Something Unusual

It is Monday, April 29, 2030 The time is 4:30 PM to be technical it is 16:30. At first glance, the building I am about to enter looks like a glorified hotel with every window exactly the same every shape and careful design in its place, every suite identical so there is no mistake, you can guess what any room looks like with 100% accuracy. Don’t let it fool you, it does look nice but it really is far more institutionalized than what meets the eye; upon entering, you must swipe in numbers and an automated voice will grant you entrance; without it, there is no getting in, and likewise there is no getting out. As I take the stairs, the healthy and wise choice, to the fifth floor I finally arrive at room 534. The door is always locked because 5:00 PM has not quite arrived, there is still twenty three minutes and counting down then when 5:00 PM strikes silently on my watch I am woken from my gaze to an elderly women's soft and muffled voice, "just a minute, I am coming to open the door."

As I hear the door unlock, but it does not open, I understand that it is I who will open the door. As I make my entrance, I am not greeted with a hello, but I am told it was not 5:00 when you first arrived, you are to arrive at 5:00. 

Yes, I will do my best to arrive at 5:00, how are you? How was your day? 

The woman is bent over in her chair where she sits everyday and does not answer, the only sound in the room is the small talk accompanied by silence. The woman is not able to straighten her posture. I am not sure if the poor posture that is now permanent and cannot be changed, is from her lack of willingness to correct her posture in her younger years, or an expression of her mind's inability to correct her of her ways; but I guess it doesn’t matter, as her current posture is here to stay.

Like every other room in the residence you see the kitchen and the living room upon entering, a spare room bathroom and bedroom are just down the small hallway.

The whitehaired lady sits in the one chair across from the television, the television is the only modern thing in the place. The same chair, the same thoughts, the same silence fills the room every day. A Collection of items from years past stay pristine in their glass and wooden shelving unit. The dust that has settled tells a story that these items are present but a forgotten memory. A memory of a time bustling of energy and travels to destinations around the world. Pride fuels the energy of this particular home yet these collected valuables remain untouched and uncared for as the dust looks like it has taken up permanent residence; with the exception of a clear trail of fingerprints leading to a display item.

A few days ago, a male friend came by to have a meal and say hello while he laid his feet across the older couch and filled his time while on his cell phone. He was half present as his mind seemed elsewhere. He also appeared to be in a serious mood. He introduced himself briefly and asked why I would be a caregiver? The question was a rhetorical, he was too filled with pride and made it known that he is of higher education and has a pristine life and simply was not interested in the reason why.

The white-haired lady seems a bit preoccupied herself and is eagerly waiting for me to be done my tasks and on my way as she sits in the same chair never any other chair. The only rooms in the place to be used are the living room with the chair, the bathroom and the bedroom, the routine so engrained that you can literally see the wearing away of the flooring from the same steps made everyday, at the same time to the same place.

The furniture is dated probably about 60 years old; you can just call it antique as it is a politically correct way to describe it and to be able to say that it is nice. The same book covers her lap every day, maybe the book provides a purpose a sense of usefulness, a reason to be, but somehow it is understood that a page is never read just like a cup of cold coffee that just sits in the cup and is never touched for it no longer fills the senses with its warmth, smell and taste.

Everyday the same thing, to wake at the same time not a minute before not a minute behind. The exact time for breakfast, lunch, dinner and for caretakers, for housekeepers, and grocery store shoppers. The exact time for the friend who is also stuck in a routine comes to say hello at 5:05, not a minute before not a minute after. Except today, the time is now 5:15 still no friend.

Suddenly, the whitehaired lady speaks, it is completely out of character and interrupts my thoughts." My thoughts that my mind has collected from all that I am surrounded by gets a hiccup, and I suddenly realize from the sound of her voice that it is time to stop day dreaming and to pay attention. The whitehaired lady spoke from complete silence. I had a good life, I started off poor but I met my husband and lived wealthy. We were together 60 years until he passed away. My male friend comes by and we talk about years past and we talk about future plans too. My life has changed over the years, but it has been a good life.

As an onlooker, I see that a good life truly means different things to different people. That everyday she sits in the same chair all day, rarely to go outside and get some fresh air, does not meet with other residence or attend the community dinners, but silently keeps to her own. 

You would at first glance think that she was mean spirited, but then you see she is not: that 5:00 exactly is her purpose, that her routine is her purpose, that her friend is her purpose, even though nothing changes, that lack of change is her purpose, that same book where a page never gets turned is her purpose. I am beginning to think that she got stuck between having something to do with skin so soft and energy to guide her steps, to having nothing to do and skin that just cannot maintain moisture and resilience; it has been replaced by wrinkles blotches and dryness, and her energy no longer guides her steps; the whitehaired lady knows that standing up straight has long since passed her by. That with her forgotten collections on display full of dust lies her memories of her life that remind her that she is so very close now to the final chapter of her life story. That nothing can be altered, that the present state of sameness will travel with her for the remainder of her life because with its familiarity comes contentment.

Just then, the phone comes alive, ring ring, “oh my, the phone, just a minute,” she yells as she tries to contain the excitement, ‘hello, hello.’ On the other end is an English accent highly pitched and exaggerated voice, “hello there, how is it going?” Do you remember me love? Its Christine, you know from days gone by, we use to have tea and walk our dogs together. Where the time goes is beyond me. For, it just feels like it was the other day that I seen you. Yes, I am sure I seen you walking in the neighborhood towards Mr. Kimbabraught’s home the other day. Well, I got this surprising story to tell, well you know it’s not really a story, it actually happened manage that! Then I seen yas number on the phone list and I thought I would give you a ring. I hope I am welcome to come over for tea. I feel kind of silly inviting me self, but I know you can’t turn down an offer from an old friend, can you? “Oh yes, yes, said the lady, let me get dressed as I am still in my gown and I will put tea on, when will we expect you?” “I will be there at quarter past, is that work for you?” “oh yes, see you soon.” Suddenly, the guest did not have to come at a certain time, the phone is now hung up and you can feel the shift of energy fill the room. Well then, tea with a friend. I wonder what she has to say? I will set the table for company, tea and crumpets sounds fitting for this occasion. The whitehaired lady then looks up in my direction.

Will you please grab all the linen once you are done cleaning and are ready to go, as they need to be washed. You can return them to me clean and folded, thank you. I will have company soon and I do not wish to be interrupted, thank you said the whitehaired lady, like an order not a request.

Then the knock on the door, well hello their, hugs are in order. Yes, please let me take your coat and you can put your shoes on the shoe rack. I set the tea up on the kitchen table, everything is already, come sit and enjoy. “This is lovely tea and crumpets, thank you,” said Christine as she took a sip of tea and a bit of a crumpet then spoke, Well I will just get straight to it, no sense to waist time or build up the story or anything like that. Did you know Mr. Kimbabraught, he has the beautiful home on the corner, the one his son comes to care for every weekend. Oh yes, I remember him, he always would say hello when you pass him by going for a walk and he loves to chat about everything going on in the neighborhood. Yes, that is him. Well some tragic news they found him dead yesterday. Dead, suddenly the whitehaured lady drops her tea cup on the floor, “oh my, he is dead?” Yes, but it doesn’t seem to be of natural causes, some talk you know that he had the virus, but that didn’t hold up as he has never been sick a day in his life and he hasn’t gone anywhere in the past few months, he was staying at home minding his own business you know. And I heard the doctor report said he had no virus at all that is was death by another sort. Another sort, oh yes you know what I am trying to get at. "Oh, perhaps maybe, actually, you will need to fill me in as I don’t have a clue," said the whitehaired lady. "He was murdered, yes in broad day light I tell you," said Christien. "I knew it was conspicuous so many people coming to the door the post man, the supper run man, the neighbor who as been extra friendly lately." “But how do they know it was murder? Also, which neighbor came to visit him,” asked the whitehaired lady "Well you see, I heard that Mr. Kimbabraught was pushed to the ground and hit his head in a bad way. That he has had a keen interest in his neighbor lately, they are still trying to put the information together. I did hear a bit of a story that goes like this, there is a special artifact that he has obtained, it is worth millions and it is missing from his collection. He got it on his travels across the way and he only recently found out about just how priceless it is." The whitehaired lady glanced over to her shelf of collected items and suddenly see’s that the aged dust has a trail of finger prints. She then glances to the book that just sits and she never reads; completely unaware that she has done this, as she returns her attention to Christine. Please go on, well you know it could be the son, he may be tired of waiting for his inheritance and would like nothing better than to collect the item and its worth in cash. Or maybe the supper run staff had his mind on the collection. There are so many suspects you know. The police will get to the bottom of it I am sure.  

    I would like to add that you know Mr. Kimbabraught don’t you love. I seen you together. How long have you known him? “Oh, I don’t know him, I mean he is just an acquaintance, we just say hello every now and then,” said the whitehaired lady. Really, there has been some talk that you two were seen together often and that you were also seen fighting, putting on a bit of a display to the public. "Oh that, that was just a misunderstanding he has a habit to play his music too loud as he is half deaf, and it just gave me such a headache as I was outside trying to enjoy the fresh air. I just had to say something, but I had to raise my voice as he couldn’t hear a word I said; likewise, he was yelling because he can’t hear himself. it was really nothing." “Well then, I guess that explains it alright,” said Christine. 

"if you would excuse me Christine, I think I have had enough tea and excitement for one night, you don’t mind if we could continue the conversation another time?" "Oh, most certainly, I will be on my way then. Before I go, I see you have a rare collection of items as well, look at those spectacular items, you have something in common with Mr. Kimbabraught?" "Oh that, that is not the same at all, those are collections I got when I traveled with my husband, he purchased them for me as gifts." "Oh, that is interesting, I noticed you looking at a book, may I ask what it is called." "So many questions for one night. I am very tired so please let me see you to the door." "Well then, goodnight. I hope you don’t mind if I ring you again," said Christine.

The white haired lady closes the door behind Christine and locks it, both the regular lock and the bolt, she then gets a cloth and removes the dust from her collection and takes one particular item off of the shelf and places it in the secret space in her book where no one would think to look; except of course, Christine.

Once the whitehaired lady was finished, she then returns to her chair and sits in the silence of the room but her mind is far from silent for the volume has turned up a notch. She is unaware that I am standing there, as she has a jolt at my presence. Oh, I enjoyed my company so much I simply forgot that you were here. Take the linen with you to wash over night. I would like to go to bed now, please see yourself out. I glanced at the whitehaired lady as I promptly walked out the door. The whitehaired lady sat in her chair. I have millions now. I finally have millions as she looks at her book and sits with her thoughts. That her millions suddenly have replaced the ticking sound of time of the second hand clock and the selected memories, and possibly regrets to fill her present. She cannot go back, she has little room to move forward just like holding on to the same book everyday yet never turning a page; she may have already read the story, or maybe it's a story that sits with her but she cant bare to read it, she doesn't want to know what the story is about nor its end; yet, she cannot let go of this particular story for it remunerates deep within her mind. Then the phone rings, hello? hello said the lady with the unforgettable English accent, can we meet for tea?

written by Lisa Hollis