I picked up a large aluminum ice-tea can, two big brown glass IPA bottles, a fast-food container I did not open, a small empty cardboard box, a piece of yellow do-not-cross plastic tape, and a square of black plastic whose purpose I could not identify. I was also packing my digital camera, my phone, and a half-bottle of water. I was dripping with self-righteousness when I finally made it up the hill to the recycling bins by the ranger station.
Having done my civic duty, I sauntered home and found to my relief it was still cooler in the Love Shack than it was outside. I hunkered down for the afternoon, catching up on my recordkeeping, bemoaning my lack of income, and waiting for my phone to alert me that it was time to head out in the heat to visit Mom and take the old ladies out for their evening smoke.Tonight Mom's smoking buddy Jane seemed more anxious than usual.
“Julie moved out,” Jane said glumly when we were seated in the smoking area. Julie was her neighbor, a younger woman who escaped the facility after healing from a broken hip. Maybe she even went back home.
“Julie was a nice person,” Mom said consolingly. “Vivian is still there, though,” she said, referring to the woman on Jane's other side.
“Well, I just can't stand it!” Jane said, lighting her cigarette with trembling hands.
“Don't you get along with Vivian?” I asked cautiously. Vivian seemed harmless to me. I've never spoken to her, but she's so tiny and hunched over, I doubt she could actually look me in the face. I could take her, I'm pretty sure, unless she knows kung fu.
“I'm afraid I won't be able to help if something goes wrong,” Jane said.
“But that isn't your job,” I pointed out.
“I guess I could just ring the call button,” Jane muttered.
By this point, my mother was halfway through her cigarette, which means her brain had turned into cotton candy. She alternated between staring at the ash at the end of her cigarette and staring at Jane's cigarette, I assume comparing her ashes to Jane's. Her eyes were big and a little wild.
“I don't think I can stand any more of this,” Jane said. “That rose bush is covering my window. I'm going to call the ombudsman if the manager doesn't get out here and cut it back!”
Now, I may have mentioned before that this rose bush is Jane's nemesis. Jane has only one window, so you can understand that her view is important to her. She likes to sit at her table and monitor who comes to the front door. She's monitored the hell out of me over the past year, until I started parking in the back and punching in a code to get in the back door.
When Mom first moved to the facility, back when she still had free will, Mom heard Jane complaining about the leggy rose bush that was blocking her view and decided to do something about it. She took her clippers and cut the thing back. Radically. Soon thereafter I received a terse email telling me to tell my mother never to cut the rose bush again. In fact, she should keep her clippers off all the plants in front, because that was the manager's territory.
Mom resentfully retired her clippers. However, Jane's complaints have continued relentlessly. All summer we've been discussing whether we should sneak out and cut back the bush. If Mom hadn't lost so many brain cells, she might have surreptitiously trimmed a stem or two. The thought of security cameras kept us from acting. Until tonight.
I walked Mom back to her room. We looked at each other. I'm pretty sure her mind was blank, but I was thinking, if anyone is going to trim that rose bush, it should be me. I dug into the old coffee can where Mom kept her clippers. I held them up.
“Should we do it?”
Mom started to grin and I knew she understood. “Do you think so?”
“Let's do it!” She grabbed her walker and we slowly beelined back down the hall toward the front door. When we got there, she hung back a little. I said, “Don't quit on me now. You gotta let me back in.” It only crossed my mind for a second that she might pretend she didn't know me. I pictured myself ringing the bell to get the med-aide to let me back in. Dead giveaway that we were up to something. No way could I say my mother was the mastermind, considering her mind is on vacation.
Too late to back out now. I was determined. I quickly opened the door and slipped out into the heat. I hustled over to the rose bush, clipped one long stem in one snip, and trotted back to the door. Mom peered through the window with wide eyes. Then she pushed open the door and let me in. We trucked back to her room, me trying to casually hold the thorny stems in one hand and sauntering a little in case we were on camera.
I don't know what Mom was thinking. She was silent. I was quiet too, but I hoped for several miracles: that the security cameras weren't working, that tomorrow the manager would not notice one stem gone, that Mom would immediately forget my dastardly deed, that Jane wouldn't notice the missing stem and turn me in, that nosy Sally (who cruises the halls everyday) would not ask me why I had parts of a rose bush clutched gingerly in one hand. You know, just your basic everyday prayers.
We made it back to her room undisturbed. One thorn scratch later, the evidence was successfully bagged and out of sight. The clippers were retired. Mom walked me to the back door, and I made my getaway. She gave me the peace sign as I drove away into the eerily glowing orange sunset.
