A Familiar Face

“Oh for f…” Mel said into the phone, unable to finish the thought. She breathed. Gathered herself. 

It was Brittney, head caretaker at Brightside. Fred was refusing to get out of bed again.

“Actually,” Brittney continued, “it looks like he never got into bed; just laid on top of it. Now he won’t get up. He already missed breakfast.”

“Mmmm hmmm,” Mel sighed, staring up at the ceiling from her very comfortable bed. “Thanks, Brittney. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

She hung up, rolled back onto her side, and let go of the phone. It slid to the floor with a thud.

Mel sighed. What about my breakfast, she wondered.

A cup of coffee later, she was in her car on the way to Brightside, where she had moved Fred to several months before. It was a peaceful place. On a country road, a golf course on one side, a grove of Cottonwood, Elm and Oak trees on the other. 

Mel rang the doorbell outside the facility’s front door. A voice she didn’t recognize asked who it was.

“Melissa Hume. Here to see Fred.”

The attendant opened the door, hovering in the foyer as she watched Mel sign the visitor log book.

Mel smiled and walked toward the manager’s office, passing the now familiar decor inside Brightview. 

“We Love Our Veterans!” read a brightly colored board prominently displayed in the main hallway. Three residents were pictured. All looked disheveled and a little confused, as though they didn’t know why their picture was being taken. None of them were smiling. Fred’s picture was on top.  

He looks better than the others, Mel thought. More confident, less confused than the others. But that was a few months ago. 

Brittney appeared from her office. “He’s grumpy today,” she said.

Mel liked Brittney. She cared for her residents and looked after her employees. 

She had warned Mel months ago, after Fred had yelled at her staff, that she wouldn’t tolerate such behavior. But Brittney also had a soft spot for Fred. Maybe that was because her staff had messed up Fred’s medications his first week there, leading to a scary, and expensive, emergency room visit. 

“He’s not cooperating,” she said.” Won’t let anyone come near him. Yells if they do.”

Mel nodded. “Thank you, Brittney. I’m sorry. Maybe his back is bothering him again.”

 - - -

The door to Fred’s room was locked. Brittney knocked.

“Hi Fred. It’s Brittney. Mel is here.”

“I. Can’t. Move.” he boomed. 

Brittney unlocked the door, letting Mel through. “He’s all yours.”

Fred’s room was small. Most of the space was taken up by an old couch that sat three feet away from a large television mounted on the opposite wall. The other walls held pictures from far-flung places Fred had visited over the years, most from just before or during the war: a view of the Golden Gate Bridge, the Sydney opera house, a beach in Da Nang. 

“They lost my wallet, ya know”, Fred said from the adjoining bedroom. 

No shouting, but the usual musical dragged out vowels were missing from his voice, Mel thought. He is grumpy.

“Something’s wrong with my bed,” Fred continued. “And my photos are gone.”

The photos were his prized possession. A handful of faded polaroids from his time in Vietnam. He loved to tell any visitor about his work in the dental corps, helping servicemembers and especially locals from South Vietnam. 

These days, Fred often couldn’t remember what he had done, or neglected to do, just a few hours earlier, but old faces and familiar voices still resonated, and he could tell stories from long ago as if recounting something that had just happened.

“A Chinook would fly our little mobile lab out to local villages, sometimes outside our defensive perimeter”, he would say proudly. “We had to work fast, before the Vietcong would know we were there. Usually, there was only time for tooth extractions, with no anesthesia. But the local people - most of whom had never even seen a dentist before - were so grateful, so kind. Ohhh,” he would muse, “Probably the most important work I’ve ever done.”

Today, Fred was still in his pajamas, lying on top of his otherwise unruffled covers. 

“I can’t get up.”

“Yes you can,” Mel said. She threw some clothes on the bed next to him. “We’ll take a drive out to the lake. There’s a sailboat race today.”

“What about my wallet,” Fred asked.

“Did you check your nightstand?”

“I don’t know. Why would I put something in my nightstand.”

Mel reached down and opened the drawer. Toward the back was Fred’s wallet and his small stack of polaroids.

“Everything is here, cuz,” Mel said gently. “I’ll give you a few minutes to get dressed, then we’ll go see the sailboats.”

Fred was only 6 years older than Mel, but once the 70s hit, a few years can make a big difference. After being diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, Fred’s mobility issues became the least of his worries. As his memory became foggier, his genial nature became more morose, more paranoid.

Fred always liked long drives, Mel knew. He would stare out the window as the world blurred by. 

This time of year the springtime greens were just starting to give way to the amber waves of yellow, orange and brown. Perhaps the farms and rolling hills of Kansas reminded him of the endless countryside that surrounded his childhood Wisconsin home, she thought.

It was too early for the farmers to have their combines out in the fields, meaning there was little to interrupt the scenery that stretched out for miles. The wind, just starting to ease after the lion’s breath of early spring, still swirled through the valleys, leaving the fields of wheat bowing and swaying in unison as Mel and Fred drove by.

“Good breeze for the sailboats!” Mel said. 

“Yauh,” Fred said, speaking about as much as he usually did on these drives.

Mel pulled the car over on a hill overlooking the lake. This was the best view of the race from the car. Fred’s walker was in the trunk, but it was too much of a hassle to park and walk to a lookout with seating.

“My stomach doesn’t feel good”, Fred said after several dozen boats passed by.

“How about an early dinner,” Mel said. “You probably haven’t eaten all day.” 

“I haven’t?”

Mel smiled to herself. “Burger sound good?”

 - - -

They pulled into the Dunphy’s Tavern parking lot late in the afternoon. The place was known for its variety of beers, rather than the food. But for some reason Mel never understood, Fred loved their burgers more than anything.

The restaurant was mostly empty, and the hostess waited patiently as Mel helped Fred make his way to their table.

They were seated next to the only other customers in the tavern at the time; two young women. Probably college students, Mel thought. 

Fred was quiet as usual as he enjoyed his burger, the silence only broken by an occasional observation from Mel or the conversation at the next table.

“Đồ ăn ở đây thật khủng khiếp,” one of the women said.

“I’ll drink to that!” The other laughed as they clanged their mugs together.

Something in the first woman's voice caught Fred’s attention.

“Well, helloo,” Fred said, the lyric tenor returning to his voice. “I know you.”

“Excuse me?” the woman said in English with no hint of an accent.

“You were with your brother, holding his hand,” Fred said.

Mel’s face reddened. Fred had never done this before. He was usually so quiet, and he never spoke to someone he didn’t know. 

“I’m so sorry,” Mel said to the woman. “I don’t know what …”

“How is your brother?” Fred asked, not seeming to hear Mel. “He had such a terrible infection. He was so scared.”

The woman tilted her head, momentarily at a loss for words. Finally she said: “He’s … he’s … doing okay.” She smiled.

“He’s doing really well,” she said confidently. “You … you may have saved him.” 

Mel wasn’t sure what was going on. Was this young woman just playing along to comfort an old man? The woman’s friend seemed equally confused.

“It was you who saved him,” Fred said. “He kept crying, asking to leave. But you kept him there. Holding his hand, soothing him,” Fred said. “You saved your brother.”

The woman smiled again, tears forming in her eyes. “Well,” she said. “I am so glad it was you who was there.” 

“Me too,” Fred said, nodding. He started to get up from his chair, grabbing his walker.

“Take care of your brother,” he said. “I hope he’s safe now.” He started walking toward the door.

Mel slowly rose from her seat as well, still confused.

“Do you … know Fred?” Mel asked the woman.

“No. Well, maybe,” the woman said. “My grandmother is from Vietnam; lived there during the war. She used to tell a story about a US soldier who saved her brother. He had a toothache, and after a couple days developed a fever. Then this soldier arrived, pulled out his bad teeth and gave him antibiotics to help the infection.

“I always thought it sounded silly,” she continued. “Dentists in the Army? Showing up to help people in the countryside?

“I guess it’s not so silly.” 

“Not so silly indeed,” Mel said. “It was lovely meeting you …” 

“Anna,” the woman said. “My grandmother was Ahn.”

“Melissa. And that is Fred.” Mel smiled, then turned to catch up with her cousin. 

 - - -

“Never thought I would see her again,” Fred said as he walked into his room back at Brightside. “Glad her brother is okay.”

“Me too,” Mel said. “You going to be okay this evening? Need me to stay and help with anything?”

“Ooh no,” Fred said. “I’ll just get in my pajamas and hop right into bed.”

“Into bed?” Mel asked. “Not on top?”

“Why would I do that?” he said.

Mel hugged her cousin and left for home.

 - - -

As she lay in bed that night Mel reached for her phone and called Brightside.

“It’s Melissa Hume. I’m checking on Fred.”

“He’s fine, Ms. Hume. Couldn’t have been sweeter when we checked on him this evening,” the attendant said. 

“Thank you.” 

Mel laid down in bed, thinking about her cousin with renewed appreciation.

“Good night, Fred,” she said softly as she closed her eyes. “And thank you, Anna. Maybe tonight …” She stretched her arms, yawned. “ … we’ll all get a good … night’s …”

She drifted off to sleep.