The Night

6/18/17

The television was by my side, as I stood next to my friend and talked.  I had semi-recently met her; she was a friend who I spent some of my time with, when I wanted to hang out.  Her eyes that night I think I remember being electric blue, bright in the sight of an entryway that was behind her, through where my other friend, Carol, slept.  Carol used to sleep with her clothes on; I don’t think I had ever seen her wearing pajamas.  She would snore loudly, but whenever I saw the look in her eyes as she slept, it looked like she was concentrating about something, like she was dreaming, but one of those special dreams where you know you’re dreaming, or one of those dreams where you are watching something happen. 

Behind me and her was the dayroom, where people sometimes stayed up all night, just to sit and meditate, just to be in the atmosphere that they were (I think I remember sometimes people sleeping there, too- sitting up).  Looking back, I am kind of jealous of the peace of mind those people had, who I used to live with, because they seemed very content, but in an amazing way, like they were a whole, one being, led by some unknown source, who gave them everything they ever needed.  Even though this is true, I still think they have a good sense of morality, because they never abused this state of being, that some might consider even happier than people that don’t live in a nursing home.  They seemed to be able to rest their minds 24/7, especially in the night, among the twilight that might have tried to leak through the (shades of the?) windows.  Some of them sat in chairs, on sofas, and stuck out the night.  They did this also during the day.  Who knows what they might have witnessed, who might have passed through the building, who they might have seen- family members of residents, nurses, doctors, random people.  I remember stealing my Dad’s two Irish walking caps, one made in Ireland, one not (it was probably made in America), and leaving them as an offering to the nursing home Gods, on a table in the corner of the 2nd floor dayroom.  Looking back, I can’t remember if she wore one of the hats that night, but the outline of it on her head remains in my mind, whether it be based on truth or not- the magic hat, that may have evoked nighttime nursing home magic. 

We were talking about my bus pass that I had yet to obtain, the free kind for people with low income.  I think I remember, maybe, her repeating that I should just go and get it myself, and she was trying to tell me to take the bus (or train, can’t remember) - something along the lines of “you should just go down there and get it yourself.”  She stood in front of me, and I remember the conversation kind of feeling forced.  Me and her had gone on a walk (I think before), by the path by the lake, and I had said something to her about a passing car’s tail lights, if I remember correctly, that may have left her thinking that I was crazy- just a bit.  Did this influence the happenings of a night when I had a special conversation with her?  Later, I can’t remember if it was after the night or not, we got in a fight and she called me schizophrenic in front of people, in the hall, by the nursing station.  I think I just remember me being scared that she was going to start something, so I tried my hardest to just try to resolve it.

Sometimes Carol, my roommate, got scared.  Sometimes she would look scared as she would enter our room.  I would see her, and anyone else, enter the room, because my bed was right by the door.  I wonder what was behind her, possibly in the dayroom, that scared Carol.  Maybe there was someone there that wasn’t supposed to be there.

My favorites were Saturday nights, Saturday night socials.  Sometimes I would get outside of myself, of my usual demeanor, and get kind of nuts.  I would dance, and play cards and board games.  I was kind of a leader, in a way, of the people that lived there (among other people), because I would give (almost, sometimes, because I had the fear that I would live there forever in the back of my mind, so I may have been kind rude) my all to be friends with them and to have a good time.  Who knows if I belonged there, who knows who belonged there, but I got out, possibly because of the divine intervention that may have occurred- whether that be my being sick of bed bugs, or that way of life, or something that I wasn’t aware of at the time.  But it happened, and I am still evolving and adapting to my new independence.