The river sparkled like a bucket full of costume jewelry. Along
both banks the trees were full of gold, greens, and red. Leading
the procession a slow churning barge gleamed with the brass
of a high school band. In rows on the wooden deck, the players
fidgeted in white chairs.
The second river barge chugged along behind. Standing tall in
the middle it had a bulky wooden throne, painted gold and draped
with craft-shop finery, where the queen herself sat presiding
over the celebration. Half a dozen doe-eyed milkmaids lounged
in the flowers surrounding the throne. And of the queen, deep
in her arms husks lay peeled open, the golden rows of half a
dozen ears of corn. Cradled just so, it was a bulky bouquet that
itched like nobody's business. But Cora-Sue persevered in her
sleeveless gown and delicate white gloves.
As the floating procession rounded the bend, the first child's
shout of recognition came down from the Main Street Bridge. With a
count and the crash of cymbals the band began to play. A milkmaid
at Cora-Sue's feet looked up with a tear in her eye and shaped
the words: "You look so beautiful." For it was a fine autumn
morning, the harvest day parade, and Cora-Sue wore the crown.
The barge cut a wake spreading to either shore not unlike the
deep ripples of her happiness.
"Cora dear, your wheel chair is blocking the hallway. You hear?"
Monday Sept. 8, 2001 Glendale Arizona
The flowers, the river barge, the adulation, the milkmaids, all
dissolved like a mirage with broadcast issues. Cora-Sue lifted her
wrinkled face, looked around, and dropped her head in resignation.
A resident edged her walker right up to Cora-Sue's wheelchair to
get by. The woman moved like all the nursing home residents moved
and that was carefully, and oh so incrementally. Cora-Sue was
certain that if they knew each other better, they'd dislike each
other all the more. With that she never remembered anybody's name.
What's-Her-Name said, "It's time for physical therapy and there
you sit making me late."
Cora-Sue stared blankly. It was not in confusion. She understood
all too well. Only something else had grabbed up her attention.
The fluorescent hallway lights were at it again. They cast
an insidious pallor over her slack translucent skin, swelling
her arthritic knuckles, yellowing unkempt nails, and accenting
her damned liver spots. Itchy eyes stared unbelieving at the
lizard claw now gripping the wheelchair armrest -- her eyes,
her claw. She could just spit had not her mouth been dry. So
this is it?
*Damn. Damn. Damn.*
"You should keep up with physical therapy like me," said
What's-Her-Name. "It sure is a shame to let your legs go like
that..."
Cora-Sue fetched up a kick to the woman's shin. It was a feeble
kick but the surprise violence of it nearly upset the entire
works of What's-Her-Name and her walker. It took a moment for
the tottering to settle down. Cora-Sue leaned closer with a
sneer. "There. I just kicked you. Now what are you going to do
about it?"
And it was about an hour later when the custodian pushed his
cart of cleaning supplies through the visiting room. He found
Cora-Sue alone, her wheelchair wedged into the corner. On bad
days she often parked herself like this, face in.
From the shake of her shoulders the custodian could see she was
sobbing. "Cora- Sue," he said. "What's the matter?"
She felt his touch on her hand and looked up. Water welled in
her eyes and the levee broke. "I just want to go home," she said.
And where was home now? Even the house was gone. The past was was
never what it seemed. Through the sobs and through her hand she
could feel the custodian bearing with her, whispering a solemn
prayer in Spanish. She yanked back her hand and snapped.
