Short Story Time ~ Roosevelt Blvd.

I had an uneventful, restful weekend and nothing exciting in my world right now....so, I'm going to post an original short story  from the archives....I submitted it to a contest held by Ebony Magazine in 2004....It didn't win but was a classic piece of work....Have a great day everyone.... Warning it is long for a blog entry but less than 2000 words...

************************Edit************************************

'''Bloggers''' Feel free to print it out and read it.  I only ask that 1)you don't try to steal it (it is copywritten) 2) you come back and give me feedback on it.  Thanks!

Roosevelt Blvd

Keisha pulled her shoulder-length black hair into a loose ponytail as she looked in the mirror at her sleep-deprived eyes, slipping her feet into her sneakers.  Bending over to tie her laces, she glanced down the hall toward her mother’s room, watching the flicker of the television dance on the hall mirror.  “She’s up early,” Keisha thought as she grabbed her laptop bag and headed downstairs to her makeshift office in the dining room.  As a computer analyst for a downtown Philadelphia firm, she was able to work from home three days a week since her mother had gotten sick.  Although her older brother and sister-in-law also lived in Philadelphia, Keisha was now the primary caregiver for their mother. When Keisha had to go into the office, she had a nurse to come and look in on her mother.  Stopping at the stairs to peer into her mother’s bedroom, Keisha saw the bed disheveled, and the television on with no sign of her mother.  Keisha walked into the room, clicking off the television, she closed her eyes and inhaled her mother’s signature scent, the sweet fragrance of White Linen.   

“Momma?  Momma, where are you?”  Keisha came down the creaking stairs of the two story North Philadelphia rowhouse looking for her sixty-year-old mother.  The smell of burning bacon drew her attention toward the smoke-filled kitchen.  Setting her laptop bag on the dining room table, Keisha strolled into the kitchen, turned off the flames and carried the smoking skillet to the sink.  Turning on the water she watched it mingle with hot bacon grease as it sizzled and popped off the hot cast iron skillet. Tears began to sting her eyes as the water formed a smoke-swirling steam.  That was the third time this month her mother left something on the stove and walked away.  Realizing she still had not seen her mother, Keisha turned to look for Delores.

 Keisha cried out,  “Momma!”  She went frantically from room to room before noticing the front door standing wide as the crisp December wind mingled with the street sounds of city.  Rushing to the steps, Keisha grabbed her coat and ran out the door and down the front steps.  Running to the tire shop next door, she breathlessly stopped to see the shop owner Keith.  “Keith, did you see my mom come by here?”
 
 Keith wiped his grease-laden hands on a shop cloth and pointed toward the sign that read ‘Roosevelt Boulevard’, as he replied, “Yeah, ‘bout ten minutes ago.  She had a bag on her arm and was walking toward the Boulevard.  I spoke to her an’ she had this weird look on her face.  This ain’t none of my business and I know you don’t want to hear this but…”

 Keisha waved a hand, cutting Keith off in mid-sentence as she walked briskly toward the Boulevard.  A lone figure in the distance caught her eye.  Clutching her coat closed with one hand as she broke into a half-run, Keisha hurried to catch up with the woman with the limp in her gait. 

 As she got closer, Keisha saw the woman was wearing a thin house duster and fluffy pink house-shoes.   A lone shopping bag was on her arm as she shuffled along.  The brisk wind blew the housedress to the side.  Taking off her coat and draping it over the woman’s broad shoulders she asked, “Momma, where are you going?”

The woman stared at her and said, “Chil’, I’m going to see Miss Edwards.”

The wind stung Keisha face as hot salty tears streamed down her face, “Momma, Miss Edwards has been dead for over ten years.”

 “Chil’, Miss Edwards ain’t dead, she live on Roosevelt Boulevard.”

 “No, Momma.  She lived on Roosevelt Boulevard, but in Chicago.  Momma, you live in Philly now.”

 “Girl, you don’t know what you’s talkin’ about.  Let me go now.  She waitin’ on me.”

 These episodes were becoming more frequent.  It was hard for Keisha to see her strong-willed, independent mother become more childlike with each passing day.  Keisha put a hand under her mother’s elbow and gently guided her back toward the house. “You’re right, Momma.  She is waiting on you. But she called and asked if I would drive you over.”

 “Why do you keep calling me ‘Momma’?  I ain’t neva had no kids.  Who are you?  You Miss Edwards’ chil’?”  Delores looked at her daughter, but her face was void of any recognition.  As they shuffled back toward the house, Keisha avoided the curious glances of passing motorists, while the bone-chilling wind whipped around them.

 Guiding Delores up the steps, toward her room Keisha choked back tears.  Delores took off her slippers and slid into the bed.  Keisha sat on the bed and smoothed Delores hair, which neatly braided into two cornrows, as she drifted off to sleep.  Keisha picked up the shopping bag that her mom had been carrying and peered curiously into it. Two sets of non-matching socks, a carefully folded house duster and bag of rollers were neatly placed in the bottom of the bag.  There was no rhyme or reason for any of the items in the bag, especially since her mother had not rolled her hair in years.

 Grabbing the cordless phone off the hall cradle, Keisha slipped downstairs to call her brother, Kevin.  Kevin was eight years older than Keisha’s thirty-two years, but Keisha seemed to be the one that had taken on the older child role, taking responsibility for their mother.  If it were left up to Kevin, their mother would have been in a nursing home when she first exhibited signs of Alzheimer’s disease.  The patience that it takes to deal with the dementia that often accompanies Alzheimer’s was too much for him.  He hardly came by to visit Delores since she stopped recognizing him.

 His deep baritone voice answered “Barnes and Associates.  Kevin Barnes, how may I help you?”

 “Kevin, can you come over tonight?  We need to have a talk about Momma.”

 Kevin let out an exasperated sigh.  “What about Ma, Keisha?  What has she done this time?  Did she almost set the house on fire again?  Let me guess - she wandered off again, right?  Keisha, you need to understand that you are not trained to deal with this.  You chose to have her at the house.  I told you to put her in a nursing home a while ago.  We only need to talk if you have come to your senses and decided to put her in a home.”

 “Kevin, I don’t want her to think I don’t love her.  I would feel like I am abandoning her.  She has always been there for us.  Only white people put their folks in a home like some throw-away doll!”

 “That is not true.  There are plenty of black folks in nursing homes. You don’t want her to think you don’t love her?  Girl, she doesn’t even know who you are!  Nursing homes aren’t made for dogs, you know!”

 Keisha rolled her eyes up to the ceiling in irritation.  “Kevin, I know they aren’t made for dogs.  But remember when Big Momma got sick?” Keisha asked, referring to their grandmother, Delores’ mother.  “Remember how Ma brought her to live with us?  Ma didn’t stick her in a home.  Ma worked, kept the house clean, took care of us AND took care of Big Momma right up ‘til Big Momma died.  I’m just saying, we need to take turns taking care of Ma.  Someone has to be here at all times and if we rotate…”

 “Ah…naw little sis.  I am not gonna be able to do that.  I have a wife and kids of my own.  I have a life and you need to get one.  Besides, Big Momma wasn’t losing her mind when she came to stay with us.  She had diabetes.  Big difference.  Put Ma in a nursing home.  Times have changed Keisha.  Folks don’t keep family members at home ‘til they die anymore.  They put them in nursing homes and go visit, especially if they can afford to and we can afford to.  I still have the number to Shady Acres out in West Philly, and I am willing to pay half of the cost to put her there.  She will have a private room and round the clock care. Take the number Keisha. Go take a tour, see if you like it.”

 Deep down inside, Keisha knew he was right.  The care for her mother was becoming too much for her to bear alone and a nurse twice a week just wasn’t enough.  The accompanying guilt she felt for even considering putting her mother in a home was gut wrenching but she knew that the time had come.  It was a matter of her mother’s safety now.  How many times will she attempt to walk to Roosevelt Boulevard down bustling Broad Street alone?  Delores no longer had her faculties to know that she was not dressed appropriately for the bone chilling Philadelphia cold when she left the house by herself.  How many times will she keep things cooking on the stove before she burns down the house?

 Keisha struggled to hide the defeat in her voice as she whispered, “What’s the number?” 

****************Six Months later*************

 “Good evening, Ms. Barnes,” Nurse Reynolds called from the nurses station.  Keisha smiled and waved as she made her daily stroll down the hall toward her mother’s room. 
Peeking around the door, Keisha smiled, setting her bag on the chair.  “Hey, you!  How are you feeling today?”

Delores turned from the window and stared blankly at her.  As she touched her hand to her hair and slowly smiled, Delores’ eyes glimmered in recognition. “You’re the pretty lady that comes to do my hair.”

Keisha replied, “Yes, I come to do your hair.”  Keisha had long given up trying to correct her to make her remember just who she was.  The doctors said it only increased the confusion that her mother felt.  Instead, she chose to make the most of the time they had together as she raced from work daily to see her at Shady Acres.  Singing old Hymns and talking about times Delores did remember (times long before Philadelphia) now filled their time together.   Delores seemed to be retreating further and further into childhood, so far back that Keisha seemed to be mother and Delores appeared to be the child.

 Humming Come on in the Room softly, Keisha began to unbraid the two neatly braided cornrows.  The silence between them was a comfortable silence, one of peace and mutual understanding. 

 Delores broke the silence asking Keisha, “Where did you learn that song?  You too young to know that song. My Momma used to sing that song.”  With a gleam in her eyes, Delores started singing, Come on in the room, why don’t you come on the room…Jesus is my doctor…He gives me all my medicine… in the room.

 Keisha remembered going to church as a little girl with her Mom and hearing her sing the old spirit-filled hymn.  Closing her eyes, she listened to her mother sing, forgetting that they were in a nursing home and amazed that her mother remembered things from so long ago but couldn’t even remember her name.
Delores stopped singing but continued smiling as she said,  “Then we used to sing that song in the church choir.  Did you used to go to Mount Zion, too?  It’s on Roosevelt Boulevard, you know.  We had the best choir.  Me and Miss Edwards used to sing every Sunday.  Then go back to her place for Sunday dinner.  She lived down the street from the church.  Chil’ she used to make the best sweet ‘tatoe pie. Mmm-mmh.  I wonder why Miss Edwards hadn’t been by to see me.”

Just as quickly, Delores’ conversation shifted again.  The one constant that Keisha could see was that her mom remembered everything about Roosevelt Boulevard in Chicago.   Keisha continued to grease her mother’s scalp as she listened to her talk.  To Delores, Roosevelt Boulevard represented stability, comfort and familiarity.  Even in her diminished state, she was desperate to hang on to something, anything, that represented her past.  Although Keisha sensed Delores’ mind was slipping further away from her, Delores would retreat into the ‘Roosevelt Boulevard’ of her mind and pull out stories of happier times.  Whether real or imagined, those stories were Delores’ way of maintaining a feeling of normalcy while coping with the loss of her independence. 

Keisha laid the grease and comb on the rolling night table and climbed into the hospital bed to lay beside her mother as they watched the bees fly from flower to flower.  Tears slowly rolled down Keisha’s face and dropped on Delores’ nightgown as Keisha hugged her tight.  She hugged her for all the memories she had that her mother had forgotten.  For the first day of kindergarten when her mom took her hand and walked her to class, making sure she stayed until Keisha was comfortable.  For all the bedtime stories that rivaled any tale by Uncle Remus or Aesop. For her first date when Delores curled her hair and helped her pick out the perfect outfit.  For the days of long talks over hot cocoa and homemade chocolate chip cookies. For her college graduation when her mom proudly waved a huge poster and shouted ‘That’s my baby!’ when her name was called.  

Looking out of the window at the blooming flowers, Delores leaned back against the pillow letting out a soft sigh she said, “Next time you come, bring me some flowers from that grocery over by Mount Zion.  They have the prettiest wildflowers.  I just want to smell the flowers again.  Those flowers out there are beautiful, but I want some I can smell.  Can you do that for me?”
Keisha swallowed and smiled weakly, “Sure I can.”  She began to sing. Humbly I ask thee teach me your will…While you are working help me be still…Satan is busy God is real…Order my steps in your word…
Delores began to sing softly with her, and for an instant, they were back on Roosevelt Boulevard, singing together in the choir at Mount Zion. Please, order my steps in your word…Bridle my tongue let my words edify…Let the words of my mouth be acceptable in thy sight…Take charge of my thoughts both day and night…Please order my steps in your word…Please order my steps in your word.

As Delores closed her eyes, her breathing slowed as she drifted off to sleep. She whispered, “Don’t forget it’s on Roosevelt Boulevard.” 

Smiling, Keisha kissed Delores’ shoulder and quietly replied, “Yep, right on Roosevelt Boulevard.”

"Necie" Copyright © 2004

tags: dementia  philadelphia  short  alzheimers  story  nursing  mother  home  

links: digg this    del.icio.us    technorati    reddit