Almost Heaven (15 page)

“I can't say I do, Mama.”

“You took me to that big hotel, the one with the suites, and there were two big rooms and two big beds.” She threw back her head and laughed. “Oh, we had a time. At least you did.”

I unwrapped a third hot dog while she told me more about that weekend. Though I tried to silence her, she gave intimate details I didn't want to hear. I sat there, blushing and ashamed for her, but also knowing there was nothing she could do to control these detours of the mind.

She finished her story and the hot dog at the same time and mashed the napkin into a ball.

“Do you want another one?” I said. “We still have one left.”

She shook her head vigorously and looked away, her muscles tensing. A tear escaped one eye and traveled a long, wrinkled path down her cheek.

“What are you thinking, Mama?”

She shook her head some more like she was trying to get something unstuck from the drain of memory. Suddenly she got up and walked toward the trash can to throw away the postage stamp–size napkin and then moved toward three children who had a box and a sign:
Puppies for sale
.

“Want to buy a puppy?” a girl said to her. She couldn't have been more than ten. She wore a torn, ratty jacket and shoes that should have been tossed long ago. “They've all had their shots.”

My mother looked inside the box and oohed and aahed at the mangiest-looking dogs I had ever seen. To say they were mutts would have been too kind to them and their mother. They were scrawny and wormy-looking things that could hardly stand on their own.

“They're only fifty dollars each,” a boy said. He was a little younger than his sister and appeared as mangy as the pups. “We have to get rid of them today or they're going to the pound.”

“That's a real shame, but I don't think we're in the market for any puppies,” I said kindly but firmly. “Come on, Mama.”

Mama was transfixed. She kept looking down and bending a little further, reaching out a hand to one brown and white pup whose fur seemed to curl at the end. The runt of the litter and surely the first to expire when he hit the doors of the pound.

“Can I hold him?” she said to the boy.

More quickly than a bass will strike a june bug, that boy had the dog out of the box and in my mother's arms. I whispered a prayer under my breath because the child surely did not know what he had done.

The dog licked my mother's fingers, probably driven wild by the hot dog sauce. She giggled and held him to her chest. “Such a nice puppy. Looks just like Thunder, doesn't he?”

He didn't look a thing like Thunder, but I wasn't about to say that. “Let's put him back now, Mama.”

She turned away and carried the pup toward the picnic table.

“You gonna buy it?” the third child said. It was hard to tell whether it was a boy or a girl, but the voice gave him away. His nose ran like a flooded river.

“No, I'm not going to buy it, son,” I said.

“Eeewww,” the girl said, and she pointed and the three of them laughed. “She's going pee!”

I turned to see my mother with her legs apart. I ran to her and tried to get the puppy away.

“Mama, we can't take that dog home.”

Like a child who has just found a toy she will not part with, she clutched the thing tightly. The dog's eyes bulged.

“Mama, let go. You're going to hurt him.”

The three children gathered around us, getting upset. “Give him back if you're not going to buy him.”

Mama stared daggers at me and spoke through clenched teeth. “I'm not letting go.”

A few parents at the playground looked on as we moved like a flock of geese across the manicured lawn. My mother's socks were drenched with urine and the smell was overpowering.

“Just let him down to run,” I said. “Let's see how fast he can run.”

The pup yelped in pain as her grip grew tighter.

“She's going to kill it!” the girl shouted. “She's crushing him!”

I took out my wallet. I only had two twenties left from our trip to Stewarts. I handed them over.

“You're ten short,” she said.

“I owe you,” I said.

Mama walked toward the car across the wide-open field, the dog yipping and yelping.

I hurried to the picnic area and grabbed the last hot dog and handed the nearly full gallon jug of root beer to the kids. “Take this home with you. And come back next weekend. I'll bring the rest of your money.”

The kids ran back to their laundry basket, and I caught up with my mother. She had calmed a little and the frightened pup could breathe again. Inside, I buckled her, but she wouldn't let go of the dog. I unwrapped the last hot dog and tore off a bit and fed it to him. The pup ate it ravenously. Mama took the hot dog and started feeding the mongrel herself, tearing off just enough so the hungry thing wouldn't choke to death. She was getting chili all over her dress, but she smiled and cooed and it seemed to pacify her.

As we neared the house, the dog got sick and all of that hot dog came back up again all over Mama's dress. The perfect end to the perfect day.

* * *

That night I tucked Mama into bed and sat down next to her. She'd kept the dog with her the whole evening. I managed to get it away long enough to let it do its business outside, but Mama followed me to the back steps and watched. I didn't want it sleeping in bed with her, but the little thing seemed to calm her.

“We have a big day tomorrow, Mama,” I said, brushing her hair.

She smiled and patted the pup's head. “Every day is a big day, Other.”

“Did you like the hot dogs?”

“I love Stewarts,” she said. “Will you play for me again?”

I brought the mandolin to her room and played her favorite in the darkness. After she fell asleep, I tried to get the pup, but it was fast asleep, content and snuggled warm against her bony body. I stood and listened to them sleep, dreading the morning.

* * *

I awakened to a knock at the front door. I can always tell when new company comes. They go to the front door when everyone knows we don't use it. A car was parked in the driveway and a white van sat next to the road with the name of the nursing home on the side. Two men in white jumpsuits were behind the woman at the door.

I took a deep breath and invited them in. The county worker had paperwork to sign. It was all businesslike and matter-of-fact, like buying a used car. Sign here and here, initial there, and you were on your way.

“I need to get her ready,” I said. “We had a rough day yesterday.”

“We'll wait,” the woman said. As I stood, she stopped me. “You need to know you're doing the right thing. This is what a loving son would do.” She said it by rote, like a flight attendant will tell you how to buckle your seat belt and look for the exits around you. I've never been on a plane but I've seen that stuff in movies. I nodded and left the room, thinking it was not the right thing to do.

Mama was at the window holding the pup. It had peed on her nightgown.

“Mama?” I said softly.

“They've come for me, haven't they?” There was something dead in her voice. Resignation.

“We just need to get you to a place where we can take care of you. Everything's going to be okay. Let me help you get dressed.”

She turned and looked at me. “If you've decided to take every bit of dignity from me and put me away, the least you can do is let me get dressed by myself.” She said it with all the clarity of a Supreme Court justice. It was as if, for that brief moment, she had stepped back into herself and was fully there.

“The last thing I want to do is take your dignity,” I said. “I just want to take care of you and I can't do that anymore. I'm sorry. This is the only thing I can think to do.”

Something like love shone in her eyes. And hurt. She searched for more words but they wouldn't come.

“All right,” I said, putting a hand on her feeble arm. “Let me take the pup while you get your things on.”

“No, let him stay. He'll be fine.”

I left the door ajar and went back to the front room. Sheriff Preston had arrived and was talking with the men in the driveway. I told the county health worker that Mama would be ready in a minute, and she looked at her watch. “All right. But we need to move this along. It's not good for her to prolong the process.”

“I understand,” I said.

I joined Sheriff Preston outside. Callie Reynolds brought corn bread and chili. People in West Virginia who care usually show it with food. She said she was going to leave it on the kitchen table and asked if she could help.

“Mama's insisted on getting dressed by herself,” I said. “Maybe if you were there when she came out, it would help. A familiar face.”

Wiping away tears, Callie nodded. “I'll be there. I'm so sorry you have to go through this, Billy.”

Callie went in the back door. Instead of shaking my hand, Sheriff Preston put an arm around me and led me to the street. “It doesn't get much tougher than this, Billy. I don't know if that brings any comfort.”

I told him about the trip to the park and the pup we brought home. He listened and smiled when I said she wouldn't let go of it.

“Animals have a way of getting to your heart when nothing else can,” he said. “I'm not surprised she latched on to something like that.”

“I think she knows, Sheriff. I think she knows it's time and this is the right thing to do. But that doesn't make it any easier.”

He crossed his arms in front of him. “Knowing and doing are two different things.” He said it like he was talking about himself. “Sometimes, when you know the right thing to do, you simply have to do it, even though it breaks your heart.”

The wind picked up and a semi passed on the interstate behind us.

“The older we get, the more like children we become,” he said. “Maybe you can keep that dog and take it to her at the home to brighten her day. I'll bet she'll look forward to it. Little dog like that can give so much more than it ever receives.”

We stood there not talking until the county health lady came to the door and looked out. Callie pushed past her holding the puppy we had yet to name.

“Is this your dog?” she said.

“Mama and I got it yesterday. It's a long story. She wouldn't take no for an answer. Did she give him to you?”

“No, I found him in the bathroom.”

“Mr. Allman, I think we ought to move ahead,” the county health worker said.

It was like those last few moments before they close the casket on the dearest person in your life. You just want one last good-bye, one last vision of how the person used to be. Something to hold on to for the lonely years ahead. I could hear in my head the ugly words she was about to say to the men as they helped her to the van.

“Yes, ma'am,” I said, taking the pup from Callie. He trembled in my hands.

“You need to sign these final release forms,” the health lady said. “I'll make sure she's ready.”

I cradled the dog in one arm and signed the blurry pages. I never knew a signature could be so hard.

The sheriff put his hand on the page to steady it. “I know it's hard to believe right now, but this is for the best. You know that in your heart. It's just going to take some time for the truth to sink in. Believe me. It will.”

I nodded quickly and handed the paperwork to the older man in white. He smelled like Pall Malls.

“We'll take good care of her,” he said with an emphysemic cough.

“I know you will.”

We must have looked like quite a conglomeration of humanity right about then. All these disparate people, mostly strangers, shoulder to shoulder to help bear out an old woman who couldn't take care of herself. You could hear the floor creak with every footstep and the second hand on the old clock Mama had bought when we first moved. The sun had faded the face of it to a burnt orange.

The health worker came out of the bedroom with an awkward gait, like she didn't know whether to come outside the room or stay in. She came to me, and things seemed to move in slow motion.

“Mr. Allman . . . how long has your mother been dead?”

“Dead?” I rushed to the room and Callie followed. “She's not dead. She's just getting ready.”

I pushed through the bedroom door and saw my mother on the hard floor with an arm cradled under her. There was no blood; she hadn't fallen and hit her head. She hadn't squirreled pills away or found shells to another gun. It was as if she had just decided that nobody was going to take her and given up the ghost right then and there. I handed the pup to Callie and felt my mother's neck and arm for a pulse. Nothing.

“She just spoke to me,” I said, choking back the tears. “She wanted to get dressed herself. And yesterday we went out together . . .”

“I've seen this before,” the health worker said. “Probably happened when she heard us in the front room. When the truth finally hits, they just know it's time. There are statistics . . .”

The woman continued but I couldn't hear. I felt a hand on my shoulder.

“I'm so sorry, Billy,” Callie whispered through her tears.

I picked up my mother's limp body and placed her on the bed, her head perfectly positioned on the white pillow. Air escaped her lungs in a final breath and I stared. There was nothing else to do. No place to go. The world felt empty and sullen. A planet that had stopped spinning. How do you live in an empty hole in space? Where do you go from nothing? What do you do when the floorboards of life open up and swallow you?

Sheriff Preston came in. “I'm sorry for your loss. Would you like me to call the funeral home, Billy?”

I nodded. “I guess that's what we ought to do now, isn't it?”

“I'll get them on the phone.”

The county health people left and were replaced by funeral home people. More things to sign. More questions to answer. More strangers taking care of the mother I didn't have anymore.