Where Are We Going Now?

WHERE ARE WE GOING NOW?

“Come on, Jim. We have to go.” Marge pulled his gray wool coat from the closet and opened the front door. Her mouth wasn’t smiling and the line between her eyes seemed deeper than usual. He guessed they were leaving, but he wasn’t sure where they were going.

“It must be cold outside,” he said. “That’s my winter coat. Is it January?” Jim struggled into his coat.

“No, Jim. It’s March, but it is cold outside. Let’s go get in the car, OK?”

Jim followed her outside and into the garage, where he stood and waited for her to open his car door. “Where are we going again? I forgot.”

Marge reminded him to buckle his seatbelt before she answered. “First, I have to stop at the drug store and pick up some prescriptions. Then you’re going to the church and I’m going to work.”

Jim nodded. “That’s right. You probably told me that already. Now I remember,” he said.  He relaxed in his seat and gazed out the window. He enjoyed car rides. He used to love to drive. He drove every day when he was younger. He didn’t think he could drive now. But if he could he, knew he would enjoy it. Watching the scenery move past his window was almost like watching a movie. He used to like movies too. James Bond. That was one of his favorites. The guy who played Bond was one of his favorite actors too. What was his name? Sean something or other. He would remember it soon.

The prescription wasn’t ready when they arrived, so they sat on brightly colored plastic chairs in a small waiting area. Marge pulled a book from her purse and began to read. Jim used to read. He had enjoyed reading. He liked biographies; stories about people and what they did. Those were the best stories.

A little girl in a red and white striped stocking hat snuggled beside her mother in the opposite corner of the tiny room. Her thumb was tucked securely into her mouth and one small hand was curled around her mother’s forearm. The child’s large dark eyes were fixed on Jim. He leaned forward and tried to smile. “You’re a pretty little girl. What’s your name?” he asked. “That’s a pretty hat. I bet you like that hat, don’t you?”

Marge put her hand on his arm and whispered in his ear that he shouldn’t talk to people he didn’t know. “Oh, that’s right. I knew that. You told me that already, didn’t you?” Jim’s voice was loud and guttural.

Although he had sung tenor in the church choir for many years, he now lacked the ability to modulate his tones. The little girl’s mother was looking at him. Her eyes were large and dark too. “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean anything. Your little girl is pretty. Bet you’re proud of her. Do you have other children?” He attempted another smile. His muscles didn’t seem to work together as well as they once had. The woman rose and quickly picked up her daughter, carrying her from the room. Jim watched the girl’s candy cane colored hat disappear through the doorway.

He rubbed his eyes. He didn’t like sitting for any length of time. When he was a younger man he had run three times a week and he had worked in his yard whenever he could. Once he had been a trim, athletic man, but now, in his early sixties, he carried a bit of a paunch.

“It won’t be long now, Jim,” said Marge. “Then we’ll be on our way and you can visit with your friends.”

Raising his brows slightly, Jim leaned back and crossed his arms. There was a vision chart posted on the wall to his left and he examined the large “E” at the top. “Where are we going? I know you told me. I should remember.” The words spilled from him all at once. He had developed the habit of speaking quickly, as if he were afraid of being cut off in mid-sentence. To someone who didn’t know him, this trait might have given the impression that Jim was abrupt, even rude.  He wasn’t; he simply liked to talk and the faster he spoke the more words he could squeeze into a conversation. Marge reminded him they were going to the church. “Oh, that’s right. I knew that. Sorry. Sorry I forgot,” he said. He hated that he was always forgetting things.

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“Hi Jim, we’re so glad you’re here,” the attendant smiled and took his arm, leading him to a round table where two other men sat, drinking coffee from Styrofoam cups. “We’re doing puzzles this morning. I think we have one with a picture of a car. Maybe you could help us with it.” An LPN in her late twenties, Annette worked for the Hands of Grace program Jim had attended for the last three years. The non-profit adult day care program was housed in a church that allowed them use of the kitchen and fellowship hall three times a week. She directed him to a chair and placed a cup of juice and a roll in front of him.

“A car? Oh my, yes. I love cars. I used to work at the General Motors plant. We built a lot of cars there. Yep, we sure did.” Jim wolfed down the pecan roll and was reaching for another when Annette reminded him he was only supposed to have one. “Right, just one roll. I knew that. Thank you for reminding me.” He pulled his arms back and crossed them in front of him, looking at the bulletin board mounted on the wall next to an old piano. A border of shamrocks and leprechauns rimmed the edges and a rainbow led the eye into the pot of gold stapled to the center of the green background. Jim thought it might be getting close to St. Patrick’s Day.

One of the men at the table was wearing heavy dark glasses and he looked familiar. He was elderly and balding, with wisps of gray hair sticking up above each ear, and a few growing out of his large bulbous nose.  “Do I know you?” asked Jim. “My name’s Jim. You look like someone I know.”

“Jim, that’s Freddie,” said Annette. “You do know him. He’s been coming for a couple months. Remember he worked at the grocery store?”

“That’s right,” said Jim. “Freddie… he was a butcher, wasn’t he. I used to buy groceries up there where he worked. At the grocery store.  I can’t remember its name. It’ll come to me.”

“Safeway,” said Annette, as she sat down between the two men and began to sort through puzzle pieces. “Hey Freddie, do you want to work on a puzzle with Jim?” Freddie shook his head and grunted. His bushy eyebrows moved together and he hunched his shoulders, lowering his head. His index finger tapped the table continuously, as if it were counting the seconds on a clock.

“Well, OK, you can watch us do it. Then we’ll eat lunch in a little while.” Freddie grunted again.

“What’s for lunch?” asked Jim. “Maybe you told me already. I can’t remember. It doesn’t matter. I like almost everything. What’s your name again, young lady? I know you told me. No, don’t tell me, I’ll think of it.”

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Jim didn’t want to sit in the afternoon. A few of the people played a game of cards. He didn’t know how to play the game, or if he had once known, he had now forgotten.  Some of the others rested in recliners. A few snored softly, their heads cocked backward, mouths slack.  Jim preferred to move around. When the weather permitted, one of the volunteers would often take him for a walk outside. Today it was windy and too cold, so he walked the perimeter of the room.

He wasn’t supposed to leave the fellowship hall, and while it was an open space, the boundary started where the carpet began and the linoleum ended. The hall was directly in front of three sets of ornate oak doors leading to the sanctuary. A preschool was located on the north end of the church, while the offices and library were on the opposite side.

When Jim had first started participating in the program, he had liked to walk down the hall and see what the preschoolers and the teachers were up to. He loved children, although he and Marge had never had any. Now, however, there was a set of double doors blocking the entrance to the preschool.

He stood on the edge of the hallway with his hands in his pockets and peered down toward the church office. The lights were on, so he decided he would go and visit the church secretary. He couldn’t remember her name but she was always pleasant to him and he enjoyed talking to her. Jim shuffled over to the reception area and stood at the door for a few minutes, watching the secretary type on her computer.  He wasn’t supposed to go through the door. He knew that.

The woman stood up and turned, then dropped some envelopes when she saw Jim observing her from the doorway. He removed one hand from his pocket and gave her a guilty wave. He tried the smile again too. “Let me help you with that,” he said, and he bent down to pick up the envelopes.

“Hi Jim, how are you. Are you supposed to be down here?” she asked.

“I’m going,” he said after he handed her the envelopes. “ I won’t bother you. I’m no bother. Am I? I don’t bother you, do I? Are those your children?” He pointed to a collection of framed photos on her credenza. “Gosh, you don’t look old enough to have children. How many do you have?”

Before she could explain to him once again that the children in the pictures were her grandchildren, Annette appeared and placed her arm around Jim, leading him back the way he had come.  “Sorry, Paula,” she said. “We’re short-staffed today.”

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Jim was leaning against the block wall and staring out the window when Marge returned. He never tired of looking up at the sky. The endless expanse of blues and grays calmed him and sometimes allowed his mind to slow down. When that happened, the pieces of memories floating like confetti inside his head would pause in mid air and he would experience a moment of clarity. A memory from long ago would surface, and begin to play, like a movie reel, inside his mind.

“Everything OK, Jim? Did you have a good day?” He looked down at Marge and smiled, his eyes suddenly wet. He swallowed hard. His wife was such a beautiful woman. A good woman; he knew that. She was stroking his arm and holding his gray wool coat.

Jim’s forehead wrinkled slightly and he returned his gaze to the window. The top branches of the trees swayed back and forth and he watched a group of teens laughing and pushing each other on the corner across the street. ”Yes, it was a good day. A wonderful day. I can’t remember what I did, but it was great.”

He followed Marge to the door. “Is it time to go? Where are we going? I know you probably told me, but I can’t remember.”

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1,900 words