Unto the
Shadows
***Disclaimer: I do not own
the preceding characters of Amanda and Lee, but all others are of my own conception.***
She sat at the table,
watching the rain pelt against the soiled windowpane, rapping her fingers
against her thigh. She hummed an indiscernible tune from her youth and caught
herself, coughing away the imbedded melody.
Her body rocked forward
and back in a dining chair--its legs screwed to the floor. She blinked at the
rattling dishes--cups being laid on saucers, forks tapping at the plates--and
resumed her melancholy song.
"What's that you're
singing there?" The man cocked his head to the side. Or was this his usual
poor posture?
"Nothing," the
woman said, rubbing her frail fingers through her thin gray hair.
The man grunted and
turned away. Indeed his posture remained the same. He turned to another ailing
woman. "What's that you're singing there?"
The woman looked at the
man again, questioning whether or not he could actually hear, and stared back
down at her plate. An untouched roll soaked up the corn juices, and the pork
lay hard and frigid. The woman had not eaten in days. Such was fine with her
though; her stomach could not handle anything solid, and it was not her place
to request a liquid diet.
A voiced echoed over the
emptying dining hall. "Meds--Anderson, Corwin, Cromwell, Elberman,
Granson, Iwinski, Jet, Khitler, Luff, Neal, Roth, Stetson, Turner. Get your
meds." A fluttering of activity--the handicapped pulled themselves along
the hallway railing, those able to walk did so slowly--through the dining hall
to a small counter. A woman dressed in nurse's garb dealt two small paper cups
to the growing line--one filled with water, the other carrying a colorful array
of pills.
The woman reached the
counter last and held out her blemished hand. "Make sure you take them
all, Amanda."
Amanda nodded her head
and turned away. With the slightest of movements she placed the pill filled cup
to her mouth and followed it with the water, wincing at the arthritic pain in
her shoulders.
***
"Bingo!" A man
lifted his hand in the air, beaming around at the cooing crowd.
"Bingo again,
Charlie. I swear, lady luck sure likes you."
The old man chuckled and
called out his numbers.
"We have a winner.
What will tonight's movie be, Charlie?" A young woman acting as emcee
called out from the front of the room.
Amanda raised her head
from the back of the room, covering her unmarked cards.
"How about a
musical?" The old man called out.
"Anything you want,
Charlie. What'll it be?"
Amanda's eyes widened and
the corners of her mouth lifted slowly.
"42nd Street."
The throng celebrated
Charlie's decision with a unanimous "oh" and watched as a volunteer distributed another stack of
cards.
"Now," the
emcee declared, "let's see who's going to pick tonight's snack. "
Amanda lowered her head
again; the smile long faded from her visage. She was disappointed. Her
unnoticed sobs continued through the next round.
***
The herd sat in the
darkness, picking cookie crumbs from their laps as wild singing and dancing
flashed across the nineteen-inch screen. They nodded their heads to the beat and
smiled gaily, their dentures glowing blue in the television light.
Amanda sat in the back,
staring at the TV without watching. There were people, yes. There was dancing
and singing. There was even talking. But all went unnoticed by the 83 year-old.
She had never seen that
night's film and had not planned on ever watching it; why alter destiny at such
a late date?
She hummed. Her voice was
soft and frail as a trite leaf. She saw their faces staring up at her from
their warm beds. Rain drops on roses.
Their eyes slowly closed. And whiskers on
kittens. Their breathing idled. Bright
copper kettles. She tucked them in tighter. And warm woolen mittens. She kissed their foreheads.
She forgot the rest of
the words.
Her humming grew in
intensity and her neighbors relented.
"Excuse me,"
the woman beside her whispered.
Amanda refused to look
up. She continued.
"Miss," the man
in front of her hissed.
An attendant stepped
behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. "Okay, Amanda," he
murmured. "It's time for you to get some shut eye, okay?"
She stood with his
assistance. Her humming echoed as she was escorted down the hall.
"These are a few of
my favorite things!" She bellowed from within the doorway to her room
before shutting it behind her.
She rushed through the rest of the song,
undressing to her undergarments. She stared at the pile of clothes on the floor
and sang to them. "When the dog bites, when the bee stings, when I'm
feeling sad…."
She was struck by her reflection in the
mirror. She stepped closer and touched her cheeks. Her face had grown gaunt,
her eyes and breasts had fallen slightly, and her brow was scarred with age.
She grabbed at her waist and resumed her song.
"I simply remember my favorite things, and
then--." She looked around. "And then--." The words escaped her.
"Raindrops on roses and whiskers on
kittens…." She swayed to her song and felt his hands around her as he sang
into her ear. "Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens." She
sang with him. "Brown paper packages tied up with strings, these are a few
of my favorite things." She turned to hold him closer but he was gone.
What had felt so real--the brown hair, hazel eyes, deep voice--was all in her
imagination.
She looked around the room, attempting to
recapture the feeling that had escaped her. It was gone. He was gone.
She fell into the bed and rolled her legs
toward her chest. Her weeping was heavy. Her breath reached deep within her
chest and heaved in convulsive fits as tears streamed down her face.
She stood up and walked to her crumpled pile
of clothes. She knelt and reached into the pocket of her robe, removing a
rainbow array of capsules. She reached in with her other hand and pulled out an
even greater amount of pills--triangles, circles, squares, ovals--exposing a
veritable apothecary.
She stood and slumped into the communal
bathroom, closing the heavy door behind her. She twisted the faucet handle on
the porcelain sink, watching the water accumulate in the basin. She drew lines
in the water with her thin fingers before filling her mouth with pills. She
cupped water into her left hand and poured it into her mouth, groaning though
the difficulty of swallowing. She poured another handful of water and the slick
pills raced down her throat. She placed the remainder of the pills under the
running water and placed them in her mouth, swallowing. The pills chased each
other down her esophagus, passing her heart and lungs, entering her stomach.
She slid down the wall accompanied by the
shrieking of flesh. The tear tracks on her face faded within the rouge of her
cheeks and her breathing wavered.
She saw a dark figure beside her sitting
with its legs spread out before him. She turned to see the shadows head turn.
She saw a smile in the darkness and smiled back before falling into her own
shadow.