Read Every Waking Moment Online
Authors: Chris Fabry
Every Waking Moment (5 page)
Streams from Desert Gardens
scene 6
Wide shot of security guard Buck Davis in uniform, arms crossed, leaning back in his chair.
The day Mrs. Howard began was the same day I was hired. I told her she’d never regret it. I like to say she never would have made it this long if I hadn’t come along. Been here every step of the way. We’ve grown up together. Not grown old, mind you, just grown up.
You learn a lot of things working at a place like this, if you’ll let it teach you. It’s just like anything in life
—you have to open your mind. Have to see what’s not there as much as what is.
Tight shot of Buck’s weathered hands, then back to wide shot.
We had one fellow years ago, Mr. Pennington. He was some high-powered banker or investment man who made lots of money, but his wife had died and his children didn’t want him around, so they put him here.
Every morning he would get up and have his breakfast, read the paper, and get dressed in his suit and tie. He’d head toward the front gate and right on out to the street. The first time it happened, we sounded the alarm and everybody got agitated until
we ran him down and brought him back. He wasn’t too happy about it, either. This was a man who was used to being the boss. So we tried to explain he couldn’t go walking off like that. He said he was sorry, that he was a little mixed up, and that he wouldn’t do it again.
Still photo of Mr. Pennington.
Well, you know what happened the next day. Here he was again going toward the gate. So Mrs. Howard and I put our heads together and pretty soon we figured out he wasn’t hurting anybody by taking a walk. It was actually doing him some good. So she would phone me of a morning and tell me when she saw Mr. Pennington was dressed and coming out of his room. I’d say good morning to him when he passed me and then I’d get in the car and follow him until he got tired, which was usually down at the Walgreens unless it was the summer. I’d pull up like I was his chauffeur and give him a ride back, ask how his day was. He’d reach in his pocket to give me a tip and tell me he forgot his wallet. And I’d say, “That’s okay,” and he’d go in and take a nap.
The next morning, same time every day, he’d be dressed and ready to go. Except for there at the end, he would be late by a few minutes or forget to put his pants on and we’d have to go to plan B.
Wide shot of residents in the dining hall as voice-over continues.
People are creatures of habit, every last one of us. You can make your rules and try to get everybody to follow in lockstep and control every little thing they do, or you can treat people with some dignity
and go with the flow. That’s what Mrs. Howard has always been good at. Taking people where they are and working with them to make this place a little like home.
Tight shot of Buck, misty-eyed.
I’m going to miss her. I thought maybe one day she would just move in here with her husband, but that’s probably going to be a few more years, I guess.
CHAPTER 6
MIRIAM EXITED
the dayroom but stopped abruptly when she saw Jillian Millstone peering through the mountain on the glass wall. The woman was stocky, with a matronly build and short hair that seemed a little too dark for her age. She kept each thinning strand under tight control and wore dark, slim-fitting pantsuits that made her look less attractive than she was, Miriam thought. She was unmarried, had no children, and seemed able to catalog every duty for the job except compassion. But the board of directors had made their decision and Miriam trusted their judgment. Even if they were making a mistake.
“Ms. Millstone, I was hoping I’d see you. We have a prospective member of the community I’d like you to meet. I was going to get the contract and go over it with the family.”
Millstone held up a hand. “I don’t want to interrupt. Are you certain she’ll be staying?”
There was an edge to her voice. Miriam sidestepped it like dog waste on the sidewalk. “They seem impressed with the facilities and the people. There will be money concerns, of course.”
The woman moved toward the door. “What is she doing?”
“Treha? What she always does. She’s our one-woman welcome wagon.”
No smile. No reaction. “That’s not her job.”
“No, we certainly don’t pay her what she’s worth.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“I’m sure you’ve been able to pick up by now that Treha is one of our greatest assets.”
Millstone stared through the glass at the fuzzy images.
“Well, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll
—”
“Just a moment, Mrs. Howard. Do you think it’s proper? In your opinion and with your experience, do you think it’s wise to have an untrained employee working so closely with the residents? She’s a janitorial worker, is she not?”
Miriam nodded, but the woman wasn’t looking at her. “I hired her because she does everything we ask.”
“She’s not scrubbing toilets and tile, is she? Most of the time she’s engaging patients.”
“She is the most beloved person on staff. Once we discovered her gift, I didn’t give her as much to clean. We didn’t want to waste her ability.”
“You’ve supported this because the ends justify the means. If something works, don’t question it
—is that right?”
“Ms. Millstone, I’m not sure you fully understand what Treha offers.”
The woman turned to face her. “I understand quite well. There is a liability issue. I’m surprised you haven’t seen that.”
“Well, that’s absurd. Treha
—”
“When something happens
—and I mean
when
—this facility will be held responsible.”
“You don’t know her.”
A glance through the glass again. “I understand you had a dog once. You used it for therapeutic purposes.”
“Yes. Bailey.”
“What happened to Bailey?”
“He grew old. We had to euthanize him.”
“Not before he bit a child. Visiting a grandparent, as I understand it. How much did that family receive in the out-of-court settlement?”
“The child was hitting the dog with a cane. Bailey reared back to protect himself and one of his claws scratched the child
—”
“There was a settlement, wasn’t there?”
“Yes, we did take responsibility.”
“And you were vulnerable because you decided taking in this animal was worth the risk.”
Miriam smiled. “I’m sure you’ve seen the studies. You can’t measure the reparative impact of an animal to . . . Bailey brought life to these halls. Smiles, joy.”
“Many residents were traumatized. The attack made them question your judgment.”
Miriam looked at the floor.
“If he was so therapeutic, why didn’t you replace him?”
She didn’t answer.
“The board told you not to bring another animal into the facility, didn’t they? I would think patients deserve a life without ticks and fleas and animals that use the hallway as a restroom. Certainly seeing little children attacked can’t contribute to their long-term well-being.”
“Ms. Millstone, there is no comparison between Treha and an animal. There is no risk. And there’s no end to the reward she gives.”
“I was looking through the personnel files. What we know is alarming. And what we don’t know, the unanswered questions
—that’s even more frightening. You obviously didn’t take this into consideration.”
“I think everyone deserves a chance.”
“Agreed. And maybe even a second chance. In the proper context. With the proper education and supervision. And she has neither. That makes everyone vulnerable.”
“You can’t judge someone simply by reading a file.”
“Isn’t the safety of our residents the primary job? One day this girl will snap. She’s a volcano ready to erupt. There’s no predicting when that will be.”
Miriam knew this was not the time or place for a battle over Treha. She wanted Millstone to understand, to realize how wrong she was. Perhaps over coffee she could get her to see. With a gentle, soft voice and a slight step forward, she spoke.
“I’ve learned a lot over the years that I could never learn in a classroom or from a book. Mistakes, yes. Lessons taught by the diminishment of each life. The medical community views individuals as patients to be cured. But when people age, they’re not looking for a cure as much as they are for encouragement to continue. Our work here is not about curing. It’s about the dignity of each person wheeled from breakfast back to their room.”
Millstone studied her hands.
“Before coming here,” Miriam continued, “I served in a VA trauma unit. I was frustrated with the care the patients received. There was a man, thin and hardly breathing . . . They were working with him to find a vein for an IV. I simply spoke to him. Calmed him while they worked. He had won the Congressional Medal of Honor. But he was just an old man in a wheelchair to me when I started.”
“And your point is?”
“Value people not just for the income they provide us. Value them because of the lives they’ve lived. Value each person who pushes a broom or cleans a bedpan. And value the girl whose
life is marred, yes, but who gives these people more than any doctor ever will.”
Millstone smiled, sickly sweet. “And this is the Miriam Howard shorter catechism?”
Miriam’s eyes narrowed; then she composed herself. “Ms. Millstone, you can run this facility any way you want. But you’ll be making a big mistake if you hamper that girl from doing what God has gifted her to do.”
She turned and walked briskly down the hall and didn’t slam a door until she was in her office.
CHAPTER 7
DEVIN SLUNG
his backpack toward the chair he had bought on sale at OfficeMax, and it rolled back on the plastic mat. The cherry desk and hutch had been 50 percent off. These were the only things that were “new” in the office. The rest came from Goodwill. A gray desk from a WWII battleship sat in the corner.
Devin had jumped at the chance to sign a year’s lease in a strip mall that had seen its better days. Businesses had come and gone and there were several storefronts that had nothing but red For Lease signs in the windows. This office had previously housed a tax preparer who had moved to a busier intersection and hired a woman to dress up in a Lady Liberty costume and stand by a nearby stoplight twirling a sign. An insurance agent occupied the office before that, and the first tenant had been a carryout pizza restaurant. There were still sauce stains on the ceiling, and a doughy odor lingered in the carpet.
Instead of installing new walls and configuring the office the way he wanted, Devin had negotiated the rental price down a hundred dollars per month. And then he made Jonah a full partner. It was the least he could do since Jonah and his mother had done so much for him.
Devin studied the battered phone and the unlit message
light. The phone system was a leftover from the tax preparer, as were the plant and two tattered chairs that sat in what was termed the lobby.
Jonah Verwer stepped into Devin’s office with one hand in the pocket of his khakis and the other around a twenty-four-ounce bottle of Mountain Dew Code Red. He was pudgy, dutifully carrying the extra weight of his sedentary life. He spent much of his day in front of a screen consuming high-sugar and immensely caffeinated beverages, along with fries and burgers from the dollar menu at a local fast-food restaurant. He was probably thirty pounds over what might be considered a moderately healthy existence, but Devin knew he wouldn’t change until the heart attack twenty years down the road.
“Let me guess. The bank offered you a loan and you’re frustrated because you don’t know which editing software you want to buy.”
Devin moved his backpack and sat in the chair that tilted a little too much to the left. “We didn’t get it.”
“Shocker. What excuse did he give?”
“The same. Bad business model.”
“We have a business model?” Jonah ran his hand along the impressive collection of DVDs lining a dusty bookshelf. “So where do we stand?”
Devin told him about the Garrity funeral and how the family had responded. He tried to show grit and fight in the face of hurricane odds.
“Did you ask for a check?”
“Come on, it was a funeral. You think I’d ask to be paid when the casket is still open?”
“You should’ve held the video until they paid. Like a ransom.”
“I’ll remember that next funeral.”
“They’ll pay eventually,” Jonah said. He leaned against the table that held Devin’s printer, but it wobbled and he didn’t sit. “Mr. Garrity was a peach. Sad to see the old guy go. He’s been our best so far. Didn’t even have to ask that many questions
—I just turned on the camera and he took off.”
“I wish you could have seen the reaction. Your music made it sing. It took you right there, you know? Just like I’d pictured. If that banker had been there, he would have written a check on the spot.”
Jonah took a swig from the bottle and screwed the cap back on. “Sullivan dropped by.” He burped.
Devin’s shoulders slumped and he closed his eyes. “Did you let him in?”
“I tried pretending I didn’t hear his knock, but it didn’t work.”
“What did he say?”
“He’s ready to change the locks by the end of the week.”
“Great.”
“How much are we behind?”
“Two months. Three next week.”
Jonah stared at the stack of bills on the desk. “What about the electricity? If they cut that
—”
“I’m current with Tucson Electric. Well, maybe a month behind. I know we have to have juice in order to power the machines and the air-conditioning. We’ll be okay.”
Jonah turned toward the window overlooking concrete and asphalt and the finely manicured desert that had gone to seed. Some kind of thistle had sprung up in the wash and taken over. Tall and green and resistant to Roundup. “Even the eternal optimist has to come back to reality when they’re changing the locks, don’t you think?”
“You can’t change the locks on a person’s outlook on life,” Devin said.
“Where’d you read that?”
“I made it up.”
“Nice.”
“You know what I’m looking forward to?”
“What’s that?”
“The day that banker comes in here and stands right where you’re standing. I can see it. He’s going to stand right there and beg us to set up an account. No, he’ll be crawling. Hands and knees. Offering an interest-free loan. ‘Please let us give you money.’” Devin laughed, but it was more from worry than mirth.
Jonah turned the crank on the window blinds and the room darkened. “I want to be here when that happens. But it doesn’t look like anybody’s beating the door down right now. Clients or lenders.”
There was an uncomfortable silence of men in transition. Men confronted with themselves and each other.
“I was thinking that . . . maybe it might be a good idea if . . .”
“A good idea if what?”
“If Sullivan locks the place up
—”
“He’s not going to lock us out. I’m going to pay him.”
“But if he does, we lose all of this. I can’t afford to be without my computer and camera. And you don’t want to lose the new desk and your DVDs.” Jonah pawed on the floor with a foot. “My mom was saying you could put your stuff at our place. Just until we figure things out.”
“Jonah, what kind of image does that present? You and me working out of your mother’s house? Come on. We’ve been there before. Have a little faith. We’ll get through this.”
“I’m trying to be responsible. The equipment’s all we have.”
Devin scowled. “Fine. Give up. Move your stuff home to Mother if you’re scared. I don’t blame you.”
“It’s just until we can get settled,” Jonah said.
“No, it’s not. It’s giving up. If you take your camera and computer and stabilizer and tripods
—you take that out of here and it’s over. It’s like a couple moving in together and one person says they need space. ‘I just need my space. Give me space.’ The other person moves out and it’s over. Kaput. They never see each other again.”
Jonah stared at the painfully thin carpet. “I’m not . . . What was her name?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“If I don’t take the equipment, it’s over for both of us. He locks those doors and the property inside is his. I had a friend who worked over at a Chuy’s when they closed, and the guy wouldn’t even return the purse she left behind the bar.”
“I told you, I’m going to pay.”
“With what?”
“Garrity’s family writes a check this week for sure. That will buy us more time.”
Jonah thought a minute. “Devin, we’ve known each other a long time.” He waited. “Agreed?”
“Yeah, we can agree on that.”
“And I’ve been as committed to this as you. I’ve shot video of old people who can do nothing but drool and I haven’t complained. . . . Okay, I’ve complained a little.”
“Agreed.”
“But I’ve been here every day. Well, almost every day. And I’ve worked my tail off.”
“You’ve worked hard but you still have quite a tail.”
“But there comes a point when you have to make a decision. When you have to see the truth.”
“Which is?”
“Maybe it’s not working. We could shoot this documentary another ten years and we wouldn’t find what you’re looking for. Even when we get a gig, like with Garrity or the weddings, they don’t pay.”
“The wedding paid.”
“They gave us cake and the check bounced.”
“It will work; trust me. Stop whining!”
“I’m not whining. This is the truth. Garrity was an anomaly. He was one in a million. Most of the people we’ve shot have been so stiff you couldn’t tell if rigor had set in. They couldn’t remember most of their lives and couldn’t communicate what they did remember. That one woman was so nervous
—”
Devin waved him off. “Her daughter told me she had a weak bladder.”
“Weak? That’s like saying Niagara Falls gets a little fast at the edge.”
“I should have warned you.”
“You should have bought me a raincoat. And galoshes.”
“Jonah, this is part of the process. It’s paying our dues. Remember when I told you we had to pay our dues?”
“I’m fine paying dues. I can work long hours for no pay. I can keep going without a steady check. For a while. I can set up a shoot and get the audio and sequence the music. But I don’t think we’re getting anywhere. You’re a great visionary
—you have ideas and you can see what is coming together on-screen
—but old people are sometimes scared of you.”
“We’ve gotten some great footage.”
“That’s meandering toward pointless.”
“It’ll come together. And maybe we’ll hire somebody softer, more inviting, to do the interviews.”
“Devin, we don’t have money for rent. How do we hire another employee? Maybe we’ve reached the peak, you know?”
Devin leaned forward, his elbows on his empty month-at-a-glance calendar, his finger and thumb slightly apart. “We’re this close to something big. I can feel it. Something with the shoot that changes everything. We can’t give up. The people at Garrity’s funeral, if they ask who did that, the phone will ring off the hook and we won’t have time to tie our shoelaces. Then we’ll finish the documentary and win an Academy Award.”
Jonah stared blankly.
“Fine. Go unplug your stuff and leave.” Devin stood and put out a hand. “No hard feelings. I’ll get somebody else.”
“I don’t want you to get somebody else. Devin, I’m not your enemy.”
He pointed a finger at Jonah. “Every time you talk about quitting, you’re my enemy.”
“This is the first time I’ve said anything.”
“Then every time you entertain the
idea
of quitting, you’re going against me.”
“So now you’re doing the
Minority Report
thing? You can get inside my head?”
“My
friend
is my coworker who believes in what we’re doing. Somebody who buys the vision and runs with it, even when it gets tough. Have a little faith.”
Jonah unfolded a chair that was leaning against the wall by the bookcase. It was left over from the pizza restaurant and had flour stains on the seat. He sat and the rivets whined.
“My dad said something to me a long time ago,” Jonah said. “He said life is like a pretty girl who smiles at you and asks you
to come to her house. It feels good to be with her. And you get all tingly and warm inside. And about the time you get up the nerve to ask her for a kiss, when you think she’ll say yes, she plants a boot in your mouth. This is not an
if
but a
when
. It’s going to happen. If it’s not a boot, it’s a sock full of nickels. Life swings it hard, and if it connects, the best thing you can hope for is to lose a few teeth.”
“Your dad was Mr. Encouragement, wasn’t he?”
“He was a realist.”
“Is that why he killed himself?”
Jonah looked away.
“I’m sorry
—that was a cheap shot. Keep going. I want to hear what life does next. Seriously. Can you at least cash in the sock full of nickels or does life take those with her?”
Jonah rubbed the fuzz on his chin, then gestured with a hand. “His point was you have to make the right decisions early.”
“You mean like not going over to life’s house?”
“No.”
“Keeping her away from the sock drawer?”
“You have to decide how you’re going to handle the boot because if you don’t, you’ll give up when things get tough. Just sit down and stop living because it’s too hard. Life hurts too much. It kicks you in the teeth, which it did to him. And it’s doing it to us.”
“So you’re illustrating irony here? Because giving up is exactly what you’re doing.”
“I’m not giving up. I’m trying to move forward. I’m making a good decision now so I don’t have to suffer later. I keep the equipment instead of buying it back from the sheriff’s auction.”
Devin turned his chair toward the window.
“This business wasn’t a bad idea,” Jonah said. “It was good
—”
“Leave.”
“We shouldn’t have set up the office. You should have saved the inheritance
—”
“We can’t present a professional image from your mother’s spare bedroom.”
“We don’t have a professional image! Don’t you see that, Devin? We don’t have paying clients. We have a hundred hours of old people talking about life in the good old days.”
Devin waved a hand. “Whatever.”
Jonah walked to the door. When Devin turned, he saw something in the man’s face he hadn’t seen before. A resolve
—defiance perhaps.
“You know what the problem is, Devin? I can’t tell you anything. I can’t talk about what’s bothering me. Or what’s wrong with the business. You don’t want a partner. You, you, you
—” he stammered. “You want a lackey, a camera operator. Some techie who can get the shots and call it good and edit and take your direction. But you don’t want feedback. You don’t want correction. You don’t want to work
together
; you want a slave. You’re the only one who can have an idea. And that’s sad because I’m fully invested. I wanted to be part of this.”
Jonah ’s face was red when he finished, his voice raspy.
“Where’d that come from?” Devin said.
“I don’t know. I guess I’ve been waiting. All the things I wanted to say but was afraid to.”
“I should have told you to get out a long time ago. That was good.”
“You think so?”
“There was real energy there. Like you were feeling it.”
“You want me to try it again?”
“The ‘you, you, you’ part was impressive. It felt a little forced when you said ‘slave,’ but I’d keep it if you’d recorded it.”
“I’m trying to get more passion in my life. You know, like living from the heart instead of the head.”
