When the nurse rolled the trolley into the art space that evening, she smiled at the sea of old faces that looked up at the sound of the squeaking wheels of the trolley. She always smiled. But there were different smiles to match the times and moods of her day. In the morning, her smile was like sunshine and she was overly chirpy – like a child on a sugar rush. It was a quality that did not sit well with the older women in the Belview Retirement Home.
Sometimes she threw in a laugh at the cheeky comments the old men made as she handed them their medicine. “Oh Mr. Donney, you are old enough to be my grandfather. Your son? I have seen your son. He is old enough to be my father!” she would tease as her hand playfully rubbed his bald head.
In the afternoon, the smile never quite reached her eyes. It was only polite, almost like a half-hearted performance during a play rehearsal. But Mr. Johnson, who had not heard from his children since they dropped him at the nursing home three years ago appreciated those smiles. She would bend over and have a little talk with him, telling him about how her four-year-old was still in his terrible twos phase. Julia, who had been a ballet dancer in her youth always loved when a familiar tune was hummed, her faded memory coming to life at the sound of the winter waltz tune. The nurse always had the tune playing on her phone when she got closer to her wheelchair by the window.
In the evening, her smiles were tired but she spent a little more time with each patient, trying to make them feel wanted. This was the reason the clique hated her, how she made them feel like death with her acts of service, like each day could be their last. And while each day could very well be their last with their aging bodies, none of them needed a constant reminder.
The three old women at the center of the room watched as she approached them with their last dose for the day. Candace had been knitting a sweater for her grandson who never visited and had quite been enjoying the soft clicking of the needles but she paused to watch her stride toward them. The other two had been deeply engrossed in a game of scrabble, with Anna losing to Cynthia. Cynthia was relieved to have something else to focus on besides Anna’s chatter after pulling a winning move.
“Beware ladies, here’s come Sunny with a chance,” Candace said under her breath.
“Good evening, ladies. How is Clique hanging?”
It was how she said Clique with a little shimmy of her waist that made them roll their eyes in perfect unison.
If the nurse noticed, she chose to keep her rhythm, smiling brightly as she handed them the drugs. “….and here’s some water to wash it down.”
“Oh look!” Anna yelled ecstatically after swallowing the pills the nurse handed her. All the women turned to her. She raised her hands toward her face, her expression was one of pure astonishment, as if she were witnessing a miracle. “My arthritis – it’s all gone!”
Cynthia and Candace burst into uncontrollable laughter. Candace grabbed her half-finished sweater and smacked Anna on the back, nearly choking on her own laughter.
“Ladies,” Anna slowly rose to her feet, one hand clutching her chest, “I don’t think I’m dying tomorrow. This drug works wonders!”
The nurse’s smile faltered for a moment before it returned with a vengeance. “It’s not nice to joke about death.”
Anna had returned to her seat, carefully rearranging her scrabble tiles on the board. “Petra, we are surrounded by death in here every day. Sometimes we can even smell it and know who will be dead by morning. It’s the only thing we can look forward to at our age.”
“My name is not Petra–”
Cynthia reached out and held one of her hands. “Jeremie, wait till your boobs fall to your stomach and your back starts to hurt all the time. You will be praying for death.”
The nurse turned pale at the suggestion. “There is so much to live for!”
Cynthia’s eyes scanned the room. “Sure, Loretta.”
“It’s Michelle,” the nurse mastered a bold smile before turning away from them and with her squeaky trolley moved on to the next resident.
“Do you think she practices in the mirror before she comes to work every day?” Anna asked, carefully arranging another perfect word on the scrabble board. The moment the last word landed, she clapped her hands together with gleeful satisfaction.
Neither of the two women were paying her any attention. Their focus had drifted across the hall to the reception area. A new resident was being signed in by his son. The man was tall and lean with a straight back. His silver hair was neatly combed and as his gaze swept over his new surroundings, he said something to his son at the moment the women had a clear view of his face.
“Those are not dentures,” Anna’s hands had fallen onto the scrabble board absentmindedly, scattering the carefully arranged words. “That’s real teeth!”
Candace lifted her partly knitted sweater and dropped it on the table. “Forget teeth. Girls, he has all his hair,” she squealed, like a teenager speaking about her boy crush.
“And that back,” Cynthia leaned in closer for a better look. “You know what they say about tall men with flat buttocks.” Her tone was laced with mischief.
Anna stifled a laugh, while Candace picked up one of her needles with her fingers absently teasing around its pointy end. No one could say who got up first, but suddenly all three were on their feet, bumping into each other in haste to reach the reception first. In the end, Cynthia bared their way and thrust herself forward. If her hair still had the lush of its youth, it would have bounced as she threw her head back before putting her hand forward.
“Hello, welcome to the Belview Retirement Home. We are the welcome team,” She ignored the receptionist’s surprised look as she picked up the signup sheet. “I see you are in room 17.” She turned to the women behind her and winked at them.
“See dad, I told you – you’ll make friends quickly,” the new arrival’s son said, reaching down for the bags at his feet.
Cynthia was already pushing her hand into his arm, “We are a very friendly group over here. There is even this one nurse who is always smiling as early as 5am. She will remind you of sunshine and coffee.” She led the way towards his room.
The man was just as confused as he was uncomfortable by the interaction but he did not resist as Anna slipped her arm through his other free one.
Room 17 was not a really large room and with all five of them inside, it felt rather cramped. The son, after placing the bags down on the bed, turned to them with a smile. “Thank you so much, ladies.” He ushered them towards the door.
As the door slammed behind them, the clique faced each other, squealing and chuckling like little girls.
About the Author:
Yeayi Kobina is a storyteller with a background in broadcast journalism and the author of the historical fantasy book series “A Weaving of the First Gods.” With over a decade of experience in investigative journalism and content production, Yeayi has developed a unique voice that combines his rich love of history and his desire to make it accessible and relatable to modern audiences.
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