The Visit

The Stanley Estate...

a large pylon sign announced in large bold flamboyant gold type against a black background.

A little lower, in a font half the size it added, "Offering State of the Art Alzheimer's Care Since 1984."

One, half-deflated, wrinkled, red balloon floated passively on one side of the sign, while one completely airless, dirty, yellow one laid lifeless on the other.

"They really should remove those," Samantha Privet said trying to break up the silence they had driven in for nearly thirty-five minutes.

"Huh?" Jackson Privet wasn't quite sure what his wife was referring to and looked around for something offensive.

"The balloons, they look sad," she tried a laugh even though she was brimming with anxiety, like she always was before these visits.

Jackson spotted the balloons. His wife was an artsy, interpretive sort of person and he was not. But she was a bad influence on him and he knew when she looked at the balloons they probably reminded her of the residents of The Stanly Estate in their various states of… deflation so to speak. Dark humor. He laughed a little, not necessarily at the balloons but at how his wife saw things.

"Yeah they probably should," he said and put a reassuring hand on her now nervously trembling knee as he pulled their BMW into an available spot.

Jackson Privet put the car in park. He looked out of the windows keeping an eye out for an escapee. Sometimes, a resident would sit in their wheelchair … behind the automated door at the grand entrance and wait. When a visitor or authorized personal used their key fob to gain access they would make their move… make a run for it, ok ...not a run but you know, an escape. The walkers as they refer to them, (without any hint of humor or homage to the TV show about zombies) the walkers were kept in a different wing of the Estate, with much higher security.

Samantha tucked a fine blonde wisp of hair behind her ear. She gazed at the grounds approvingly trying to ignore the gnawing question. The nagging internal query that started the night before these occasions. Will it be a good visit or a bad visit? It was impossible to predict.

Sam wrung her slim fingers, pulling them one by one, sometimes spinning her wedding set. The friction on the setting of her five carat diamond, solitaire, engagement ring left indents in her right pointer finger. Her breathing and heart rate were picking up pace and the sensation distracted her mind while she kept her gaze on the beautiful autumn scene just outside. The way the crisp fallen leaves of Georgia's beautiful trees seemed to dance and skip across the lawn in the cool breeze.

Deep breath.

Jackson caught a glimpse of Samantha's worried blue eyes in the reflection of the tinted passenger window. Such sad, bright beautiful blue eyes. Sam wore her sadness like one might wear an accessory like a necktie or a necklace.

They both noticed that the nervous hand wringing had turned skin an angry, embarrassed shade of red.

Jackson took the left hand from Samantha to prevent it from further assaulting the right. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. They really needed to get on with it. They needed to get out of the car.

For just a brief moment, she put everything out of her mind and let Jackson's big warm hands calm her.

"See that, just relax. Don't let it get to you," Jackson said.

The broken silence caused Sam to immediately tense up and withdraw her hand. She opened her eyes, back to reality.

Samantha felt her brows furrow as she thought to herself, 'it'? Using one hand she flipped down the vanity mirror loudly and combed her hair into place, reapplied her lipstick and quickly exited the car.

"It" Samantha internally scoffed, her husband Jackson Privet, the state's best criminal defense attorney with the highest win record, definitely knew the importance of word choice. Breathe she told herself.

Sam heard the second door close and knew her husband was not far behind her.

She locked eyes with him.

Immediately she felt guilty. Jackson had the kindest most beautiful warm brown eyes with little flecks of gold and rows of black eyelashes. He had eyes that said I care about you and I pay for this expensive facility because I love you. Eyes that said I care and I love your mama too but I'm not going to be able to express that because I'm worried about my wife. I think she is going crazy. I think she is going crazy because well look at her and well… look at her mama.

Jackson looked at his wife. He knew she was trying to convey something to him non verbally, like they could use mental telepathy, because that's what happens when you get married, right, the force was suddenly with you, like in Star Wars.

Jackson sighed, he hoped today would be a good visit, there was no way to really ever tell.

The buzzing sound that alerted staff that someone was entering was loud and obnoxious and always startled Samantha just a little bit.

Just inside was a remarkable high, gabled skylight roof. Sam always looked up out of habit but it was the wrong time of day to enjoy it, the sun was just a little too low in the sky and made her eyes squint. Most of the time though it was serene.

On the south end, the entire exterior was made of glass so that the residents might enjoy the view of the bird feeders and the ponds and fountains that decorated the grounds further back. And they did. But it did also lead to arguments about going outside more often. Less often, on occasion residents ate seeds from one or more of the bird feeders, which as you might guess also led to arguments.

Mr. Truong, was seated in front of his favorite bird feeder, with a copy of the newspaper paper from March 4th, 1989 (when his daughter's book made the International Best Sellers List). Despite its age, the paper, while gently worn, held together well. "Hey! Hey! Hey!!" Mr. Truong began shouting excitedly after seeing Sam.

Sam actually did smile, a huge smile. Mr. Truong truth be told was always a lovely part of these visits. Of the residents she was not related to, he was her favorite. "Mr. Truong! Nice to see you!"

His eyes got real big looking at the tall beautiful kind looking blonde woman before him. She looked like maybe um he couldn't remember her name but she was in all the movies. "YOU know ME?" Mr. Truoung asked incredulously.

"Of course! It's a pleasure!" Samantha oozed charm. She was careful not to use any words that put them in a specific timeline. When she could she liked to learn a new thing every week about him. Last week she learned his favorite musician was Bruce Springsteen and the week before that she asked him what kind of work he did.

"Me? Ha! So, I'm from China. My mom wanted me to go to America and become a Doctor… ok… great… HA! But I hate to go to the doctor, I hate to go to the hospital, I get sick to my stomach. I tell my mother, I say mother I don't want to be a doctor and she says ok so become an engineer.

So... I became a chef!… long story short, my restaurant is the top rated restaurant in the city. My mother is the most ashamed woman to have a millionaire son...God I love that woman, couldn't have done it without her though… oh well."

As much as Sam was enjoying seeing Mr. Truong she was eager to go see her own mother and knew she needed to wrap this up. "Mr. Truong, what do you have there?" She asked gesturing towards the paper, it was how every interaction of theirs ended.

"Oh!! Look!!! See that beautiful girl there?" He pointed toward a now very familiar beautiful woman, (but sadly deceased best selling author Jennifer Truong). Thankfully the terrible virus that afflicted Mr. Truong occasionally gave its victims tiny gifts like forgetting the death of your child.

"I do see!" Sam loved seeing the pride radiate from this man's face.

"Ha ha!" He nudged her arm with his elbow and gave her a wink, "she gets her good looks from me."

Sam scanned the article despite already having read it many times. Local Restaurant Owner's Daughter Becomes Best Selling Author.

"Ha ha ha! Unbelievable! Can you imagine, MY daughter," he shook his head, one shakey finger reaching up to dab a tear his masculinity was trying to hide.

"I can Mr. Truong! Look at her wonderfully talented father! Listen Mr. Truong, I have to be going but, I will see you again handsome, see you soon!"

She said before blowing him a kiss that sent a warm blush to the old man's cheeks. She read that if you told people you would see them again soon it gave them something to live for and they were more likely to stick around a little longer.

Samantha's smile started to fade as she made her way to wing three. This was where aggressive, hostile, late stage patients went.

It was a mistake to leave Mr. Truong so soon. To Leave 1989 behind. She sighed and smoothed out the front of her shirt before pulling the sides into place. She kept swallowing. She was thirsty but she couldn't eat or drink here for some reason, it made her nauseous. Just a few more steps. She was walking fast she realized, maybe too fast, did she lose Jasckson? She looked over her shoulder.

Jackson was there. Just like he had been since they met their junior year of college. He had a very normal lovely family, with a normal lovely upbringing and sometimes she marveled that the strange and curious stories and events she had exposed him to hadn't caused him to vanish in a puff of smoke.

Blues. Pale blues. Light Blues. Dark blues.

Suddenly, Samantha felt like she was an agent in a police drama clearing a room of any possible assailants. Mama didn't seem to be in here.

Maybe she'd gone to lunch? That didn't seem right. Off on the right side was Mama's Vanity: dark chestnut oak, solid, made by her mean daddy and given to her by her mean mama when she finally died.

Little trinkets sat on the vanity. A cheap looking olive green stuffed bear sat oddly facing the back wall with no neck, and it's head leaned all the way back so Sam could look into its only black eye. A tiny Alice in Wonderland Doll that Mama had picked up from a thrift store in better times. Mama always said Sam was a lot like Alice, "wonderland ain't wonderland little girl you gotta stay away from the crazies and you'll be ok, sweet girl," she would say. There was a Christmas card from two years ago, (not the one with their family photo) but there was a picture from many years ago when Samantha and Jackson's daughter, Josephine was seven and looked very much like Sam.

To the left... the bed. Sam tilted her head looking for anything out of the ordinary. Of course you always heard stories about abuse in elder care facilities and as nice as this was you could never be too sure. But, the dark blue scalloped bed skirt was in place. The matching fitted sheet and standard sheet, turned down was untucked and freshly laundered.

Sam took a cautious step forward peering through the sheer powder blue curtains. The shiney plastic coated chain wrapped ominously around the sliding patio door handle. That was new.

She looked down and to the right. Sam was in shock as she processed the image before her.

Leaned over some sort of pink plastic bin. The feet appeared calloused and red and raw, Sam's heart ached. She wanted to fix them up for mama, she would bring the things she needed next time. There were so many varicose veins running from the instep of the visible left heel upwards along her calf that her inner leg looked like a messy circuit board from some outdated computing system. Mama was hunched over, busy with some task, working so hard, Mama you don't have to work so hard, there are people here to help you Mama.

Mama looked so small the way she was hunched over in a ball like that. Maybe two and a half feet tall she looked. She hadn't been as tall as Sam but she was 5'4 but now she looked, she looked almost like a child. A sadness squeezed at Sam's heart as she counted each vertebrae in Mama's spine through her light blue nylon nightgown with white lace trim.. Mama was always in bed when she visited or in a chair or… at least standing. She didn't think Mama had vertebrae before.

Mama's hair was a tangled mess of coarse half mustardy brass gold ends and half mostly salt and a little pepper roots (at least 3 inches long). Those would need to be done Sam thought to herself, she made a mental note to tell the front desk. This mass of hair was hanging and flopping in front of Momma's face like a stray shaggy sheep dog that had never had a bath or been inside or been loved.

"Mama?" Sam tested out. In part to even see if she could still talk. She swallowed hard and it seemed she was in dire need of water. She wasn't sure if she was breathing lately either.

Mama's elbows had jutted out sharply from her skinny arms that appeared out of the large arm holes of her night gown. They were moving quite a bit with whatever she was up to. It took some effort as she was making little short animal like grunting noises. Suddenly the intrusion of hearing her Sam speak caused mama to looked up abruptly.

Mama's eyes narrowed.

Sam sucked in a breath. This was it. This would make or break the visit. Mama either would or wouldn't recognize her (more and more likely would not). If she didn't recognize her, well. It was anyone's guess who Sam might be. Hell. Sam thought momentarily the way things were lately she would probably have better luck dressing up like Alice In Wonderland.

Mama's eyes widened with whatever recognition was happening today. Please, please, please, please, Sam thought to herself. Her mothers eyes and pupils narrowed. Sam's body braced for whatever was next.

Sam's shoes seemed glued to the carpet She should move, she knew she should. But she was stuck. Helpless to defend herself.

Much too late she raised her delicate arms limply across her forehead to shield her eyes from the pink spinning thing that whirled through the air toward her face with the speed and spin and accuracy of a professional baseball pitcher.

Samantha's mouth dropped open. As the shock wore away she wondered curiously why it seemed as though she had just been misted with a warm rain. It made no sense they were inside, how odd.

Then it hit her.

Like

A

Slap

In

The face.

Sam's eyes watered involuntarily with the realization of what occurred. Her Alzheimer's addled mother had just thrown her bed pan at her face.

Samantha's usually delicate features went hard as her mouth pulled back tight, exposing rows of white teeth made straight by hard earned braces. Her nails hurt the inside of her palms as she fought back chest pain from an impending, almost certain panic attack.

The scent of piss and shit wafted through the air as the thing that operated and controlled her mother's physical body stared at her gleefully and admired her own handiwork. It began to laugh, in a gravelly key courtesy of the packs of Marlboro Reds Mama chain smoked for most of her life. It laughed.

Cruelly it laughed. Then it smiled.

"That's for you you little uppity bitch. Now get out of my room before I call security and get you arrested!"

Jackson heard the yelling and opened the door with haste.

Hearing the sound behind her, helped Sam move her feet, even though she was still in a state of shock. Of abject horror.

Paranoia channeled through Miss. Brown once again as Jackson tried to usher his soiled, urine stained, mortified wife out of that room as quickly as possible.

"See you soon Mama I love you!" Sam managed gasping for air through chest pain as they made their hurried departure.

It spat at them.

It quickly said with the veracity of Sherlock Holmes himself, "I knew it! You little thriving whore! Take your accomplice with you too!"

She shook her head back and forth, as she tried to put distance between herself and her husband. It was no use he wasn't letting her get away from him and that was only making her angrier… she never felt so...so...vile and ashamed in her whole life!

In her head she screamed back at her Mama, or who ever the hell that was, "WHY CAN'T YOU JUST BE LIKE MR. TRUONG! JUST HAVE SOME BEAUTIFUL LIE I CAN PLAY ALONG WITH???"

She was fuming. Samantha was enraged. Why did this place have to be so damn pretentious anyhow? State of the art? How? To make families feel better when they have to drop off their beloved aging and terminal house plants?

"Miss. Brown" could have thrown her bed Pan at her daughter in a facility for a thousand dollars a month instead of thirteen thousand dollars a month. Hell. The real "Miss. Brown" would have preferred to be dropped off at the nearest dive bar so she could play a couple of rounds of pool with whatever brand of barfly happened to be available, the dirtier the better. Any man who can afford to pay the tab will do!

She stopped. Catching her breath.

Too far, Samantha! Too far. She stopped in her tracks. What's wrong with you, get it together. After everything she did for you??? How could you even think something like that. After all she helped you escape wonderland even though she couldn't. She thought of her uncle laughing about her mom wanting to be a "ballerina lady" or some kinda person on the TV.

How her mom used to laugh and say shut up Tommy and yell at Sam to get her school work done. But even as a girl she knew it made her mom sad and she knew her mom would have been a great person on the TV probably…. If it hadn't been for her.

Sam Stopped, Jackson, put his arms around her and peered into her eyes full of worry, full of concern, and searched within her pupils for some sort of silent Jedi clue that might tell him why on earth they would stop for even a moment before leaving this place. "What is it baby? Did you forget something? Let's just get you out of here ok?" He rubbed her arms not worrying about the putrid consequences, comforting her. Trying.

"No!" Sam said, "I need to go to the front desk! Did you see her roots?? They were like three inches long! It's horrendous, Jackson!"

With that she turned abruptly around and went directly to the administration desk. Jackson had never been more confused in his life but followed his wife anyway.

Quickly she realized she would be dealing with one of her favorite people at The Stanley Estate. This Administrative director last year had gone by the name of Andrew and this year went by the name of Andrea. Samantha always went out of her way to be friendly and take a moment to chat with Andrea in case the world wasn't always kind to her but today was about Samantha's momma.

"Samantha! How lovely to see you, it's been too…" Samantha watched as it registered on Andrea's face that all was not well.

When Sam was fully to the counter she even noted how Andrea's nostrils flared and knew she must have registered the smell of human waste in the air.

"Is everything alright?" Andrea asked full of concern and confusion, noticing Jackson a few feet behind Mrs. Privet. Andrea waved at him, "hello Jackson!"

"Andrea, I apologize, I hate to complain, truly I do. But you see it's my mother's roots, she hates having the grey show, it's not classy," Sam began to explain.

Andrea had to admit internally that she hadn't seen that one coming.

Sam continued, "They are about three inches long and well, as I said, I hate to complain but for the prices we are paying, her hair really should be managed better… and the color… it's a little brassy… maybe some highlights too?"

Andrea was a little shocked. This was a sweet lady who was always kind to her… sometimes in a sort of over the top way, since her transition but it was still well intentioned and appreciated. This was a whole other side of her she had never seen before. She was commanding even.

"I understand Samantha, it's just that... Lately your mother has been…" she searched for the right word and couldn't find it so she said the one that came to mind instead, "difficult. Sometimes it makes it hard for the staff to carry out their duties."

"I see. Well did they really think this job would be easy?" Samantha asked and then demanded, "Give me a piece of paper and a pen!"

Andrea did as Mrs. Privet requested. The woman then proceeded to write for sometime before folding the paper into thirds and quietly slipping it back to Andrea.

"See you next week Andrea, I love your lipstick!" Sam smiled feeling her skin crease through the dried tears on her cheeks as she turned to exit the The Stanley Estate.

Andrea unfolded the piece of paper Samantha Privet had slipped to her:

To Whom It May Concern,

My mama was born Tabatha Lee Brown, (a name she hated) in 1947, in Royston Georgia, which in case you did not know is not a great Metropolis.

She grew up with two terrible, tobacco chewin', mean 'ole brothers by the names of Reginald and Tommy who when bored tormented the living daylights out of her.

According to her family she was too smart for her own good but according to her high-school she was not smart enough to pass the eleventh grade.

She flunked out of school and moved to Savannah and well… she didn't quite fit in.

Right around then is when she had me. That part is a little fuzzy. While she has made jokes that my father may have been any number of handsome celebrities from that time period my guess is probably something a little less… enviable.

This is where things get remarkable.

Poor, alone and with newborn my mama somehow managed to get her GED, Real Estate License and Bartender's License all in the same year.

She became a triple threat.

Now look… this wasn't a Disney movie. She made mistakes. Things were hard and to be sure .. .unusual.

My mama gave me life's lessons all while chain smoking indoors.

She drank a shot of whiskey to go to sleep.

But my momma never beat me and she never let harm come to me.

She worked stupid hard.

No one, and I mean no one in our entire family previous to me went to college and she only allowed me to watch movies where she thought the people were "smart". The way some kids were not allowed to watch movies that were too violent or obscene.

She wanted to better herself so she would watch old movies with Katherine Hepburn so she could speak more properly with her real estate clients. She DID do an excellent Katherine Hepburn and she became a pretty good real estate agent, (even though she was more at home at her second job at the neighborhood bar O'Malley's.) Sometimes a real estate client would call while she was working at the bar and the town drunks would get a hoot out of seeing Kathryn Hepburn appear before their very eyes while she was on the phone.

She became the first person in her family to buy a house. (Although it was pretty funny early on in her career selling some pretty nice places all the while us living in a rusted out double wide that we had to put aluminum tape to cover the holes to keep the rain and rats out of.)

And yes, she did make sure I went to college, even though I never really put up much of a struggle.

I can't think of a whole lot she wanted really.

I think she wanted to be a ballerina or a TV star, don't worry I am generally realistic though so I am not asking for you to give her lessons.

My momma wanted to find her one true soul mate, and honestly, a man who might have been a match for Tabatha Lee Brown makes me quake in my boots, but I sure wish she would have found him. But again no personal ads please.

All I am asking for is that her roots be maintained. My mama hates roots. I remember her telling me and I quote, "Sam, look at this woman with her roots like that, I ain't trying to judge no one but it just looks trashy is all."

She likes to be blonde. Please, highlights if you can. Every 6 weeks.

Respectfully yours,

Mrs. Samantha Audrey Hepburn Privet

P.s. Yes my momma really did make my whole middle name Audrey Hepburn because she thought it would make me "come out classy".

Andrea, who had been getting inked tears all over the letter, put her hand over her mouth at the last line and had to stifle laughter at the last line.

She reached for a tissue and blew her nose, breaking the lengthy silence of her reading.

"Paul!" Andrea shouted to the nurse in the next room. "Paul!" She tried again, running a finger under each eye to fix the streaks of black mascara.

Finally Paul came in, "Sorry about that, what's up?"

Andrea used her sweetest, please get this done for me. I'll never ask for anything ever again, voice, "next time the stylist is here I need you to help her with Miss Brown."

"Miss Brown." Paul repeated, " she's kind of um difficult."

Andrea snapped, "Difficult? Paul? Did you really think this job was going to be easy? This is an Alzheimer's facility Paul. Of course it's going to be hard."

One day Tabby looked at herself in the mirror. Although she didn't recognize the hard lines around her eyes or mouth and she looked a little skinnier than normal but her hair sure does look pretty she thought.

How funny, it was blond like Alice in Wonderland.

Her beautiful daughter and granddaughter had blonde hair.

Where were they?

The end.