Escape from the Cooinda Cycle: Part Two

I stopped in quickly with a few more to say goodbye on my way to the room, The Large Lady, check. Captain Crossword, check.

In my head there was now just The Lemonade Man, The Gypsy, and The Chess Man. Well and The Old Man if I see him again before I leave. But now, deep breath, enter the fray one last time, into the memoirs of misery, and I opened the door to The Lemonade Man’s room…

“We need to move that story to earlier,” he said to me tapping the screen of his computer. “It doesn’t go there.”

That’s where you wanted it put three days ago…

“Okay,” I said, cutting the selection, ready to paste where it was being moved to. “So before which story?”

“Before the one about the lumber yard.”

But this story is years after you finished there… oh well, they’re not my memoirs I guess.

All the work over the last few weeks was completely worthless, every second day he changed his mind about what story went where, or if it was to be included. I actually think if he’d just let me take it, and edit it I could have had a relatively intelligible memoir drafted for him, of course how much of it was true is totally up in the air.

But this was it, the final chance, the final day for me helping him with it, and it was nowhere near done. I looked at my watch, I would need to leave soon, I’d already stayed longer than I planned. I had explained to him when he popped into the cafe earlier for his lemonade, that today would not be all afternoon, as I needed to say goodbye to people.

At the time he nodded and said he understood.

Now it came to it, his aggravation was growing and he kept telling me off about how I was doing things with the memoirs and changed it all on him.

“It’s all where you said to put it,” I tried to explain. “I’ve only moved or deleted things when you have said so, but I backed it all up before deleting from the main copy.”

“Well, bring back the story that goes after this one,” he said, tapping the screen again as if that told me what he meant. “This one.”

After five minutes of deciphering which story he meant, and finding it and replacing it back into the draft, I looked at my watch again.

Now or never I guess…

“Look, I’ll need to go now, I’m sorry we didn’t get to finish it, but I finish soon and there’s some other residents I promised to see and say goodbye to.”

The change in his demeanour was drastic and instant, I finally saw the mean, snide old man that the nurses often spoke of. He acted as if I’d betrayed him and spat in his corn flakes,

“Go then. I’ll do it myself!”

“Look, I’m sorry, I just want to see people before I go,” I said.

Silence...

So this is how it ends, with one of them hating me forever… well at least till he forgets I was ever here. So Tuesday next week at the latest, but it still stings a bit.

There’s nothing for it, I make for the door and say my final words to The Lemonade Man,

“It’s been nice to know you, hope the memoirs keep going well.”

There is no response, just the clicks of him typing and retyping the same sentence again, and again, and again… I leave the room.

The Lemonade Man, check.

I walked back down the corridors and long ramps that led from the top floor back to the bottom. The Gypsy was next on my list and lived on the bottom floor, across the courtyard from The Chess Man which was good for regaining some lost time. I arrived at her door, tapped it lightly, and opened the door quietly. I did not want to scare her by bursting in, especially if she had a drink in hand.

Out to the world, asleep… damn.

Torn between letting her sleep and wanting to ensure I said goodbye and spent some time talking with her today, I stood for a few moments stuck in thought, caught between a gypsy curse and a chess match.

I made a decision, as I still needed to take the bins from the cafe out to the big bins by the kitchen, I would go do that instead of on my way out at the end of the day. It would kill a few minutes, and then if she was still asleep I would try to gently wake her, without having her throw cold cups of water at me. If The Young Man taught me anything, it’s never startle an elderly Gypsy lady.

I grabbed the bin bags from the cafe, and headed off to the outside bins, on my way there I ran into The Dollkeeper, she had been the one that ran screaming from the puppet show, and since then I always felt uneasy around her, I mean I always felt like she could snap and slit me from rear to breakfast time at the drop of a hat. I smiled as I approached and she suddenly laughed loudly and started talking to me as if we were in the middle of a conversation,

“You wouldn’t be doing that naughty thing again would you?” she said, laughing and giving a wink that was chilling to the core.

“Just taking the rubbish to the bins,” I said, showing the bin bags.

“Oh yes, likely story.”

Jesus Wept... I am so glad I’m getting out of here in just… oh, just over 45 minutes!

To be concluded...

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Read Part Three: