When Everything Is Blue(46)

This time he’s in an activities room, where someone has stretched a volleyball net at waist-high level across the middle of the room. The old folks are all sitting in chairs, batting a beach ball over the net. Some of them are really getting into it, while others just sit there with glazed expressions on their faces. When the ball reaches Uncle Theo where he sits in the back, he bats it out of annoyance in a spike that goes straight to the floor. The instructor mimes the motion of hitting it up and over the net, then puts the ball in play again with a smile on her face the whole time, and I think I want some of whatever she’s taking.

I lift the plastic bag with the Paula’s logo and point to it to get Uncle Theo’s attention. He stands up pretty fast for an old man and gestures toward me. His presence is commanding, and a nurse immediately goes over to assist him. It’s not Manuel this time, but Gloria, who escorts him out of the room and over to the larger rec room, where we all sit down together.

“You know, Theo, outside food is prohibited for the residents.” Gloria says it like it’s protocol for her to say it, but I sense that her heart’s not in it.

“But I brought extra for you, Gloria.” I unpack the food and slide a pulled pork sandwich wrapped in foil toward her. She glances back at the door and then over at Uncle Theo, who’s still scowling and hasn’t seemed to have picked up on our negotiation.

“Captain Wooten doesn’t have any food allergies, so I suppose we can let it slide this time.”

I smile my eager smile and pull out the rest of the food. Uncle Theo taps the lid to the container of potato salad impatiently and seems to not know what to do with it. I did some reading on dementia and found out there are good days and bad days. Compared to the last time I saw him, this seems to be one of my uncle’s bad days.

“Let me get that for you, Captain.” Gloria tucks the napkin into his shirtfront like a bib and lays out his plasticware. She goes to the trouble of portioning out the food onto a plate she made out of one of the Styrofoam containers. When he tells her he wants more on his plate, she reminds him the food is rich and he doesn’t want to eat too much and get a rumble in his tummy. Then, instead of eating, he stares at it.

“What’s all this?” he asks with a frown, and she points to each of the sides, telling him what they are. He nods along like it’s all very obvious.

“And what’s this one?” he asks again, pointing at the sandwich.

“Pulled pork,” she says.

“Stringy meat from a pig with barbecue sauce,” I tell Uncle Theo, because I think he heard her the first time but still didn’t know what it meant.

“Oh,” he says like it’s something he’s never had before, but he’s willing to give it a try.

“You eat it with your hands like this.” I show him what I mean by taking a bite of my own.

“Is it any good?” he asks.

“Mmmm.” I nod, not wanting to expose a mouthful of food to them.

I watch Uncle Theo take a hesitant bite and feel kind of sad and happy at the same time. Getting old sucks, but at least he has really nice caretakers who seem to give an actual shit about him as a person.

“Where’s Manuel today?” I ask him once we’ve all settled into our meal.

My uncle shakes his head and says briskly, “It’s Saturday.” He looks to Gloria for confirmation, and she nods.

“That’s right, Captain. Manuel only works on weekdays.” She smiles at me. “It helps him remember the days of the week by knowing Manuel’s schedule. He has it taped up in his apartment.”

Interesting, I think and then, is that normal?

“Has Manuel worked here long?” I ask, trying to mine her for information without making it too obvious. Gloria smiles like she knows what I’m up to.

“A few years now.”

“Is Manuel here?” my uncle asks, seeming put out by the thought that Manuel might be in the vicinity without him knowing.

“Not today. It’s Saturday.” Gloria rests a hand on his arm, and he nods and goes back to eating. I don’t mention Manuel again because I don’t want to get my uncle worked up about it or have him think we’re hiding something from him.

My uncle is a tidy eater, careful about wiping his mouth and not talking with his mouth full. I’ve seen some of the other old folks who aren’t so tidy and wonder if table manners are one of the last things to go, then feel guilty for thinking that way about Uncle Theo. Just makes me sad that it’s only going to get worse for him, losing more of his memories and identity and even the habits he’s had his whole life. And what’s waiting for him at the end of it all? Death.

Jesus, that’s grim. Even for me. I’ve got to get back on the sunny side.

We eat in companionable silence, and when we’re through, I help Gloria clean up. I ask her if she wants the leftovers, and she says she’ll keep the food in the staff fridge and try to sneak more to my uncle tomorrow, so long as his stomach agrees with it. I wonder if they do poop checks or something, then realize it’s probably a situation where the old folks shit their pants if the food doesn’t agree with them, and then I have all the respect in the world for the staff of Saint Ann’s, because wiping another person’s ass is true compassion.

When it’s just my uncle and me again, I suggest we play some gin rummy, but he only wants to play solitaire. He calls to Gloria for “the cards,” and she retrieves them from somewhere else, perhaps his room. I watch him line up his hand meticulously and realize there must be something calming about the ritual itself.