Inevitable

by J.G. Fabiano

White as watery snow. I looked into the enormous brown eyes of my wife and observed only horror. She reached for my hand and I met her half- way in my own fear that I could not help her. She was cold yet covered in a warm sheen which looked like the surface of a pond whose water was barely moving, trembling.

"It was horrible," she whimpered still hoping that her silence could eliminate her present reality.

"Do you want to talk about it?", I asked subconsciously hoping that I would not have to share her terror. But before she answered me, she had already begun her story.

"I went into my parents room at the nursing home for a visit. My father was lying in his bed with his leg leaning against the closet at the other end of the room. I walked toward his bed to give him a kiss but was shocked by the image of my father staring straight up into the ceiling. He was breathing and he looked okay but he was intently staring into the creamy manila color of what had become his only sky. For a second I looked away. Then when I looked again into his face his eyes were closed and looked as though he had always been in this serene state."

My wife now paused trying to remember the better part of her memory. She started to look at me but turned away probably in fear that I was staring at her. I was. She continued.

"I then went over to visit with my mother who was, as always, lying in her bed in the fetal position. All she could do was complain about everything. How she was always sick and how nobody cared about her or my father. Maybe it was my mood or maybe I was just sick and tired of always hearing her negatives. I started to shout at my mother and tell her to stop being such a bitch and try and get involved in something, anything. Get a hobby so you won't have all this time to think about your aches and pains. She then looked at me in a weird sort of way, turned her back toward me, and went into her fetal position. I told her that she was hopeless and decided to leave the home."

"Half-way down the hall I felt guilty. My mother was very good at making me feel guilty. Walking back to my parents room I saw my sisters eating lunch in the cafeteria. I told them how I was sick and tired of how our mother was. They told me to relax and have some lunch with them. I was too incensed to eat. But then I heard a knocking sound behind me. I turned and saw that it was my mother standing in the doorway with a wide smile on her face. Her eyes were wide open and her mouth looked as though it was filled with a crimson colored jell. She had no teeth or at least none that I could see. She stared at me for a few seconds, stuck out her tongue, and ran off into the hallway."

"When I looked back at my sisters I observed that they were still eating. 'Did you see our mother. She must be insane!' They told me to relax and ignore the situation. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I couldn't believe how they were reacting."

"I ran to the nurses station only to be surprised that no one was there. The phones were ringing as they always did with their loud piercing sounds continuing forever. A flock of wheel chairs surrounded the station as though they were waiting for something to take them away. All of their occupants were sleeping but I dared not look into their eyes. Not that I feared that they would be staring at me. I just always feared looking into their eyes. I just couldn't. Then I heard her. In fact, I think I saw her first but did not believe that it was her. In my peripheral vision I saw a little life run through the hall between two rooms. She was dressed in white and was so tiny. Tiny as a child is considered tiny. Then before I could address this vision in my mind she ran into the middle of the hall and stared back at me. My God, it was my mother. Her eyes attacked mine and would not let go. They were wide open and incredibly clear. She was smiling, almost laughing, as though she was glad to see me. As though she wanted to play with me."

I tried to calm my wife down by telling her to slow down and take some breaths. She did not heed me. Hell, she didn't even hear me.

"As she skipped toward me I saw that she was incredibly white. Bleached whiter than anything I had ever seen before. Her mouth was wide open showing only her gums and tongue. Her hair looked as though it exploded from her head. The right side was a good six inches higher than the left. It had the consistency of nylon. It no longer looked like hair from a person's head. It looked as though it was the hair of a very cheap doll. A very old cheap doll. She came within three feet of me and stopped. She leaned toward me and told me that I was IT. She then turned around and ran down the hall faster than I have seen my mother move for many a decade. I started to follow her, yelling at her to stop running. That she would hurt herself. I then looked around the nursing home and started to scream for some help.

'Where is everyone!! Why isn't anyone here!!' "Before I had realized what I said, all the men and women of the chairs raised their head and stared at me."

My wife was now trembling. I asked her to stop. To take a breath. She did neither.

"Now I became angry. I walked downstairs to the exit and started to go out the door. But before I could reach the door I met my sisters coming into the home. I ran to them and told them that something was terribly wrong. That our mother was running around the home and that their is no one here to help us. No one who was capable anyway."

"They told me that I was exaggerating and that it was good that our mother was getting some exercise. Exercise?? As soon as they told me this I noticed that they looked at each other and smiled. I now got angrier. I always got enraged with them when it came to my parents. I told them that they were demented and ran out the door. I walked toward my car but felt guilt that I was leaving my mother in a position in which she needed help. I turned around and then saw her."

My wife, my poor wife, looked as though she was going to cry. I wanted to tell her to end her story but I knew that would be a futile move. I let her continue. I had no choice.

"I saw my mother with her face squeezed against the door. Flattening out her smile as if she wanted it to become a permanent part of the glass. Her mouth was opened and her tongue was making circles on the glass. I ran toward her knowing that I had to help her. When I reached the door, she walked backwards and leaned against the wall. I then heard her whisper that she hoped that I would never be IT. She then let me walk to her and reached out her hand to take mine. Her hand was soft and warm. The mother became the child and the child now became the mother. I told her that she should go back to her room now. That she should go back to her home to be with her husband, my father."

"She smiled at me and led me back to her room never letting go of my hand. There still was a little mother left in her. When we arrived at her room, she let go of my hand and I walked in before her. I lost my breath! No, I thought I lost my mind. Lying in the bed was my mother. My mother of my most recent memories; old and decrepit. Barely able to breath staring up into the manila colored ceiling. A ceiling which had become her sky. I tried to scream but couldn't. I looked back and saw my other mother smiling in back of me. Shaking her head as though she knew that what I had just seen had to be seen."

I no longer wanted her to stop her story. It was obvious that she needed to tell it. Get it all out. Get out the guilt she was feeling for what was happening. Guilt which had no reason to exist, but did.

"The next thing I heard was my father. He was standing up out of his bed. He was once again the giant of a man that I remember him being when I was a child.

'Rose!', he exclaimed. 'Get back into your bed. It is time now.'

"I then watched in awe as my mother, the child-mother out in the hall go to her bed and became one with my mother, the actual mother of my present."

"My father then went to the bed and lifted my mother up as though she was a bag of feathers. He carried her as a father would carry his baby, close to his heart, protecting her from everything and anything. Like he had done for most of both their lives. He walked toward the window. But, before he did he took my hand, like he did many thousands of times in my past. We spent the next few minutes staring into the deep blue of the sky. Not a white cloud dare block his vision. He then carried my mother back to her bed. Both of my mothers, the child and the reality. The living and the almost dead. My father then sat back on his bed, lay back, looked into the ceiling above, closed his eyes and fell asleep."

My wife moved herself toward me because she needed to feel my warmth. She needed to feel secure and safe. I gladly put my arm around her and held her tight telling her that all will be fine. All will be okay. My only wish was that she had woken me in our bed before any of this occurred. But, that would have been quite impossible because I had heard her story while I was driving home from the nursing home.

Jim Fabiano is a free lance writer living in York Beach, Maine