More Sugar

3020#. Punching in the entry code always made me feel like I was accessing something valuable; precious. Oddly enough, punching in the same code to get out always made me feel like I was the lucky one, able to leave.  

I walked briskly through the rabbit warren - turning right, then left, then right - to the dining lounge. Not once but twice had I been chased down and asked if I were the doctor on duty.
‘No, I’m just Maria’s neighbour.’ I am her neighbour - present tense.
As if Southern Cross Aged Care were a holiday destination -  and then she’d return home.

I spotted her at the table amongst the sea of grey hair and hearing aids.
‘Morning, Maria!’ I spoke loudly so she would hear; there’s no self-consciousness in this place.

She turned her head slowly and smiled. ‘Hello, dear, nice to see you.’

It was a good day then. One where I didn’t have to stare intently into her kind yet distant eyes, repeating ‘It’s Esther! Your neighbour!’

‘How are you, dear?’

‘Oh, good thanks. Just on my way to work. Late start today.’ Her ears were naked; I didn’t drop my decibels.

‘On your bike?’
I nodded. Gosh, it was a good day for her indeed.

‘How’s breakfast?’

‘The toast is stale!’ she stabbed a lifeless crust with her finger. ‘And the coffee bitter! Bah!’

‘Oh, but your nails look nice! Did you get them done this week?’

‘Sì, but the  pink is too dull. Why don’t they give me brighter? It should be brighter, no?’ She presented her hands to the man across the table, but alas, he was asleep. She folded them back into her lap.

‘I haven’t seen the grandchildren for weeks,’ she frowned, ‘not even one. And now I’ve forgotten their kid’s names! Imagine forgetting your great-grandchildren’s names!’ Her look of dismay turned to one of disgust. ‘Imagine forgetting your great-grandmother exists!’

‘Perhaps they’ve been sick? There’s a lot of winter bugs going around at the moment. In fact, at my work we’ve –’

‘They sold my house, you know,’ she interrupted softly.

‘They what?!’ I feigned surprise. I’d ridden past the sign for weeks.

 ‘They sold my house. Everything. And everything inside. And they didn’t even tell me.’

‘No…really? No-one sells houses with the furniture these days Maria.’ Especially not furniture from the 70s.

‘My house… gone! If I knew, I would stop them. Or I would go home and gather a few things to keep….’ She plucked objects from the air with her pink nails. ‘Just a few… just a few.’

Her voice was shaking now and her eyes moist. All these years, I’d never seen her cry. It’s possible she hadn’t – not since her daughter’s funeral.

‘I’m… sorry, Maria.’

‘I just…I just don’t understand. Why?’ her face pleaded for answers I couldn’t give.

‘I’d have walked there myself if I could. Just one more time…But my legs have pain. I tell the doctor, but he never listens. Nobody listens. The medicine I take - bah! Useless!’ She slapped her lonely legs. 

‘Oh, and the sewing machine! I wanted to give you the sewing machine.’ Her frail fingers grasped my arm, as if I would be the next disappearance. 

Now I was surprised. I had noted the old Singer in the shed, two Christmas’ ago. She knew I altered the bulk of my clothing myself. But there was no mention of the machine nor my (lack of) sewing skills since. Gosh her mind was still sharp. If only it weren’t the day the news leaked.

‘That’s so thoughtful of you! I’m sure it’s not been sold. I’ll ask Tony about it. I’ll message him right now.’ She scowled at the thought of her son-in-law and took another sip of her coffee.

‘Bah! I need more sugar! Excuse me, Nurse?’ She tried to turn to look for a passing aid, but wheelchairs are deceptively restrictive. 

‘Are you sure Maria? I know you have your coffee sweet enough to start.’

‘My tomatoes…’ She did have a bumper crop each year. Supplied the street all summer. ‘And my plants…’ She was a good gardener. Many of my pot plants had been rehabilitated in her care.
‘Why couldn’t he have brought my plants here?’ Fair question.

‘My ravioli in the freezer…’
The grandchildren did love her ravioli.
‘They will not get any more, even if they ask!’
 Correct, I suppose.
 ‘And my cat!’
 Correction: the neighbourhood stray she’d fed for years.
 ‘He’s probably dead now.’

‘Yes, Mrs Rossini, how can I help?’

‘Ah Nurse, two sugars please, here. It's bitter!’

‘Two?!’ I was shocked. ‘What about your diabetes!’ The doctor in me could not be restrained.
 ‘I’m quite certain there’s already three sugars in there,’ I informed the carer.

The young man added two more spoons to the half empty mug and gave a silent nod. A nod that suggested he knew - he knew because he had added the three sugars in the first place. After all, he was the aged care worker, not the geriatrician. He gave the mug a swirl and handed it back with a smile.

Maria took a sip and spat the coffee back out.

‘Bah! Still bitter!’