Hallway to Home

As Betty opened her eyes, she saw a tall, brown dresser. There was large writing on the drawers. They were labels. Socks and underwear. Pants. Short-sleeved shirts. Long-sleeved shirts. The sunlight streamed in through the window. She sat up in bed, felt her feet on the ground, and noticed a pair of purple slippers right there at the base of her bed. She slipped them on and started to shuffle through a maze of strange hallways. 

The artwork on the walls featured bright, happy scenes. A painting of a child being bathed by his mother. A beautiful photo sandy beach on the ocean with a brilliant sunset. A vibrant painting of an elephant. She stopped and looked at a photograph of two young women. She had the feeling she was supposed to know who the smiling people in the picture were, but she could not place them. The name Rebecca surfaced, deep within the loops and patterns of her mind. Who was Rebecca? She did not know. Shouldn’t she know? Where was she, anyway?

A woman appeared before her. She was wearing a blue medical shirt and black scrub pants. She had kind eyes and a ready smile. There was a badge glistening in the light, dangling from the woman’s shirt. Betty strained her eyes but could not read the writing on the badge. She didn’t have her glasses on, and besides, the glare of the hallway lights on the translucent plastic was far too blinding. The woman seemed to know Betty, but Betty couldn’t place her. “Rebecca?” The woman smiled and said warmly, “No, not Rebecca. I’m Claire, and I’m here to help you today. Do you want some breakfast?” Betty’s face scrunched up in confusion. She stopped to think for a minute. Breakfast. “Okay.” The woman offered Betty her hand, and instinctually, Betty took it. The woman led her through the hallway maze to a brightly lit room with a table and chairs in it. Betty sat down, and the woman started cooking in the kitchen. 

“Hey Alexa, play 1950s music,” said the woman. Before Betty had time to think about who Alexa was, she heard a voice as familiar to her heart as the smell of her daughter’s perfume. That was Elvis Presley! She closed her eyes and started bobbing her head to the music. Somewhere in her consciousness, she felt a history within herself. An ice cream parlor. A desk. A man. Rebecca. Cards. A sewing machine that passed long afternoons in a sun-streaked room. A bench where she would sit and sip herbal tea. A beautiful white house with a wrap-around porch and an oak tree. Her home. She felt an awareness of herself flooding in, filling the emptiness. She had a life. She had a home. Why wasn’t she there? Where was she? She looked at her wrinkled hands. She was an old lady now. 

“Where am I?” Betty asked. The woman replied that she was in a nice place called Lake Crest Senior Living in Colorado. Then the woman said, “This is where you live. This is your home!” Betty grimaced in confusion. “No, no. This is not my home. I live in Kansas. This isn’t right.” The woman nodded understandingly and proceeded to make distinct kitchen noises. Stirring. Mixing. Using a spatula to slide something on to a plate. The woman smiled at Betty, and set down eggs, bacon, and toast down in front of her on a white plate and put a fork next to the plate with a napkin. The music continued to play, and Betty heard a song she vaguely recognized. The tempo and lull of the song felt familiar and grounding, though she could not place it. She didn’t feel quite right eating here in this kitchen with this woman. A spark of inner etiquette led her to eat the food that was served to her. It was simply how one behaved.  

Betty and the woman made conversation about the weather outside. Betty commented on how the wind hit the tree outside the window. As Betty ate, the woman showed her pictures of a young baby. Betty smiled at the pictures of the baby and felt a connection to the experience of babies. Tiredness, love, a hazy time of care and exhaustion. The feeling of being a mother surfaced for Betty. Rebecca. Was this Rebecca sitting here with her? No. This was not Rebecca. Betty commented on how the wind hit the tree outside the window. “Yes, it’s very windy outside,” the woman said, affirmingly. The woman bobbed her head to the music. Betty bobbed along. Betty finished her breakfast and commented on how the wind hit the tree outside the window.

The door opened and closed, and Betty looked up in anticipation. The woman said, “Oh Betty! It’s your daughter, Rebecca, here to visit!” Betty saw her daughter, Rebecca, round the corner into the kitchen. She quickly smiled at her mom and said, “Hi mom. Hi Claire.” She hurriedly put down her purse on the counter and started talking to the woman very quickly about things Betty could not comprehend. Something about medications. She seemed concerned. She seemed tired. Betty looked upon her daughter. She was an adult. When did that happen? The woman and Rebecca talked rapidly back and forth. They both knew what they were talking about, Betty figured.

Rebecca directed her attention towards Betty. “So, mom, how are you doing today?” Betty said, “I would like to go home.” Rebecca mustered up a patient smile and said, “You are home, mom. This is where you live. This is Lake Crest.” Betty couldn’t place it. Where was the white house with the oak tree? That was her home. “Rebecca, sweetheart, take me home. I want to go home.” The woman and Rebecca gave each other a knowing look. Rebecca said, “Okay mom, let’s go on a walk.” 

Ambling through the hallways with her walker, Betty saw so many different doors with writing on them. Many said “Happy Easter” or had a picture of rabbits or colorful eggs. In some remembered way, she knew that Easter was a time people celebrated something. People made food and got together and sometimes went to church. The weather was generally nice around Easter. Betty asked Rebecca, “Are we going to have Easter at my house this year?” Rebecca said, with a tired exasperation Betty couldn't understand, “No mom, we’ll go to Uncle Freddie’s this year. The whole family will be there.” Rebecca seemed withdrawn and rushed. Betty could smell perfume. It was Rebecca-smelling. 

Through the maze of hallways, Rebecca held open doors and said “Hello there” to strangers who walked past. Betty stared at them, bewildered. Who were they? Where was she? Where was she going? Was she going home?