Patricia Rockwell - Essie Cobb 04 - Ghosted Page 9

  “Don’t go, John,” she heard herself say. She knew she’d never said that.

  “I have to go, Essie. I enlisted,” replied John. Something he’d never said. She felt a tear roll down her cheek as John’s face suddenly grew smaller and smaller and eventually vanished in the distance. The drive-in screen disappeared and Essie’s eyes popped open only to discover that she was lying on top of her bed, fully clothed. She cautiously lifted her head and twisted it from side to side. She was still in her bedroom. Everything looked exactly the same. The mirror on the dresser before her appeared much as it had when she had recently stared into it and found that large rodent staring back.

  She touched her cheek which was damp from the tears from her dream. Dare she sit up? Dare she stand up and look in the mirror? She knew that there wasn’t some large creature inside the mirror. Of course not—she wasn’t crazy. But what had happened earlier was still haunting her and she had no idea what had caused her to start seeing things.

  That’s what it must be. She was seeing things. Some sort of hallucination. But why? Had her blood pressure dropped precipitously? She’d read that that might cause a person to faint or experience unusual sensations. Would it cause them to see giant beavers in their dresser mirror? Should she report this experience to her doctor? To her aides?

  Oh, dear, she thought, if I tell anyone that I’m seeing weird creatures they’ll think I’m senile and move me to the other wing. Happy Haven had a wing on the back end of the building on the second floor that was devoted to Alzheimer’s patients. It was completely separate and those patients were cared for primarily in their rooms. They didn’t have the freedom and independence that the residents in the rest of Happy Haven had. Essie cringed when she thought of moving to the other wing. “No,” she said out loud, “I’m not going to let them do that to me. I’m staying here, no matter what. I’ll just have to deal with this—whatever it is.”

  The first step in dealing with her problem involved sitting upright and making certain that she was able to balance herself. She did this carefully and when she was convinced that her balance was stable and not compromised, she moved on to the next step—standing. Her walker was at the end of the bed within easy grasp. She grabbed the handlebars and, leaning in, pulled herself to a standing position. Her eyes were focused on her carpet while she arose. When she was finally upright, she gathered her strength and lifted her eyes straight up so that she was looking directly into the dresser mirror.

  No giant rodent appeared. Instead, Essie was staring at herself. She looked as she always did—a short, only slightly plump little white-haired old lady with a gleaming smile.

  “Hmmm,” she mumbled. “Not so bad. Where are you, beaver?” She continued to stare but even calling the animal by name did not seem to elicit his presence. Essie moved her head right and left, peering into the mirror in an attempt to see inside its other world. All she could see was a reflection of her bedroom. Giving her walker a little push, she shuffled over to her outside window and stared out at the tree where she had originally seen the morphing squirrel. No squirrel was visible at the moment.

  She scooted back to her bed and sat back down. Looking at her watch, she realized that several hours had passed since she had “fallen asleep” as she was now planning on thinking of her little daydream. Obviously, it was quite a nap she’d had. What had seemed like a brief dream to her was apparently a fairly long morning snooze. Realizing that it was almost time for Sunday dinner, and not wanting to miss what was usually the best meal of the week, Essie quickly put the dream experience behind her and moved around her small apartment in an attempt to clean up.

  In her closet, she changed into a fancier top and then she rolled herself into her tiny bathroom and splashed some water on her face to help perk up her cheeks. A quick trip to the toilet to prevent any mealtime accident, and Essie was almost ready to go line up.

  “I hope they have turkey and dressing,” she mumbled as she headed out her doorway and down her hall. “They never have that often enough, but I bet they have it today. It is a nice fall day and Sunday, so the odds are good.” Essie smiled as she rolled into the lobby and quickly attached herself to the end of the line of residents waiting for the dining hall to open.

  “Essie Cobb,” said a lady directly in front of her and turning around in greeting, “we missed you at yoga!” The small lady with greyish blonde hair was leaning on a cane. She wore a jogging suit, common apparel for the popular yoga class that was held upstairs in the activities room. Essie attended from time to time, mostly so she could assure Dr. Graves that she was getting some exercise. She firmly believed that she moved around the Happy Haven facility enough that she didn’t need any formal exercise class.

  “Oh, hello, Hattie,” said Essie. “Sometimes I can get there, and sometimes I can’t. I’ll probably go tomorrow.” She smiled at Hattie who responded with a confused expression and a head shake.

  “Tomorrow?” asked Hattie. “You can’t go tomorrow, Essie. There is no yoga on Tuesday. You know that.”

  “Tuesday?” asked Essie, confused. “What are you talking about, Hattie?”

  “Today is Monday,” replied the pert little blonde. “I just came from yoga. That’s why I’m in my workout clothes!” She fingered her jogging suit for Essie as if this proved her point. The many rings on her ten fingers glittered incongruously against the background of her jogging outfit.

  “No, Hattie,” said Essie calmly and with a laugh. “You’re pulling my leg. Today is Sunday. You know that. I’m hoping they serve turkey and dressing. Sometimes they do and sometimes they don’t.”

  “You’re right about that, Essie,” said Hattie. “And yesterday was one of those days that they served it. Turkey. Sunday dinner. It was delicious. Today, however, is Monday. Who knows what they’ll serve today. But I’m afraid you’re 24 hours late for your turkey, Essie.” She shrugged and smiled.

  “Today is Monday?” asked Essie again. Hattie nodded, now becoming a little annoyed at Essie’s apparent inability to keep track of the calendar.

  “All day,” Hattie reiterated. She turned back in line with a short glance over her shoulder as if to check on Essie’s stability. “And, Essie, I’d never wear my jogging suit to Sunday dinner.”

  Essie looked at Hattie’s back. She slowly turned around in line and stared at the Happy Haven lobby. Monday? How could it be Monday? It was Sunday the last she checked. She was expecting turkey and dressing and now, apparently, she’d slept right through it. Wait a minute! That couldn’t be! Her aides wouldn’t let her sleep for 24 hours; they’d wake her. If they couldn’t wake her for that long a period of time, they’d call her physician. Hattie must be pulling her leg. She glared at the little lady’s backside as the line moved forward to the dining hall.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “I am one of the haunted.”

  ––Rosie O’Donnell

  Still in a daze, Essie slowly rolled her walker over to her table. Would it still be there? she wondered, or would it have disappeared into this strange fog? Luckily, all three of her buddies were already seated when she arrived.

  “You’re late, Essie,” noted Marjorie in a perfunctory but perfectly normal human-sounding voice. No giant rodent appeared from her head.

  “Sorry, girls,” replied Essie cautiously, maneuvering her vehicle around and parking next to her regular chair. She eased into her seat and breathed in relief. “Hello,” she said warmly, looking around the table at the familiar faces she knew and loved. “How are you all today?”

  “What do you mean, how are we, Essie?” asked Opal, holding her menu to her chest as she peered strangely at Essie over the top of it.

  “It’s just a friendly question,” squeaked Essie. She picked up her menu and ducked inside its pages as if they would protect her from the inquisitive glares of her tablemates.

  “You have certainly been acting odd, Essie,” said Marjorie, refusing to let up even though Essie’s face was out of sight.

 
“No, I haven’t,” declared Essie, peering out from the top of the menu. “What are you talking about?” She hoped they wouldn’t tell her almost as much as she hoped they would.

  “All this stuff about the squirrels,” said Opal, “that you were rambling on about yesterday. I certainly hope that’s over.” She plopped her menu down beside her plate.

  Essie stared at the menu. There was no turkey and dressing listed. Was it Monday as Hattie had suggested? Surely, she couldn’t have lost track of an entire day?

  “Um, girls,” began Essie, setting down her own menu. “I’m a little confused…”

  “A little?” said Marjorie. “Whatever you were sniffing yesterday, Essie, I hope you’ve stopped it.” Marjorie whispered this in Essie’s ear with determination.

  “What?” said Essie, looking back and forth. What were they talking about? “I’m a little confused. This is Monday, right?”

  “Of course,” replied Opal, buttering a roll she had drawn from the wicker basket set in the center of the table. “What day should it be?”

  “I don’t know,” said Essie, shaking her head. “I thought it was Sunday.”

  “Sunday!” cried Marjorie, setting down her glass of water. “It’s Monday!”

  “I know now. Hattie Swenson just told me,” said Essie, “and also, there’s no turkey and dressing on the menu.” She continued to look around the room. Everything appeared normal. The residents sat at their tables and the waiters were moving from one group to another collecting the lunch orders.

  “That was yesterday,” said Marjorie. “You had turkey and dressing yesterday, Essie. Don’t you remember? Oh, no! Don’t tell me you’re starting to forget things like that?”

  “I don’t know,” said Essie sadly. “I guess I am.”

  “You don’t remember having Sunday dinner with us yesterday?” asked Opal carefully.

  “No, Opal,” said Essie. “I don’t remember it. I guess I don’t remember Sunday at all. The last thing I remember was…Sunday breakfast. I remember we all talked about the haunted house and I complained about my answering machine and I told you about following that Edward Troy out the back entrance.”

  “Good,” said Opal. “Then your memory isn’t totally gone, Essie. I remember that too. That was yesterday morning. What happened after that?”

  “My grandsons Ned and Bo and Bo’s friend came over after breakfast and helped me with my answering machine,” she replied.

  “Are you sure?” asked Marjorie.

  “Yes, I remember it clearly,” said Essie. “I remember Ned trying to help me learn how to use all the buttons on the machine.”

  “Then what?” asked Opal.

  “Then I remember going into my bedroom and…oh, I can’t tell you that!” She looked down at her plate.

  “What?” asked Marjorie.

  “What can’t you tell us, Essie?” reiterated Opal.

  At that point, Santos arrived at their table to take their lunch orders. The women curtailed their discussion until the young man had departed with their meal requests.

  “All right, now, Essie,” said Opal. “I think we need to get to the bottom of this. You remember yesterday morning, but after your grandsons left, you somehow lost over 24 hours.”

  “I guess I did,” said Essie with a woebegone air.

  “What is it you don’t want to tell us, Essie?” Marjorie pressed. “You can tell us. Come on. If you can’t trust us, who can you trust?” She leaned in and squeezed Essie’s arm.

  “Oh, meddling mockingbirds!” cried Essie, a tear streaming down her cheek. “I’m losing my mind. I probably have Alzheimer’s!”

  “Now, Essie,” said Opal, consoling her friend. “There can be all sorts of reasons why you might forget something or why you might forget a portion of time.”

  “But over 24 hours?” said Essie. “What happened during that time? Was I here? Did I come to meals? Did any of you see me go anywhere or do anything?”

  “As I was saying when you first got here,” repeated Marjorie, “we all thought you were acting strangely yesterday, I guess from lunch time on, and yes, even through breakfast this morning. We had even talked together about telling Felix about our concerns.”

  “Felix?” asked Essie. “Oh, no! I can’t have him thinking I’m some sort of idiot!”

  “Oh, I’m sure he wouldn’t think that!” declared Opal. “But we were all really worried. I must say, you sound much more like yourself now. It’s a great relief actually.”

  “Do you really think so, Opal?” Essie asked.

  “I really do,” said Opal. “You sound like the old Essie I know and love.”

  “You sound like the one I know and love too,” added Marjorie. The women turned and looked at tiny Fay at the opposite side of the table. Fay was silent but obviously following the discussion with interest. When the women turned to her, Fay lit up and brought her fingers to her lips, kissed them, and then blew Essie a kiss across the table.

  “Thank you, girls,” said Essie gratefully. “I do feel better having your support. Things do seem clearer. I don’t know what happened, but it was something. At one point, I want to say yesterday, but now I’m not exactly sure when anything happened. But, somewhere along the way, I began to see things.”

  “You mean hallucinate?” asked Marjorie with awe.

  “I don’t know, but I guess so,” replied Essie. “At one point, I looked out my window at a squirrel that was climbing a tree and suddenly he turned into a beaver or some giant rodent. It was horrible!”

  “It must have been!” agreed Opal.

  “And then, he appeared in my mirror! Right over my dresser!”

  The three women looked at Essie as she told her tale as if she were the narrator on Twilight Zone. Santos appeared from the kitchen with their four lunch platters. He expertly set them at their appropriate spots and then quickly retreated. The four attacked their meals in silence, apparently still contemplating Essie’s recent bout of paranoia.

  Finally, Essie spoke.

  “Do you think I have Alzheimer’s?” she asked her friends pitifully.

  “It’s too soon to tell, Essie,” said Opal. “And certainly, one such episode—even one as petrifying as the one you experienced—does not make a person an Alzheimer’s patient. Even so, I do think you need to tell your doctor about what you experienced. The hallucination along with the memory loss—”

  “And such a long loss of memory,” added Marjorie. “Maybe you’re haunted!”

  “Oh, Marjorie! That’s ridiculous. But whatever has happened to Essie, it isn’t good,” said Opal. Essie could tell that it pained Opal to give Essie this advice, but she knew that Opal was nothing if not honest. She would never sugar coat the truth. Essie should report her recent trip into Strangeville to her doctor—or at least tell her daughters.

  The women were so embroiled in their heated discussion about Essie’s recent problem that they failed to notice the arrival of Happy Haven’s director Felix Federico who, as he typically did, appeared at the table with a warm, welcoming voice.

  “Senoras!” he proclaimed. “How are my four detectives?”

  The women were seemingly unhinged by the large, attractive man’s appearance and they all began to giggle at once. Essie realized that it was truly one of the only things that could probably draw her attention from her own concerns at the moment.

  “Oh, Mr. Federico!” Essie cried. “No detecting for us today!” She hoped that her pals would take her lead and not mention her recent memory loss or hallucinations to their director.

  “So, maybe you’re planning a special outing?” he asked. The scarlet hanky peeking out of his suit pocket looked particularly flirty and, added to the man’s large, brown eyes, made him a diverting sight.

  “Nothing in particular,” said Opal.

  “What about our upcoming haunted house field trip?” he asked, leaning in and grabbing both Marjorie and Essie’s shoulders. Essie could almost feel Marjorie tingle in delight. “I hear it
is going to be very scary!”

  Essie luxuriated in the sound of the man’s voice. His accent emphasized all of the vowels as if he was caressing them with individual tenderness.

  “Oh, I don’t know, Mr. Federico…” began Essie.

  “Felix,” whispered the director.

  “Felix,” Essie continued, blushing noticeably. “We’re all a little old to be scared!” She smiled and shrugged. She knew that that was certainly a lie.

  “Dio, no!” he cried. “Not this group of ladies! These are my most daring ladies of all! You are all so brave! And you, Miss Essie, you are the bravest of all! I would think that you’d be leading your group on this field trip.” He bent over Essie, lifted her hand, and gently kissed it. Marjorie gasped. Opal and Fay stared.

  “I…I…” stammered Essie.

  “Si, Miss Essie,” continued Felix Federico. “I want you to lead your little group on this field trip! You must set an example!” Then with one more kiss on the hand—this one quicker and peppier—he smiled at the entire table and was off to his next group in the dining hall.

  “Oh, my, Essie!” cried Marjorie. “He kissed your hand!”

  “So?” replied Essie, trying to maintain her decorum.

  “He wants you to go on the field trip,” said Opal. “Essie, he almost demanded that you go on the field trip.”

  “He wants you to lead us,” added Marjorie. “He thinks you’re our leader. Ha! If he only knew!” She laughed and smirked at Essie.

  “Thank you, girls,” said Essie softly and sincerely, “for not telling him about my recent…uh, my recent problem.”