Seeing Things (13 page)
Authors: Patti Hill
“You're right, Betty. It was me,” Ruby admitted unconvincingly. “Do you travel, Birdie?”
Finally, a topic I loved. “I take a couple trips a year, although I have to live like a pauper to do so, but there's nothing better than traveling with friends. Unless, of course, it's eating with friends.”
Ruby patted my shoulder before she sat down across from me. “You're going to fit in with this group just fine.”
Betty's voice trembled with irritation. “Don't tell us another word until Margie gets here. Otherwise, she'll needle us for every last detail.”
“Pie in front of you, Birdie. Fork on the right.” Ruth served generous wedges of pie, not the half slivers we'd agreed upon before the Bats showed up. Ruth's place remained empty of pie. I'd often seen my mother make the same sacrifice for a guest, saying she was too full to indulge. My admiration for Ruth grew. As for the other Bats, they were hard of hearing, generous, and a touch crotchety. And they tussled like sisters. The Bats suited me fine.
“Did Margie call anyone? She's not usually this late.” Ruby lowered her voice. “Let's pray before she gets here. I'm terribly concerned about her.”
Ruth sat beside me. “We also need to bless this beautiful pie Birdie baked for us, so why don't you do that, Ruby. I'll keep my good eye on the door.”
Ruby's prayer ushered us into a holy place. The prayer could have been for me, as it was all about restoring Margie's joy and unifying her family. Finally she thanked the Lord for my skillful fingers and generous heart. I squirmed in my chair, knowing I'd brought leftovers.
Ruth clanked her coffee cup with her spoon. “Okay, girls, I'm setting the timer. You have ten minutes to talk about your vision issues and not a minute more, but visitors first. Birdie, we're just dying to know. What kind of degenerate are you?”
The timer ticked insistently. I explained about the fog and the gift of sharp peripheral vision. “At least, for now, that is. I'm end-stage.”
“My life's a blur,” said Betty. “When I look at you, all I see is white fuzz on top of a featureless face.” She moved close enough that I felt her breath on my face. I wished she'd done a better job brushing her teeth that morning. “There, now you have eyes.”
Ruby said, “I had a Lucentis treatment Monday. It felt like the doctor emptied his sand pail into my eye, and it felt that way until yesterday afternoon. My eye leaked like a spigot, and I'm not exaggerating. I slept with a towel over my pillow. The doctor warned me, but I always think they're covering their hineys with their doom-and-gloom warnings. All in all, I'm praising God that my eyesight is remaining stable.”
“When's your next treatment?”
“In four weeksâthe usualâunless I notice a change. But you have to hear this: I walked around the hospital yesterday with a coffee stain that practically covered my bosom. I didn't have a clue until my husband pointed it out to me at dinner. I like to think my stained blouse provided a little levity for a patient or two.”
Betty leaned into me to whisper loudly enough for everyone to hear. “Ruby's our Holy Roller. She goes to the Pentecostal church downtown.”
Ruby added. “And I've stopped driving.”
When I'd parked the Volkswagen in the garage for what I knew was the last time, I'd mourned the loss of my freedom as if both my feet had been amputated. Ouray was too small for public transportation, but then everything was within walking distance, albeit with steep hills to descend and climb back up again. Without the car, flights of fancyâlike lunch in Ridgway for a buffalo burgerâbecame organized field trips with my sighted friends. I traveled around the world and to Wal-Mart every other week with the Round Robins. Without them, I'd be forced to move to a bigger town, maybe even Denver. I took a breath to offer my condolences to Ruby, but an unknown voice announced her arrival.
“Hey, everyone, is there any coffee left?”
“Margie, you're just in time,” Ruth said. “The timer's about to go off.”
Margie's voice sagged. “I'm done with treatments. And I'm done with pushing myself to go places, excepting here, of course. I'm tired of embarrassing myself.”
“Done with treatments?” Ruby asked.
“I can't put myself through those shots one more time. The results aren't that great, and I get so worked up the week before the appointment. It's not worthâ”
Ding!
“Ignore the timer, Margie. Tell us what's really going on,” Ruth urged.
“There's nothing to tell. I'm tired. I don't want to live recuperating from one shot, just to anticipate the next.”
Ruth moved around the table to embrace Margie. The other gals reached out to touch her. Like hens cooing over a returned chick, the Bats offered their encouragement.
“You've been very brave.”
“You've shouldered plenty of disappointment.”
“I'm awfully glad you told us.”
“I'm relieved, really,” Margie said. “Bart and I want to focus on the grandchildren. As for my vision, it's one day at a time, just as it is for Bart's diabetes and my blood pressure. God will see us through. He always has. I'd rather live day to day than live under the tyranny of the treatment schedule. I must seem like a weakling toâ”
“You're a gladiator in my book.”
“I've always admired your strength.”
“Your faith encourages me.”
The room went silent. An expectation to add an exhortation nudged me. Before I could think of anything to say, Margie asked, “Now, is that Myrtle back from the dead, or do we have a new member?”
The group enjoyed a good laugh over my mistaken identity. I jumped in with the universal topic of delight. “How many grandchildren do you have, Margie?”
“Three, but if I don't play by the rules, my daughter-in-law stops taking my calls. Don't ask me why. I can offend her by stepping into the room. I don't dare complain. The last time I did, I didn't see the grandkids for six months. Sophie, the youngest one, didn't know me. She screamed and clutched her mother's legs when I reached for her. I tell you, seeing how I'd frightened that dear one was like dying from the inside out.”
Betty chimed in. “My kids live so far away, and the grandkids are in college. I never hear a word from any of them. And âthank you' notes? I'm lucky if anyone makes it home for Christmas.”
“Birdie, you're in a tough situation, aren't you?” Ruth said.
“I think things are getting better, as long as I keep Beeâthat's my dogâin the bedroom with me.”
Ruby jumped in. “Listen, honey, this is a support group, and as such, we're your personal counselors and prayer warriors. We're here to help you live as a degenerate in a seeing world. Our lips are sealed.”
I never meant to tell the story all the way back to Andy and Suzanne's engagement. I blame my verbosity on the fog. The ladies around the table could have been comatose with boredom, and yet I prattled on.
“That Suzanne is a controlling little thing, isn't she?” Betty asked.
“She sounds just like my daughter-in-law,” Ruby added. “Are they churning these crazy women out at a factory somewhere?”
“Suzanne's a cosmetic surgeon, but all she really wants is to be a mother,” I offered, surprised by my desire to defend her.
“I don't care if she's president of the United States of America.” Betty pounded the table hard enough to clank the silverware. “Who does she think she is? Can you imagine warning your mother-in-law to keep her dog off your floors?”
I'd only seen my mother-in-law when we traveled to North Dakota. Frankly, Mother Wainwright had spent too many winters listening to the mice in her pantry, but I loved her dearly and the kids adored her, even the mismatched socks she knitted every Christmas. She tipped the sherry bottle after dinner, told sentimental stories of growing up with her grandparents, and cuddled the closest child to her chest. I never thought to forbid her contact with the children. Even with all of her eccentricities, she'd generously displayed her approval, for the children and for me. For that, I remembered her fondly.
This conversation never should have happened. I tried to backpedal. “My son and his wife are trying very hard to balance their sense of duty with the demands of their daily lives. I'm so grateful. We all have our foibles. I know that better than anyone.” After all, I visited with an imaginary boy. What would the Bats think about that?
Ruth laid her hand over mine. “You're right, Birdie. We should be talking to the One who can actually see into the hearts of our children. I have a daughter who's old enough to retire next year. Her name is Jane. From the day she was born she owned my heart, even though I went on to have three more children. I guess I'm a terrible mother, but Jane was such a sweet, tender child.”
“She was all that and more,” Margie added.
“Speak up, Ruth. I can barely hear you!” Betty said.
“I remember Jane climbing into my lap and begging me to tell her another story about Jesus. She especially enjoyed the story about his healing the paralytic lowered through the roof by his friends.”
“I always wondered who got to clean up the mess from them digging through the roof tiles. You know it was a woman. It's always a woman!”
Ruby said, “Healing the man was a small thing compared to forgiving his sins. At least, that's what I always thought about the story, and Jesus did so because of his friends' faith, not the paralytic's.”
Ruth squeezed my hand. “I think you're right, Ruby. That's why it's so ironic that Jane loved this story. The Bats know Jane's story well enough, Birdie. I'll just give you the highlights: Jane just married for the fifth time. She's an alcoholic and a con artist. Every few years, once she's depleted a husband's bank account, Jane will divorce him and take him for whatever he has left. In between rich husbands, she scams senior citizens of their life savings. She's been in prison twice.
“I can't pull Jane onto my lap anymore to tell her stories about Jesus or sing her songs of his love and mercy. I barely hear from her at all, so I pray. I lower her into his presence on a mat, just like the friends of the paralytic. There's no better place for her. In his presence is grace and forgiveness, healing and hope, rest for the weary.”
“That's a beautiful picture of prayer.”
“But Jane isn't a paralytic, and she isn't a child at rest in my lap. I may lower her through the roof to Jesus' presence, but chances are she hops off the mat and elbows through the crowd toward the door.”
Ruby raised her arms. “And sisters, that's where the Holy Ghost comes in.”
“Yes, the Holy Ghost. I believe there will be a time when Jane stays on the mat long enough to look into the eyes of Jesus. Finally, she'll behold his love. Knowing her, she'll challenge him to offer her more than what a bottle of gin can offer, and he will. Until then, I'll keep praying.”
Chapter 13
“Don't come in!” Lupe rushed me at the door. “The floor, it's not so dry yet.”
I slumped down to sit on the top step that led from the garage to the kitchen.
“No, don't go sitting in the garage like a bad dog. Go around. The patio door, it's not locked.”
I should have elevated my foot while at Ruth's. Now my ankle burned. I pumped the boot tighter. The pressure smoldered the heat, if only moderately. “You're usually done with the floors by now.” I regretted my whiny tone immediately.
“Your room is ready. I did it first, before I watched
The People's Court.
”
The People's Court.
”
“I thought you'd sworn off that show.”
Lupe held the mop across her chest. “You think I'll feel guilty and let you in? You can forget about it.”
“I'm tired. I don't have anywhere to go. I'm happy sitting here.” Ruth had percolated the coffee, a rarity to be savored. I'd had three cups, and yet lead ran through my veins.
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