Geriatric

I tipped back the fiasco, and the last bit of wine dribbled on my tongue. I set it on the edge of the kitchen counter. The saliva was drying along the rim of the mouth, and I took it to the bucket in the sink and dunked it in the bleach water. I was very tired and bored, and the wine had been good to drink. As I lifted the bottle back up I saw that the straw basket at the bottom was soaked, and I did not want to wipe the counter after it. I set it below the water again. I peeled the rubber gloves off my hands and threw them in too. I walked over to the sliding glass door. The moon had been very light and low this month, the slow waxing bringing on each tomorrow; I wished very much that the next cycle it would whittle down to nothing and then stop. A blanket flopped behind me.

The old woman was twisting her neck, fidgeting. I snatched up the vial of Nesdonal. It was still empty, the syringe too.

“The wine nearly got me this time.”

I searched vacantly around the room.

“Weren't you the plumber who came by, Thursday, no Tuesday, yea Thursday was yesterday, so it must've been Tuesday?”

“How'd you sleep?”

“A little rough, with the wine you know.” There was a little dot of blood in the vein of her elbow, and she rubbed crooked fingers over it. “Oh, what's this?”

I was rummaging through my canvas bag, “Just your insulin shot.” I knew I was out of more Nesdonal, but I had the Pavulon though I didn't want to force her arms down and accidentally puncture the vein too deeply. I wasn't used to cleaning blood.

“But, how'd you get in here? Aren't you the plumber?”

“No, no, I'm the in home hospice nurse assigned to you.”

“My daughter can't afford that.”

Maybe I wouldn't need to hold her arm down, still too weak. I walked over to her while flicking air out of the needle, and she stood up. “Please, mam, relax, sit back down. Been doing this 20 years, it won't hurt a bit.”

“What's your name?”

“Joseph Thomas mam.”

“What're you doing here? I've never had a nurse in here before.”

“Like I said, I'm just a nurse here to give you your insulin shot.”

“Didn't you already give me one?”

“It's just a secondary dose mam.”

“I don't want it.”

“What?”

“ I said. 'I don't want it.'”

“Mam, just listen to me,” I reached for the unused arm.

“No!” she batted her hands down on both my arms. The syringe shattered over the wood, and the liquid lay like a blood splat. I had never actually wanted to kill someone before. She was staring behind me toward the TV stand then brought her eyes up to mine so that the dark could not cover my features. She sat back into the deep sofa, “You're the plumber. I knew it when I saw you.”

“And?”

“Why're you in my house poking me with needles?”

“I really am a nurse. Not the plumber. But I came by Tuesday like you said. I'm supposed to come every three days. Tuesday was just the first time.” The moon was still bright and in my right eye so I went to the couch opposite her sofa and sat facing away from it.

“Why didn't my daughter tell me about you?”

“She probably did, you just forgot.” I was very tired, and the couch felt good to sink into.

“I do tend to forget things. But usually not important things like that.” I caught her eyeing the TV stand again. “I guess I really am old now. Just a grandma.”

I thought maybe I should wait for her to go asleep again; there were several large pillows on the couch. I could use my weight and just sink down on her head with one.

“Are you going to clean that up? I have a broom and some towels around the wall.”

“I need a minute. Not as lively as I used to be.”

“You said 20 years, right?”

“Yes.”

“You must like it then. Else, you know, why would you do it so long.”

“I suppose, it's good to help people on.”

“Do you want food or anything? I might have some wine leftover.”

“Mmh,” I nodded my head vaguely.

She looked back at the TV stand, “Would you mind getting me the remote. I like to watch it some before I go to bed, the TV I mean.”

I did not want to get up, “Can you not get it yourself?”

“You're a nurse right? A nurse helps people, so, get me the remote.”

“Well, sometimes a nurse can be too helpful and do too much for their patient. Sometimes it's more helpful in the long run to push the patient to do more for themselves, so they don't become weak and some might say, further disabled.”

“Oh, you sound just like my grandson. He's always saying I need to walk more.”

“That's funny. In some older tribes or cultures, they used to ritually kill their elderly so as to avoid hindering the group. Nowadays, though, we tend to drag it out with medication and surgery, even if the people we're helping can barely stand let alone breath.” I was leaned forward now, my hands clasped.

'You're saying we should go back to that? The old culture's way of doing things, I mean.”

“Almost exactly that.”

“I didn't have a choice, in getting old, in having my arthritis, you know. But you are a little right, I'm a burden to my daughter and my grandson.” I was staring right at her. “What was your name again? I just want to text her, my daughter, and let her know you're here and all.”

I stood bolt upright, “Joseph Thomas.”

“Okay, thank you, I'm always forgetting things, can barely remember like you said. Can you hand me the remote too?”

My hands were shaking as I gave it to her, “Where is your bathroom?” She told me, and I went around the wall. There were little cherubs on the hand towels, and I washed my face in the sink. I had forgotten to replace the gloves; it didn't matter. The water ran down through the many deep wrinkles of my face, like rivulets overflowing down a cracked mountain. My hands were grey and veiny. I left the bathroom and turned into her bedroom. The pillows were thick with down; I picked one up. I went to the edge of the wall that separated the house from the living room. I could not hear the TV, and the moon was still too bright. I rounded the wall.

I heard a loud crack. There was a pain like a bruise in my chest and a light trickle under my shirt that began to soak it. I heard another and felt the same; there was a deep internal pain in me that burned. She was near the TV stand, drawer open. A little .22 pistol quaked in both hands. All the shades of dark began to fade together, and I sank down, wanting to throw up the burning hurt in my stomach. I hated her, and I was not glad to go.