An Orderly with Flowers

Hidden in the back of a cabinet. I kept the bottle of pills the doctor had prescribed me. The prescription was discontinued long ago – finding out I was allergic to the medicine saw to that. Everyone had thought I’d flushed the damned things down the toilet, but in reality I’d kept the bottle hidden away for a rainy day.

I did a good enough job of hiding how bad things were. Eight hours a day, I patrolled the hallways of the convalescent home. The Diocese maintained a carefully put together care home for old nuns who’d grown too sick for their charity work. With every food tray I wheeled in, every nun I fed, every bedpan I cleaned out, I smiled.

The smile was just a mask.

I’d given up on loving anyone after the last person; I was doomed to walk the earth, forever being used by people for their own selfish reasons. I couldn’t play the perfect girl for family, and I couldn’t play the perfect lover for a man whose eyes soon wandered. Thinking of moving on was an impossibility – this was the life I’d been dealt, and my only choices were to persevere in despair or take the bottle of killer pills. I had never known anything else, and so I could not conceive of another way out of the loneliness I felt.

It was a bitterly cold night when I’d realized my choices. I couldn’t go home to a loveless man again; I scrubbed hot chocolate cups long after the nuns had slept for hours, delaying the need to take the train home. Once I finally missed it, I slept in a work room; anyone from the Diocese or other staff contracted to them assumed I’d simply worked too hard and stayed too late. If they woke me, I smiled, pretended I was tired, and went back to sleep.

The smile was just a mask.

Night turned into morning, still bitterly cold one January dawn, and I caught the morning train home to where my partner waited for me. He made idle conversation, but showed no real concern. His cell phone made one small ding, and I saw the name Rose on the notification.

He shrugged it off as nothing, even though we both knew who Rose was. He had nothing to fear, because I had no other place to go.

So it went for months, me washing hot chocolate mugs all night to be home as little as possible, even when hot chocolate mugs turned to tea and lemonade. I was teetering on the edge of reaching into the closet for an escape. Away from home, I smiled again, bringing vases of flowers in from visitors.

One of the nuns had been loved enough by those she served to get frequent gifts of orchids. Each time a new vase appeared, I alone ventured into her room to replace the previous gift. The reason for her loneliness was the pitiful way she howled in pain – whatever malady gripped her, she was near inconsolable, and even most of her former peers had no patience for it.

I had no other mugs to wash, no other tasks to do, and no other place to be, so I smiled and asked what I could do to help her. She asked for medicine, then she asked to be moved. Carefully, I helped her lift herself up to a half-sitting position. The lilt in her voice did not hide her pain, but for a few brief moments, the howling would stop.

I pulled up a chair at her request, and listened to old stories of teaching and nursing she’d done before her sorry state here. Over several visits, howls of pain turned to whimpers. Whimpers turned to soft, muted words – she was sad to be trapped in bed, but would smile when I brought orchids and sat.

The smile was just a mask; she recognized it, because she wore it too. One day, she had me sit for ages and asked me questions about myself; what did I do when I was not here taking care of the sisters? How safe was the train home at night? Did I have anyone else to take orchids to at home?

I kept my answers brief and untruthful. If the truth was known, the little visits that kept us distracted would be ruined. It mattered little; she was clairvoyant, and soon understood that the flowery pictures I painted for her were plastic.

“There’s a place for girls like you, you know, to start over”.

My mask cracked – I could feel the smile warp into a confused frown. I corrected myself, smiled again, and reassured her. Before long, she accepted these honeyed words, but cautioned me to remember what she’d said, just in case.

The next time I went to deliver orchids, the room was empty. Her things had been quietly removed, and an empty bed awaited a new nun. From her condition, I knew recovery was not the way her story had ended.

I tried to take the pills the next day, but couldn’t do it.

I packed my things and left him the day after, taking the bottle of pills with me.

A blur of events led me to a long-distance train. The train took me a long way to the west, where the flowers changed. Still smiling, I pretended I was a young woman on an adventure. Playing pretend, I mopped the floors of a new hospital ward I’d found myself in, smiling like everything was alright.

The days went by in dull monotony, mop bucket in hand, until one day a message came for me. One of the visitors had taken a liking to our idle conversations, inviting me out for a walk along the nearby river. With nothing else to do and nowhere else to go, I followed him. We stared at our reflections for a while in the greenish-blue water.

The river was well-visited for its beauty. A century prior, people had built stone bridges and buildings along it – the hanging moss accompanied vine flowers budding with spring. Some of the shops sold food and beer; I had never drank before, because the perfect girl from years ago was forbidden such a vice.

He ordered two ice cold mugs. On a riverside bench, we sat and reflected on the flowers blooming around us and the people passing by. He too was a stranger to the town, escaping his own demons half a world away.

His own smile was also a mask. Recognizing like for like, he told me of the travels he had taken during his escape. The perfect boy he’d been for others prior did not know the love he’d found for himself after travelling. He wished me well, clinking our mugs together, and we drank to the hope of brighter futures.

This smile was genuine.

A few weeks later, his travels took him away. The day he left, I took the pills to a pharmacy that agreed to dispose of them for me. I went back to the river, bought myself a beer, and sat on the benches, watching the flowers bloom, knowing that I would value myself from this day forward.