shakes the rest of the day’s pills like a maraca as sets the container down. With a fork in his arthritic twisted hand he begins to shift the food around the plate, searching for its meaning.
“Damn, Linda. What the hell is this.”
“That’s your breakfast my darlin’. We’ve got some scrambled eggs and the breakfast sausages you like.”
“Well, I’ve never had these sausages before, but they look good.”
Linda saunters back to the table with half as much food as Pepper. She places the antiqued, chipped plate on a pilled, faded blue cloth placemat, flanked to the right by an ornate knife and fork resting on a cloth napkin that once matched the color of the placemat.
Pepper lifts his head up from his food. “What are we going to do about the lease on this house? They’re not going to renew it and they’re going to kick us out.”
“What are you talking about, darlin? We’ve been renting this house for years and we just renewed for another year two months ago.”
From his seat at the table, Pepper tries to peer around the closed blinds into the garden. He squints at the ambient light permeating through the blinds. “Well, it doesn’t matter anyway. They’re gonna kick us outta this place because of what happened to the grass in the backyard.”
“There wasn’t grass in the backyard when we moved in. That big shade tree outside the window keeps the grass from growin.”
Pepper prods his breakfast. “Well, they’re gonna charge us for the grass then. How are we gonna pay for it? We’re on fixed income.”
Linda places her hand upon Pepper’s with gentle care. “They won’t charge us for the grass my honey.”
“Bull shit they won’t. They’ll charge us for that crack in the ceiling too. How are we gonna pay for it? We’re on fixed income. They’re gonna kick us out on the street because of all the damages to this house.”
Linda pats Pepper’s hands with gentle discipline. “Darlin, watch your language. That crack is from the foundation settling. That has nothing to do with us. Go on and eat your breakfast.”
Pepper shifts the food around the plate. “The houses in the neighborhood are selling. All except for this house. Those sons of bitches are waiting until we sign a lease with them again so they can sell the house and kick us out on the street.”
Linda sits back in her chair, puzzled at how Pepper conjures these ideas in his head. “Honey, we live in an assisted living community. Nobody is selling these apartments.”
Pepper returns to the Wednesday pill box and hooks his fingertip into the empty “Morning” bin.
“Where’s my Namenda? You didn’t give me my pills this morning. I knew I couldn’t trust you.”
Linda twists her upper torso towards Pepper, stretching her eyes further than the fused vertebrae in her spine will allow. She reaches out her pale, veiny hand, skin shrink-wrapped to the skeletal frame, to grasp Pepper’s hand. Their arthritic fingers perfectly hooking into one another, like a foot perfectly molded to a well-worn shoe. She squeezes with her full force.
“I love you.”
Pepper reaches with the other hand for a glass nearly full of ice and half water.
“Linda, get me some more ice water, will ya?”
“Absolutely.”
Linda hums as she uses her purple cane adorned with butterflies to steady herself while she stands. Singing was not a talent she was blessed with. She always told people she sang with two left vocal cords. However, singing was the only way she could bear the pain of thinning discs in her neck and spine. Linda knew her sole purpose in this life was to care for Pepper. She could not let on she was in pain. She had to be strong for him. Especially now that his condition is worsening.
She reaches for the sloshing water glass Pepper steadies with one hand on the bottom and one on the side. Linda turns towards the kitchen, resting her cane on the wall. She takes her time making the 10-foot walk to the kitchenette, reaching then grabbing the countertop with alternating hands as though she is setting ice picks to scale a frozen waterfall.
“Now, why the hell are we gonna move, Linda? This is a wonderful house we live in. The yard is beautiful. You have the flowerbed in the front you can plant your flowers. Do you really think we should move?”
A loud knock is followed by the opening of the front door. Sunlight suffuses the rayless residence.
“Knock, knock!”
“Hi, Steph. Come on in,” Linda yells from the kitchen.
“Now who the hell is that?” Pepper squints and surveys over his glasses.
“Hi daddy.” Steph walks over and gives Pepper a hug.
“Get off me. Who the hell are you coming into our house like this? We aren’t moving!”
“Darlin, that’s Steph. It’s your daughter.”
Steph takes a step back and swallows her tears as part of the daily routine. Linda rubs her knobby, arthritic fingers along Pepper’s back. Pepper attempts to dig in the box labeled “Morning” in a Wednesday pill box.
“Linda, where’s my Namenda?”
“Darlin, you take your Namenda in the evening before supper.”
Pepper attempts to dig in the box labeled “Morning” in a Wednesday pill box.
“Oh, hi Steph! When did you get here? Linda, get Steph some coffee. Do you want some coffee?”
“No, daddy. I’m ok. How are you today.”
“They’re gonna kick us out of this house because of that damn grass in the backyard.”
Pepper attempts to dig in the box labeled “Morning” in a Wednesday pill box.
“Linda, where’s my Namenda?”