Remember Who You Are

Chapters 18-19

Chapter Eighteen





“What did Simon decide to do about home health care?” Wesley and Doc had left lunch with the biddies and were riding together to see Simon. After that, they would see Mamie. Today was the first time Simon had been home since his heart attack. His children had descended in force over the weekend; cleaning, stocking up on food and getting Simon’s house ready for his return. They had all left on Monday. Simon had resisted hiring a nurse and Wesley was afraid he would try to live alone. His recovery was going well; Simon was mobile with a walker – although he tired easily – and his speech was returning. Still, thought Wesley, he did not think Simon could manage without help. A lot of help. A lot of very patient help.





Doc responded, “He still refuses a nurse. Swears up and down he can manage. But I had an idea. And, uh, I wanted to get your opinion on it.” Doc slowly turned his truck into Simon’s driveway. As the two men exited the truck, a familiar face appeared on the porch.





“Don’t just stand out there like a bunch of apes. Come on in and set a spell.”


Mamie? Thought Wesley. Mamie Black?





Doc looked at Wesley wearing a sly grin on his face and tapped his temple.





Brilliant, thought Wesley. He remembered Doc telling him that the only thing wrong with Mamie was loneliness. This arrangement, then, would pair Mamie with Simon – the only person Wesley knew that was more stubborn than Simon - and it would help Mamie by providing her company and a sense of purpose.





Brilliant.


*****


Simon’s house was exactly as Wesley remembered. Spotlessly clean, homey and comfortable. The changes, however, were monumental. Thelma was gone. Her sweetness, grace, and love for Simon would forever be missed. Simon was changed. The stroke was obvious. The right side of his body sagged like melted chocolate while the rest of his body seemed deflated. Like air escaping from a balloon, Simon’s body seemed to be collapsing in on itself. Wesley knew the next couple of weeks and months would decide Simon’s long-term future. In his eighties, Simon had lived a full life and, with Thelma gone, he was ready for the end. Wesley hoped that Simon’s indomitable spirit; the spirit that helped see him through the Korean War and the Vietnam War, create his own company, revel in a sixty year long marriage, would help see him through this personal crisis.





Simon sat in his recliner. Wesley remembered the teasing Simon received from Thelma about that “old stinkin’ chair.” He did not look happy. But with his face sagging like it did, Wesley was not sure that Simon would ever look happy. Simon looked tired, defeated. Wesley’s heart broke at the sight of his friend. Maybe, I was wrong, thought Wesley. Maybe allowing Simon to die, preserving his dignity, not challenging him, maybe that would have been the nobler path. Wesley’s hatred and fear of death refused to allow for any choice but life. Maybe I was wrong, thought Wesley again.


Mamie was her usual bossy, wonderful self. She normally used a walker at her own home, but here, Wesley noticed the walker in the corner. She was moving slowly, but she was moving unassisted. Doc Kirby wore a huge grin. Sly devil, thought Wesley.





“Sit down, you two. You might be guests but you ain’t gonna get waited on here. He’s,” Mamie pointed at Simon, “the only one who gets waited on here. But,” she put her hands on her hips as Wesley and Doc sat on the sofa, “I do have some peach cobbler and coffee. If’n you two youngn’s would like some.”





Doc could hardly speak because of the huge self-satisfied grin on his face. Both men thanked Mamie for the offer and she hustled to the kitchen.





“Looks like she has made herself at home here,” said Doc, addressing Simon.





“Hmpf,” Simon grunted.





“You are looking good,” Wesley lied.





Simon just looked at Wesley without blinking.





Undeterred, and unintimidated, Wesley continued, “I mean, you’re still as ugly as an old bulldog, and about as friendly as a pregnant spider, but all things considered, coming home will be good for you. And so will Mamie.”





“B-on’t b-eed b-elp. B-ine b-lone.”





“Bullshit,” said Doc.





“I’m telling,” said Wesley with a laugh.





“By yourself, you couldn’t make it. A nurse would be the normal choice for patients that were not stubborn as Hell like you and our preacher,” said Doc.





“Hey!”





Doc continued without missing a beat, “but Mamie is almost as stubborn as you and she is a better cook than any nurse that you could hire.”





“You ‘ol quack. You saved youself with that comment about me being a good cook. Now, eat your cobbler so you can check me out and leave this man in peace.”





In a sing-song voice Wesley said, “Doc’s in trouble.”


*****


Wesley was alone with Simon. “You glad to be home?” Wesley knew it was a lame opening, but it was all he could think of. He missed the old Simon. The garrulous nature, the booming God-like laugh, the solid strength of the man. Wesley knew that the stroke did not rob Simon of these things. The stroke had only caused Simon to forget himself. Lost in his own misery and grief, Simon had lost the will to live; his sense of humor had been drowned by his grief and he buried his strength when he buried Thelma.





Simon refused to answer.





“Mamie will be a big help here. She is used to being alone, so she is not the kind to fill up space with idle talk.”


Simon looked at Wesley and raised the one eyebrow that would move.





“Oh, like I am doing?” Wesley laughed. “I guess.” Wesley laughed again. “I’ve missed you buddy. The fishing. Not the kissing.”





“B-oo bad b-isser.”





Wesley laughed again. “I bet you will never find another guy that kisses better than me. No matter how hard you look.”


Simon laughed. Not God-like, more of a barking; the barking from an old weak dog. But it was laughter. And it was glorious.


 


Chapter Nineteen





The first day of school evokes different feelings from people. Some are excited to see old friends and meet new challenges. Others struggle with the structure, the discipline, or the subject matter. Wesley remembered his various first days of school and how, as he became older, the meaning and his reaction to it changed.





Living with his grandparents, during his elementary school years was wonderful. Wesley enjoyed the summer, shadowing first his grandmother then, later, his grandfather as they went about the business of managing the farm. He and his grandfather hunted and fished; chickens chased him when he stole their egg for his grandmother, and there was plenty of time with friends at the lake.





But, Wesley loved the first day of school. Always inquisitive, Wesley loved learning. School had new friends and books, organized sports and books, and a structure that Wesley did not know he appreciated until later in life. And books. By the time Wesley’s grandparents had passed, Wesley had read every Newberry Award-winning book in the school library and had started on the classics. The school librarian, Mrs. Tuttle, a bespectacled angel holding a special place in Wesley’s memory, insisted that good readers read good books.





The death of Wesley’s grandparents destroyed the structure in which Wesley thrived. From the sixth grade through the ninth, those formative puberty years when even the most stable kids go a little hormonally crazy, there were a series of five different foster homes and four different schools. Wesley learned to hate the first day of school – especially when it occurred in the middle of the school year. There were no friends awaiting his return and no Mrs. Tuttle. But there were still books. And basketball. Wesley discovered that as long as he could play basketball he would always have a place. He was never in one school long enough to make friends but on the basketball court he could forget that he was friendless and pretend his teammates were friends. This pretense kept this teenager from hurting too much. For a while.


If Wesley hated the first days of middle school then it is safe to say that Wesley hated every day of high school. Because of an incident the summer between the ninth and tenth grades, Wesley spent his high school years as a permanent resident in a temporary juvenile detention facility. Still allowed to attend the local school, Wesley found solace on the basketball court and in the sanctuary of books. Being taken to school in the Joseph P. Williams Detention Center for Boys’ short bus introduced a level of humiliation and mockery to Wesley that his mastery on the basketball court could not overcome. His grades dropped, his love of reading was subsumed by anguish, self-loathing, and rage, and, on a fateful night in March of his senior year – Wesley’s life bottomed out. After being harassed and mocked and tormented throughout high school, on a Friday night after a basketball game Wesley waited on the short bus. Three guys from school recognized him in the dark. Their teasing soon turned to bullying which escalated into fighting. Never one to back down, Wesley’s pent up rage unleashed its fury on his three schoolmates. By the time the short bus arrived, with the help of a broken broom handle, Wesley had beaten the three bullies into submission. A fight could be forgiven. Wesley defending himself could be forgiven. But three broken noses and two broken arms could not be forgiven. Bloody faces and Wesley smacking their asses with the broken broomstick could not be forgiven. Wesley taunting the boys, and then the bus driver, could not be forgiven.





Wesley was removed from the basketball team. He never received his award for being named Second Team All-Conference. He never received the award for winning Most Valuable Player on the team. An award voted on by his teammates. His basketball scholarship to the University of North Carolina at Greensboro was rescinded. In an agreement with the District Attorney, no charges would be filed if Wesley joined the Army immediately and departed as soon as possible upon graduation. For the rest of the school year, Wesley rode to school in the back of a police car.