| General Fiction posted March 24, 2024 | Chapters: |
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Good-bye to the institution. Hello 20th century.
A chapter in the book Right in the Eye
Right in the Eye, pt 4
by Wayne Fowler
In the last part Slim detailed his long-term care stay, explaining events that led him to be 120 years old in 1971.
^^^^^^^^^^^^
“Hey, honey. Is it okay if I clean your teeth?”
It was a voice I’d never heard before. And a question never put before. Her name was Suzanne, I found out later.
“Are you awake, honey?”
‘Course I’m awake! It’s daytime an’ my eye’s open. An’ I ain’tcher honey! Wha’dya mean yer gonna clean my teeth? Cram a sponge in there an’… what? She acted like I hadn’t said nothin’. I didn’t hear me neither.
She touched me on the shoulder and then turned my head to her side just a little. “Can I take a look and see what we’re up against?” she asked.
I could see her fine when she passed across the view of my one good eye; but otherwise, I just saw the top corner of the room.
With both hands she gently pried me open. It was as she leaned into me, her face inches from mine, her wavy hair brushing my ear that I caught it – her smell. I guess I should say her fragrance. She couldn’t see it as much as felt it. The eyelid of my good eye began fluttering to beat the band. My jaw started flappin’ like I was gonna bite her, but I wasn’t. I bellowed a scream. I thought I was just asking her what her fragrance was. They told me later that I let out a screeching growl. See, the thing was, she was LouAnne! Her smell was LouAnne. I oughtta know ‘cause I got as close as I could to her. She said it was a secret passed down from some old Pueblo Indian woman’s family to a cleaning gal back there in Cerrillos. You had ta wash yourself with a hunk of silver sagebrush first. Dip it right in the bath. Then use extract of catmint, some kind of purple flower. It didn’t work on ever’body. On some it puredy stunk awful. But it worked on LouAnne. And it worked on Suzanne, the toothbrush gal that ran out screamin’ for the doctor.
Me? I spent the time before the doctor showed up takin’ inventory of my parts. I was half in the bed and half on the floor when he and Suzanne and two male orderlies rushed in. Orderlies they called ‘em then. The doctor, he went to askin’ things a mile-a-minute. He checked my heart, my eye, my ears, and all over, all the while askin’ all sorts of questions.
The next few days were all a’whirl. They got me workin’ out with people yankin’ an’ pullin’ me every which’a way. Said it was physical therapy. Then was the shocker. They wheeled me into the doctor’s office where I’d never been before. He sat there all serious-like.
“Mr. Goldman, it seems there’s been some kind of mix-up over the years. Probably had to do with the move. Your file shows you arrived at Denver Acres in 1886. It doesn’t say when you were born. You’d suffered head trauma and were comatose. There’s a note that guesses you to be around 50.”
I didn’t say anything, kinda guessin’ at what his mix-up was.
“Even supposing there was an error, a mix-up if you will, when they transcribed the written notes to type, they typed in 1841, splitting the difference between 50 and 60, I suppose. But that would make you 130 years old. We know that Slim Goldman arrived in 1886, but that was 85 years ago and it’s obvious that you aren’t 85 years old, closer to 50 or 60. And it’s also obvious that you arrived a man well into his seniority. Why, today you appear younger than myself, and I was born in 1911. I’m afraid to ask, but when were you born?”
I sort of mumbled, makin’ out that I was a little fuzzy-headed. I didn’t even correct the name, not knowin’ what that would do to me, respectin’ my bill. Finally, I straight out told him, “Eighteen and fifty-one.”
For a full minute he just looked at me. “So, we can only assume there was some kind of, of mix-up. Slim Goldman must have died sometime back, and you were taken for him. But I confess. That doesn’t really work either. Now I know you were comatose when they admitted you, and the next of kin offered your name. I don’t know, perhaps your real name was on a wanted list in those days. But here’s our problem. You exactly match the description of the Slim that was admitted in 1886. The eye injury for starters. Your measurements. Even the x-rays taken years later prove out the broken wrists and ankle. Why, you even have the scarring of the surgical procedure of, what … 1902. And x-rays of you show the bullet they tried to get. Assuming you were an adult at the time of the surgery would make you close to a hundred and twenty, or so.”
I tried to raise a point. Don’t even remember what it was, but it turned out best that I just listened.
“Maybe it was your father was born in 1851? And maybe your condition gave you an advanced appearance? How about we adjust the record to show 1871? I’m tempted, though, to make in 1891, but that wouldn’t correspond to the surgery, or…” The doctor trailed off and then wrote some in the record. “What we’re going to do is get you strong enough to travel, and then transport you to Minnesota where they have people who can figure you out. They’ll do a series of tests …”
That’s when I tuned him out. I wasn’t goin’ to no Swedish wheat farmer doctor who would poke and prod and exeray me outta whatever years I might have left. Might not have a minute left offa their oatmeal, but that minute was mine. I’d get strong, but not for them. First thing I did was enlist Suzanne, the dental gal. She’d taken to me. Guess she took credit for bringin’ me back. That was fine with me ‘cause her fragrance really did.
“Slim,” she said. “They put you on relief, and then on Social Security, then SSI and then at some point they switched you to Medicaid.”
I played like I was followin’.
“That program allows people to keep their home, one car, and a thousand dollars in the bank. Well, you didn’t have a thousand dollars, so somebody in finance figured that the hospital had charged you to your last cent and refunded you the thousand, putting it into an account for you. I checked. That account hasn’t been touched, of course, and now it’s nearly two thousand.”
I looked at her like the ignorant fool that I was. She knew I wasn’t goin’ to the clinic. That was why she was diggin’ into my case.
“I’ll know when they plan to move you. That part’s easy. What won’t be so easy is for me to get your bank book. But I have a plan. The girls in administration are good people. I’ll wheel you down there and you can just start charming them. I’ve seen you.”
Winking at me, she continued. “The morning of the day you’re to leave, you go to them and ask for your personal file and transfer documents. I’m sure they were told to give it to someone who was going with you, but I think they’ll do it. Then you walk out the front door. I’ll be at the gate waiting for you.”
Looking at me intently, she asked, “Do you think you could make it that far, your head up, chest out, like you owned the place? So no one would challenge you?”
I smiled at her with half my face. Later that day she brought clothes that we hid under the bed. It would be all I could do to get from the administration office with my files, back to my room and into the new clothes, and then out to the street by 9:30, the time we agreed should beat the effort to send me to the Mayo Clinic, where they would try to claw around my hypothalamute. Maybe pull out all my brains an’ give ‘em a look over.
In the last part Slim detailed his long-term care stay, explaining events that led him to be 120 years old in 1971.
^^^^^^^^^^^^
“Hey, honey. Is it okay if I clean your teeth?”
^^^^^^^^^^^^
“Hey, honey. Is it okay if I clean your teeth?”
It was a voice I’d never heard before. And a question never put before. Her name was Suzanne, I found out later.
“Are you awake, honey?”
‘Course I’m awake! It’s daytime an’ my eye’s open. An’ I ain’tcher honey! Wha’dya mean yer gonna clean my teeth? Cram a sponge in there an’… what? She acted like I hadn’t said nothin’. I didn’t hear me neither.
She touched me on the shoulder and then turned my head to her side just a little. “Can I take a look and see what we’re up against?” she asked.
I could see her fine when she passed across the view of my one good eye; but otherwise, I just saw the top corner of the room.
With both hands she gently pried me open. It was as she leaned into me, her face inches from mine, her wavy hair brushing my ear that I caught it – her smell. I guess I should say her fragrance. She couldn’t see it as much as felt it. The eyelid of my good eye began fluttering to beat the band. My jaw started flappin’ like I was gonna bite her, but I wasn’t. I bellowed a scream. I thought I was just asking her what her fragrance was. They told me later that I let out a screeching growl. See, the thing was, she was LouAnne! Her smell was LouAnne. I oughtta know ‘cause I got as close as I could to her. She said it was a secret passed down from some old Pueblo Indian woman’s family to a cleaning gal back there in Cerrillos. You had ta wash yourself with a hunk of silver sagebrush first. Dip it right in the bath. Then use extract of catmint, some kind of purple flower. It didn’t work on ever’body. On some it puredy stunk awful. But it worked on LouAnne. And it worked on Suzanne, the toothbrush gal that ran out screamin’ for the doctor.
Me? I spent the time before the doctor showed up takin’ inventory of my parts. I was half in the bed and half on the floor when he and Suzanne and two male orderlies rushed in. Orderlies they called ‘em then. The doctor, he went to askin’ things a mile-a-minute. He checked my heart, my eye, my ears, and all over, all the while askin’ all sorts of questions.
The next few days were all a’whirl. They got me workin’ out with people yankin’ an’ pullin’ me every which’a way. Said it was physical therapy. Then was the shocker. They wheeled me into the doctor’s office where I’d never been before. He sat there all serious-like.
“Mr. Goldman, it seems there’s been some kind of mix-up over the years. Probably had to do with the move. Your file shows you arrived at Denver Acres in 1886. It doesn’t say when you were born. You’d suffered head trauma and were comatose. There’s a note that guesses you to be around 50.”
I didn’t say anything, kinda guessin’ at what his mix-up was.
“Even supposing there was an error, a mix-up if you will, when they transcribed the written notes to type, they typed in 1841, splitting the difference between 50 and 60, I suppose. But that would make you 130 years old. We know that Slim Goldman arrived in 1886, but that was 85 years ago and it’s obvious that you aren’t 85 years old, closer to 50 or 60. And it’s also obvious that you arrived a man well into his seniority. Why, today you appear younger than myself, and I was born in 1911. I’m afraid to ask, but when were you born?”
I sort of mumbled, makin’ out that I was a little fuzzy-headed. I didn’t even correct the name, not knowin’ what that would do to me, respectin’ my bill. Finally, I straight out told him, “Eighteen and fifty-one.”
For a full minute he just looked at me. “So, we can only assume there was some kind of, of mix-up. Slim Goldman must have died sometime back, and you were taken for him. But I confess. That doesn’t really work either. Now I know you were comatose when they admitted you, and the next of kin offered your name. I don’t know, perhaps your real name was on a wanted list in those days. But here’s our problem. You exactly match the description of the Slim that was admitted in 1886. The eye injury for starters. Your measurements. Even the x-rays taken years later prove out the broken wrists and ankle. Why, you even have the scarring of the surgical procedure of, what … 1902. And x-rays of you show the bullet they tried to get. Assuming you were an adult at the time of the surgery would make you close to a hundred and twenty, or so.”
I tried to raise a point. Don’t even remember what it was, but it turned out best that I just listened.
“Maybe it was your father was born in 1851? And maybe your condition gave you an advanced appearance? How about we adjust the record to show 1871? I’m tempted, though, to make in 1891, but that wouldn’t correspond to the surgery, or…” The doctor trailed off and then wrote some in the record. “What we’re going to do is get you strong enough to travel, and then transport you to Minnesota where they have people who can figure you out. They’ll do a series of tests …”
That’s when I tuned him out. I wasn’t goin’ to no Swedish wheat farmer doctor who would poke and prod and exeray me outta whatever years I might have left. Might not have a minute left offa their oatmeal, but that minute was mine. I’d get strong, but not for them. First thing I did was enlist Suzanne, the dental gal. She’d taken to me. Guess she took credit for bringin’ me back. That was fine with me ‘cause her fragrance really did.
“Slim,” she said. “They put you on relief, and then on Social Security, then SSI and then at some point they switched you to Medicaid.”
I played like I was followin’.
“That program allows people to keep their home, one car, and a thousand dollars in the bank. Well, you didn’t have a thousand dollars, so somebody in finance figured that the hospital had charged you to your last cent and refunded you the thousand, putting it into an account for you. I checked. That account hasn’t been touched, of course, and now it’s nearly two thousand.”
I looked at her like the ignorant fool that I was. She knew I wasn’t goin’ to the clinic. That was why she was diggin’ into my case.
“I’ll know when they plan to move you. That part’s easy. What won’t be so easy is for me to get your bank book. But I have a plan. The girls in administration are good people. I’ll wheel you down there and you can just start charming them. I’ve seen you.”
Winking at me, she continued. “The morning of the day you’re to leave, you go to them and ask for your personal file and transfer documents. I’m sure they were told to give it to someone who was going with you, but I think they’ll do it. Then you walk out the front door. I’ll be at the gate waiting for you.”
Looking at me intently, she asked, “Do you think you could make it that far, your head up, chest out, like you owned the place? So no one would challenge you?”
I smiled at her with half my face. Later that day she brought clothes that we hid under the bed. It would be all I could do to get from the administration office with my files, back to my room and into the new clothes, and then out to the street by 9:30, the time we agreed should beat the effort to send me to the Mayo Clinic, where they would try to claw around my hypothalamute. Maybe pull out all my brains an’ give ‘em a look over.
Slim Goldman (Herschell Diddleknopper): miner who Ben Persons rescued in 1886
Ben Persons: young man with a calling from God
LouAnne: Saloon girl that Slim loved/idolized.
Suzanne: long-term care aide who took an interest in Slim's well-being
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. Ben Persons: young man with a calling from God
LouAnne: Saloon girl that Slim loved/idolized.
Suzanne: long-term care aide who took an interest in Slim's well-being
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