Painless (6 page)

“I’m losing my mind,” she says. “If something happens to me…don’t let the paramedics…doctors do anything,” she says, out of breath. “Understand?”

I look away. “I know.” I can’t take this. I email Joe.

Need a new sitter immediately. Maybe a nurse.

Joe calls and I tell him what happened with the sitter. Then I tell him we went to the DMV and cemetery.

“You’ve been sending me the same email every evening,” he says.

“It has the important parts,” I say. “Me flunking a driver’s test isn’t important to anybody but me.”

“You’re wrong, David,” he says.

Chapter 12

It’s Sunday afternoon, and I didn’t go swimming because it’s raining. I’m in the kitchen with Luna. She’s wearing casual pants and a shirt because she went to church.

Nana and I don’t go to church. You never know what Nana might say or do.

Last time we went, Nana said loudly that the sermon was making her sleepy, and her butt was numb. The people in front of us turned, looked at her, and shushed her. Some kids laughed. I felt sad and remembered how I was laughed at when I was a little boy dressed in goggles and a helmet.

I hear a crash. Luna and I jump up from the table and rush upstairs to Nana’s room. She’s pulling out a dresser drawer. It hits the floor with a bang. Three other dresser drawers are turned upside down, and the contents are piled up like garbage. The sitter’s in the chair by the bed. A family album is lying open on the floor to the pictures of my dad’s high-school graduation. He gave a speech that night, and Nana probably cried with happiness.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

“I’m cleaning out the drawers.”

“You don’t have to do that,” I say.

“She wants to do it by herself,” the sitter says. “She doesn’t want help.”

I wouldn’t want anybody going through my stuff either.

Now Nana’s crawling around on the floor. This could get embarrassing.

“What are you doing?” I ask Nana.

“I lost my glasses.”

I look around, see them on the floor, and give them to her. Luna and I help her up and back to her bed.

She puts on the glasses. “These are not my glasses.”

I take the glasses, walk around the room, and then give them back to her. Nana’s having one of her bad days. She has a lot of them. They’re going to get worse.

Nana blinks. “I told you these are not my glasses,” she says in a mean voice.

I want to scream. I say, “Yes, they are,” and she says, “No, they aren’t,” and then I say, “I’ll look for them.” Things have been getting lost after being put somewhere and then forgotten. Car keys, house keys, a car title, a sticker for a new car tag, Nana’s wallet, her mind.

Nana points at Luna. “That woman is a thief and a whore. All she wants is your money.”

Luna heads out of the room.

There’s no point in arguing with Nana. She’ll only get sweaty and short of breath, and she doesn’t know what she’s saying. I pick up a garbage bag of stuff and get out of there. I’m pretty sure her glasses are in the bag.

In the kitchen, I open the bag of garbage and dump everything onto the floor. Luna and I sort through it. It’s weird. It’s like Luna knew exactly what I intended to do with the bag.

“Nana didn’t mean what she said,” I say.

“I know. I was agitating her. That’s why I left.”

The bag contains mostly underwear and pajamas.

Then I pull out a graduation cap and a gown. Both are dark blue. “Look,” I say to Luna. “I think this was my dad’s.” I’m not throwing away his cap and gown. It’s bad luck.

“Uh-huh,” she says and holds up the glasses.

I take the rest of the throwaway clothes to the garage. I’m thinking that when people start getting rid of stuff, they’re getting ready to die.

I walk back into the kitchen. “You need to get out of here for a while,” Luna says. “You’re losing it. Want to go for ice cream?”

I know I’m losing my mind.

“It gets to me too,” Luna says.

“She’s better when her medicine kicks in,” I say. “But it doesn’t last.”

Luna’s driving her old Toyota, even though the Lexis has been repaired. The rain’s stopped, and I’m keeping time to a song on the radio.

She drives around the square in Waterly.

“Know a good place?”

“No,” I say.

“Look,” Luna says. “The rainbow ends at Burger Barn. We have to go there. It’s spectacular, right?”

“Yes.” If I’m looking for rainbows, I could find one in my yard after it rains.

She gets a banana split, so I do the same. I’ve only had regular ice cream in flavors and not with bananas or chocolate or nuts.

While we’re eating, I’m thinking this would be a good time for a conversation, but I don’t know what to say.

I love your eyes and your hair and the way you smell?
I know this from some TV movies I’ve seen.

Luna takes a bite of her banana split and then wipes her chin. “I understand why Joe wants you somewhere else,” she says. “It’s not about you being helpless. It’s about you getting a break from your grandmother.”

“It’s about him getting me out of the way,” I say.

“I have another job,” Luna says.

“You’re quitting?”

She nods. “It’s full time.”

“Where?”

“The information desk at the Holly Building.”

That’s where Dr. Goodman has his office and the tallest structure in town. At night when I’ve gone there, the lights from the building shine over the entire town.

“It’s a great job with benefits.” Luna takes a bite of ice cream. “You’ll be fine, and I’m still going to come over. It’s just that I need more money, and I don’t like it when people assume I’m using you.”

“I know you’re not,” I say, mixing up the chocolate with the ice cream. “You’re not happy being my personal assistant?”

“Not anymore, but I’m going to miss you.”

A while later we get back into the car, and she looks around, maybe for the rainbow. I’m not seeing one.

Chapter 13

The housekeeper cooks and cleans, the sitter sits, and I bring Nana’s meals and snacks to her. I don’t tell anybody that Luna’s quit, and nobody notices. Nana’s been dwindling. She’s lost weight. She barely eats. Sometimes in the middle of the night, I’ll go to her room to watch and make sure she’s breathing.

I’ve been working on proving I can be independent, not getting into trouble and staying alive, which is pretty easy when you don’t do anything.

Saturday morning I’m awakened by the sitter. She’s sorry to bother me, but my grandmother has been calling me for hours, and she’s worked herself into a sweat.

I step into the dark room. It smells like medicine. “I want you to get me a bottle of wine, a strawberry cheesecake, and cigarettes.”

“You don’t smoke,” I remind her. None of that stuff will help her.

“Please, James.” She grimaces.

I think she hurts. I think she feels all the pain I missed out on. I hate what’s coming. I ask the sitter to go get cigarettes and a strawberry cheesecake. We already have wine, left over from New Year’s Eve.

“I can’t do that,” the sitter says.

“She’s dying,” I say. I go to the study, find the checkbook, and write out a check. On the way back to Nana’s room I grab a bottle of wine and two Waterford crystal glasses.

I give the check to the aide. “It’s yours if you get the cigarettes and the strawberry cheesecake,” I say.

“I’m on my way,” the aide says.

Joe’s at the front door, and I’m feeling pretty good, but it’s probably from the wine I drank with Nana. The only time she’s ever let me have wine is New Year’s Eve when the ball drops.

He comes into the living room like a strong wind blowing through a forest of pine trees, bending and breaking limbs and trunks. I let out a heavy sigh and recover from the almost happy feeling right away. He’s carrying a legal-looking folder. He probably has papers for Nana to sign. Sometimes I wonder if she knows what she’s signing. I know she signed something to give him power of attorney for both of us. She said everyone needs somebody who can legally make decisions when they can’t.

“Have you been smoking?” he asks.

I shake my head and take two steps back.

Joe heads to Nana’s room, but I try to stop him before he smells all the smoke in her room. I tell him she’s sleeping, and he shouldn’t bother her. He looks at me and then talks on his cell phone. He cancels all his appointments for today.

I might be in trouble for giving Nana wine and cigarettes.

I play “The Entertainer” on the piano to get myself revved up before Joe kills me.

Then Joe returns and stands next to the piano, but I keep playing. I’m not ready to die. But when the song ends, I stop and stare at the keys.

“You gave Nana alcohol and cigarettes. Really, David, why can’t you use common sense?”

“I’m going to give her anything she wants.”

He sits on the sofa and starts reading the newspaper. “A nurse is coming to evaluate Nana for services. Why don’t you go to your room and think of ten reasons you should not have given Nana alcohol and cigarettes and email them to me?”

“If I knew ten reasons, I wouldn’t have done it,” I say. “I figure last wishes trump everything.”

Joe’s either grinning or smirking. It’s hard to tell.

“May I be excused?” I say, and he nods.

In my room, I reset the game I was playing and start from my last save point. This time I’m going to build up my characters and make them stronger before they go anywhere. For the next three hours, they fight monsters right outside of the town and gain awesome strength and mental abilities.

At seven p.m., I go to Nana’s room to watch TV with her. She likes game shows like
Wheel of Fortune
and
Jeopardy
. She says watching them keeps her mind sharp.

“James?”

“I’m David,” I say.

She twirls a ring on her finger. “Where’s James?”

“I don’t know.” Probably he’s somewhere having more fun than I am. In my head, I picture him at the front door with my mother. They come inside and tell me everything’s going to be okay. That’s as far as I can imagine. It sucks when you can’t imagine good stuff in your life because you know it won’t ever happen.

I see her wallet open and her credit cards by the phone on the bedside table.

“You haven’t been giving out your credit card numbers over the phone, have you?”

“I don’t think so,” she says, sounding like a kid.

I take her credit cards and stick them into my wallet. I won’t use them. I don’t want her giving out credit card numbers to strangers over the phone.

I think one of the saddest things in the world is losing your mind. I don’t want that to happen to me. I’d rather be dead. My memories suck, but they belong to me.

When we watch
Jeopardy
, I know most of the answers in the human body category. After it’s over, I ask if there’s anything she wants to do. It doesn’t matter what, and it can be now or tomorrow or the next day.

“Read?” she says.

So I read
Pride and Prejudice
to her. It’s her favorite book. It’s not my favorite book, but I’m almost at the end, and reading’s easy compared to the other stuff.

Chapter 14

I’m in the living room, looking online for apartments, and Nana’s upstairs screaming. The doorbell rings, and when I answer, I see Luna smiling. I’m so relieved I would cry if it were possible. She hugs me and asks if I mind if she hangs out and does homework.

“Sure,” I say. “You don’t know how happy I am to see you.”

She laughs. “Yes, I do.” She sits on the sofa, and I tell her what’s been going on. Then she glances at my laptop. “Are you moving?”

“One of these days, I’m going to live somewhere that has a mild temperature all year long. I want to be near theaters, restaurants, stores, and parks.”

Then I can go outside without always checking the thermostat.

“You should,” she says, and that makes my heart sink. I wouldn’t ever see Luna if I moved to another city.

“Whatever you do, don’t get a roommate,” she says. “You’ll end up hating them.”

“You don’t like your roommate?”

“She’s a slob, and she’s always late paying rent. Plus, she has a different guy over every few nights, and sometimes he doesn’t go home.”

“Do you think you’d end up hating me if we were together all the time?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. I like being with you, but it’s hard when your grandmother is so sick.”

“You should be the one to move,” I say.

“I am as soon as the lease is up.”

Luna pulls out paper and pen. “I have to get this done by tomorrow,” she says.

“Where do you go to college?”

“I’m taking online courses right now.”

I could do that. I imagine sipping coffee outside a café. My college textbooks are on the table, and there’s a dog at my feet. Luna’s across from me and asks, “Are you ready for the anatomy exam?” I’ll nod and smile. I’d do great in anatomy. I think I already know the bones in the body. I’ve broken some of them.

I shift in the chair. “How’s your new job?”

“What?” she says. “I’m sorry, but I have to concentrate.”

The phone rings. The nurse scheduled from seven p.m. to seven a.m. injured her back last night while helping Nana, and she would’ve called sooner, but she thought she’d feel better by now. I believe her because I’ve seen how Nana hangs on to a person and how she doesn’t cooperate. I tell the nurse not to worry and to rest. I go into Nana’s room and ask the day nurse how she’s doing. We walk into the hallway, and she tells me Nana’s blood pressure is lower, her heart rate is fast, and her breathing is shallow.

Then I think about how quiet it’s been in Nana’s room. She hasn’t screamed.

I ask the nurse if she can work all night. She shakes her head and says she’d call the agency for me, but the other nurse has probably let them know.

“I took the phone away from her,” the nurse says. “I stepped out for a moment earlier today, and when
I returned, she ordered me to find her credit card so
she could donate to some cause. I took the phone and
told them not to call here anymore.” She takes a deep breath. “Your grandmother got snippy with me. She’ll probably complain.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I say. “She never used to be this way.”

After the nurse leaves, I check on Nana. She’s sleeping soundly. I hope she doesn’t wake right away. At least she won’t need to get up to go to the bathroom. She has a tube in. I turn on the TV and sit in the recliner.

I’ve watched the sitters and nurses so I have an idea of what to do.

Watch TV. Talk on the phone. Eat. Sleep. I have all those categories covered.

I’m half asleep when I hear Nana mumbling “James.” Turning on my side, I ignore her. Nana keeps talking. I turn toward her. She’s lying on her side with her hands under her face. “I knew you would come,” she mumbles. Her eyes are watering.

I get up and stand next to the bedside. “I was asleep.”

“Like Rip Van Winkle.” Her speech is slurred.

I don’t know what she means. Rip Van Winkle is a make-believe character. He left his home, got drugged, and fell asleep under a tree. When he awoke, everything had changed because years had passed.

Trembling, she stretches out her arms. “Aren’t you going to hug your mother?”

I get it now. Nana thinks I’m my dad. It’s because she’s confused and the room’s dark. I hug her. She smells like baby powder.

This is my chance to make her happy. “I’m sorry it took me so long to get here. I’m sorry for what I missed all these years.” That’s what I’d want my dad to tell me.

She wrinkles her nose. “Where’s David?”

“He’s around.” I’ll keep pretending I’m her son and say what he should be saying. “Thank you for taking care of David, and thank you for always loving me even when you should have hated me. Thank you for giving up your life for David and me. I love you.”

“Love you too. Are you taking him with you?”

“Do you want me to?”

She moans. “If he wants to go. I need water. They don’t give me water here.”

I grab the plastic pitcher on the bedside table. “Nana, you have plenty of water.” I start to pour some.

“I need clean water. They’re trying to poison me.”

“I’ll be right back,” I say.

“Don’t forget the ice,” she says with a groan. “One cube of ice.”

In the kitchen, I fill the pitcher with water and add one cube of ice. I go back to her room and pour her some water. She’s clenching a bottle of pills in her hand. The top’s off. I open her hand and take the bottle. It’s empty. I read the label. It’s the Percocet she takes for her arthritis, leg pain, and headaches. I roll the bottle around in my hand. “How many pills did you take?”

“One,” she cries. “I’m hurting.”

I groan.
Please don’t be lying to me. Please.
Am I supposed to call somebody and ask? What would they do? Pump her stomach? That would make her suffer even more. She has an advance directive. Even if I called an ambulance and sent her to the hospital, nothing is supposed to be done to prolong her life. She made sure I knew what she wanted. I promised.

“I would like to sit in the recliner,” she says.

She must be all right. She wants to get up. I pull the recliner close to the bed and help her into it as she’s screaming. I cover her with a blanket and sit on the foot of her bed. I watch tears roll out of her eyes as she groans and grimaces.

“What hurts?” I ask.

“Everything. I have to go to bed,” she says.

So I help her back into bed, but she only moans this time.

The ceramic clock on the shelf ticks away the time. I made it and gave it to her one Christmas. I think about a message I’d written on the back.
To Nana. Love, David
.

I sing “Kumbaya.”

Finally, I see Nana’s eyes close, and she’s breathing slow and easy. After a few minutes I think she’s asleep. There are eleven hours until the sun comes up. Things will look better then.

“David?” she says.

“I’m here.” I swallow. It was easy for me to speak for my dad. It’s hard for me to speak for myself. “I don’t want you to worry about what’s going to happen to me. You taught me well.” I’m flunking breathing. It’s too hard. I take in a ragged breath and let it out. “I’ve made mistakes, and I’ve learned from them, but you always loved me anyway. I’m going to be fine. I love you, and I always will.”

Nana touches my face. “You have tears.”

I’ve never been able to make tears before, and it’s a miracle. I lick the side of my face, and for the first time ever, I taste tears. They’re salt water like the ocean. I picture the time Nana, Grandpa, and I went to the beach. Early one morning before the sun was up, we walked in the sand, and I felt it between my toes. I tasted seawater and watched waves tumbling to shore. We sat on the beach and watched the sun rise. The sky was red and gold. Grandpa and Nana took me out into the water. We jumped waves, and then they pulled me out farther and let go of me.

Grandpa said, “Swim, David. Swim as hard as you can.” And I did. I made it to where I could stand, and the waves pushed me forward, and then the undercurrent pulled me back, but not too much. I made it to shore.

Now I pull up my shirt and wipe my face. Nana looks comfortable and content. She’s smiling at me, and the sparkle from the bedside light shines in her eyes. I don’t remember ever seeing her eyes this clear. It’s like she’s telling me something without words. It’s like another way of saying, “I love you.”

I fall asleep with her holding my hand tightly. When I awaken, she’s let go of me, her hand curled next to mine. I nudge her shoulder. “Nana? Nana?” She isn’t breathing. For a couple of minutes, I rest my head on her chest. I say good-bye.

I call Joe. Trembling, I finally get the words out. “Nana’s bought the farm.”

He says he will take care of everything.

Then I go outside, wait under a dogwood tree at the side of the house, and let the wind dry my tears. The flowers are blooming, and lilies are poking through the ground.

Luna’s calling my name. I look up and she’s hurrying toward me. For a second I think I’m dreaming, but then she’s next to me, hugging me, saying Joe called. “I came as fast as I could. I’m sorry.”

I feel her wet face against mine, and I touch her hair. It’s wet too.

I move a strand out of her face. “You should have waited until your hair was dry.”

“No, I couldn’t. She would have wanted someone with you.”

“I was with her when she died,” I say. “I let her take pain medicine. I let her die.”

“You did the right thing. You didn’t want her to be in pain.”

“I don’t know anything about pain,” I say.

Luna strokes my face. “You know more than you think you do. Pain is when somebody you love dies.”