Gravity Brings Me Down (15 page)

Tod slams on the brakes. Steve Ryan rushes over to help me.

“That had to hurt,” he says, gathering up my things— including my loose tampons!

I grab them from his hands, my face flushing. “I’m all right, really. I do this all the time.”

“You ride with Tod a lot?” Steve asks.

“God, no! Please, don’t tell
anyone
you saw me.” I sound like a total lunatic so I quickly grab my things and tell him I have to go.

Tod calls after me, but I ditch him, running under the bridge along the rail lines to the station.

“Finally,” Sharon says, grinding her cigarette under her shoe. “I’ve been waiting for nearly an hour.” She looks at me and makes a face. “What happened to you?”

I make some lame excuse, blaming everything on my mom and Peggy. If Sharon ever found out I was riding with Tod, I’d be doomed to the barrel for the rest of my life.

“Let’s get going,” she says. “The light is changing. Hang out of that boxcar like you’ve just been killed or something.”

I climb into the boxcar, attempting to look dead. Sharon gives me a few orders, then groans with exasperation.

“What is wrong with you? Do you want to do this or not?”

Honestly, I’d rather not. But I can’t tell Sharon. I’m all preoccupied, thinking about everything: Tod, Steve Ryan, little Jimmy in 417, and especially Mabel. What’s going to happen to her? Should I try to find her family? I don’t even know who they are. And what will they say when a total stranger calls to tell them about their mother? Will they even care?

“Sorry,” I tell Sharon. “I’m just weirded out.”

“Hold it!” she says, snapping a dozen shots. “Okay, now lie in front of the train like it’s running you over.”

Sharon offers me a Gauloise as we walk home. I think of little Jimmy, coughing in his hospital bed. I don’t care if I never smoke again.

“Uh… no thanks.”

She looks at me suspiciously, then lights up, taking a deep drag. I imagine her lungs, black and sizzling, like two steaks on a barbeque. I can tell she’s in a dangerous mood. I just want to get home without incident. Tod hasn’t shown up yet, which is a good thing, but I’m sure he’s on his way.

“What’s on your mind?” Sharon asks.

“Huh? Oh, nothing … why?”

“You’d better not be thinking of that old lady.”

“God, no.”

Sharon exhales, scoping me from the corner of her eye.
“I’ll have these pictures to you tomorrow. My printer’s out of ink but my mom is getting more tonight.”

“Okay.”

We part ways at the park. No sign of Tod anywhere, thank God. I climb the stairs to the house, relieved to be home.

Thankfully, the bathroom is free. Peggy must be out snogging with her boyfriend. Running the bath extra hot, I carefully lower myself in, hoping the water will scald my thoughts clean. When I can withstand the heat, I sink all the way down, covering my face with a washcloth. I’m good at working the taps with my toes, so I barely have to move when I want to add more hot water. I let myself float, the events of the day drifting in and out with the mist from the tub. I can still feel Mabel’s fingers on my arm. And I can still see little Jimmy’s face in his hospital bed. The whole situation is so awful, so impossible to decipher. And yet, as bad as I feel about it, my heart still flutters around in my chest whenever I think of Steve Ryan. I’m so turned around, so messed up, I can’t draw any conclusions at all. Several reheats later, I’m no less confused.

Draining the bath, I wrap a towel around me and go to my room. Steve’s shirt is still folded on my night table. I put it on. It’s long enough to be a short nightie. I turn out the lights and climb in bed. Maybe things will look different in the morning.

T
hings don’t look different in the morning. I lie to Mom, telling her I don’t feel well. The truth is, I don’t feel well. But it’s not the usual gravitational malaise. My thoughts are all scrambled. I can’t straighten them out. The harder I try to deny it, the more I have to admit that I really do care what happens to Mabel. Yet, I’m not exactly sure what to do about it. I mean, it would be easy to walk away and let the pieces fall where they may, as Mom would say, but I just can’t do it. I’m in too deep. I can’t deny the fact that she helped me when no one else could.

And there’s something else I have to accept: I’m in love with Steve Ryan.

The whole thing is so baffling, so inexplicable, I spend the entire day languishing in bed with Morta, rocked by the waves of perplexity.

When Mom checks in on me, I lie again, telling her I’m still not well enough to attend school. She suggests I see the doctor but I quickly veto that. She brings me
tea and toast, leaving it on my bedside table. Sharon calls my cell several times. I don’t answer. Eventually, I turn it off altogether. I spend some time surfing the Net, searching for “Alfie,” Mabel’s song. When I find it, I listen to it over and over. I understand why she likes it so much. It’s beautiful and sad. I download it to my MP3 player so I can listen to it whenever I want.

Mom makes vegetable broth for lunch, admonishing me when she sees that I’ve let my tea and toast go cold. She tells me she’s off to teach, asking if I’m okay to stay home alone. I tell her yes.

When I wake up Wednesday morning, I have the house to myself. Mom and Dad are at a meeting and Peggy’s at school. I force myself out of bed and get dressed. I’ve decided to see Mabel.

I refuse to take the bus so I call a taxi. The cabbie shows up, some old glam rocker trapped in the Eighties. He doesn’t attempt small talk. He just grunts when I tell him where I want to go and stomps on it.

Before I visit Mabel, I go to check in on little Jimmy. But when I get to his room, the bed is made and all of his stuffed animals are gone. It’s as if he was never there. A nurse walks by so I stop her.

“Excuse me … there was a little kid here two days ago … Jimmy … do you know where he’s gone?”

“Are you next of kin?”

“No.”

“I’m sorry. That’s confidential information.”

“I don’t want his phone number or anything. I just want to know if he’s okay.”

“I can’t release information about patients.”

“Did something happen to him?”

The nurse looks at me like I’m deficient. “We’re not allowed to disclose patient information.” She slips her hands in her pockets and walks away.

So now I’ll never know what happened to little Jimmy. I hope he’s alright.

When I reach Mabel’s room, it’s the same thing. She’s gone, and there’s some other old woman in her bed. The panic rises in my heart. Are Mabel and Jimmy both dead? I rush to the nurses’ station.

“Excuse me, I’m here to see Mabel Wilson.”

“Are you a relative?”

“Yes … I’m her daughter … Marie.”

I know what’s coming next so I beat her to the punch.

“I’m the baby.”

She raises her eyebrows in surprise, then checks through some papers.

“Mrs. Wilson has been moved.”

“Where?”

“The Rosewood.”

The Rosewood? Why would they put her there? It’s a rehab centre. “Isn’t that for alcoholics and drug addicts?”

The nurse nods. “Yes, it is a rehabilitation facility. But they also accommodate long-term-care patients.”

“What does that mean?”

“Your mother’s had a stroke, Miss Wilson. It isn’t
likely she’ll be able to return home. The Rosewood is a temporary placement until she can be admitted into a proper facility.”

“Can I visit her there?”

“Of course.”

She tells me what ward, as well as the name of Mabel’s attending physician (Dr. Hackit—I swear I’m not making this up). Then she gives me directions, even though I know where the Rosewood is. Everyone does. We’ve been making jokes about it for as long as I can remember. “
Shut up, or you’ll end up in the Rosewood
,” stuff like that. It’s not like the place is horrible or anything. It’s actually quite nice, with acres of land and a bubbling stream running right through the centre of the property. No doubt it took a pile of money to build. But as nice as it seems from the outside, I’m sure it feels like prison once you’re in.

The Rosewood grounds are a maze of buildings, but somehow I manage to find the right one. Entering through the front door, I’m greeted by some guy inside a futuristic glass tollbooth who pumps me for information.

Name?

Any alcohol?

Any drugs, legal or otherwise?

Cough syrup, mouth wash, cold medication, prescription drugs?

After raking me over the coals, he tells me cigarettes are allowed, but only in designated smoking areas. By the time he hits the buzzer, I’m not even sure I want to go in.

Inside, it’s like a scene from
Dawn of the Dead
.

Zombies have taken over the building, bumping aimlessly through the halls. One tries to escape, moving in slow motion toward the door as I come in. I block his exit, but he pushes past, gripping the edge of the door with all his might until a nurse sees what’s going on and rushes to my rescue.

“Now, Mr. Horton …” she says, pivoting the old guy on his heels so he’s pointing in the right direction.

Another comes at me, pushing some kind of stainless-steel cart. He isn’t speedy, but he’s pretty focused, so I step out of the way.

“Care for anything?” he asks as he shuffles past, even though the cart is empty.

I have to find Mabel, fast.

I check the TV room. More zombies, but these ones are sitting at tables and tied to chairs, drooling on their shirts. The room smells terrible. There’s some grainy video of girls in bikinis playing on the TV. It looks like someone’s home movie from the Fifties. The music suddenly blares and the announcer loudly drawls, “Girrrrrllllll Watching!” It’s like some kind of bizarre torture, showing women frolicking in bikinis to old people who can barely walk, let alone chase girls. In any case, I leave them to it so I can talk to the nurse about Mabel. At least, I think she’s a nurse. She isn’t wearing the usual starched uniform. She’s sporting a cardigan and the kind of pants my mom would call “comfortable.”

She gives me a big smile when I mention Mabel’s name. I don’t know how she can be cheerful, working in a place like this.

“Are you a relative?” she asks. “We’ve been trying to get hold of the family.”

“Uhh… yeah, kind of.”

“Oh, good! Are you able to provide contact information?”

“Not really.”

She looks at me kind of funny. “Are you a granddaughter?”

“Um … yeah.”

“Well, Dr. Hackit will want to speak with you.”

“Okay… can I see Mabel first?”

“Of course. You can check her room, but she may be out strolling.”

“Outside?”

“No, dear. Mabel isn’t allowed outside unsupervised. If you want to take her for a walk you can sign her out.”

“Like a library book?”

“What?”

“Nothing. What room did you say?”

“Room 213.”

“Thanks.”

I find Mabel in 213, just as the nurse said. She’s carrying her purse, wearing big dark sunglasses, and examining the walls with a magnifying glass.

I’d burst out laughing if the entire scene weren’t so surreal, because she really does look like Miss Marple now. Where’d she get the magnifying glass? At least she looks better than she did at the hospital.

An orange rope bars the entrance to the room so I slip underneath. When she hears me come in, Mabel turns, angrily. Then her face lights up with surprise.

“Oh, thank God, child. I’m searching for the way out but I can’t find it anywhere. Come help me.”

She takes me by the hand and pulls me over to the wall. She seems so much more alert than the last time I saw her, and her words aren’t so muted and slurred.

“This place is awful,” she whispers. “Just awful. I came here on vacation but I’ve had enough and want to go home. I’m so happy you’re here, dear. Let’s go.”

As she says this, some old guy putters up to the door, then bends slowly in half to cross beneath the rope barrier. He looks like Lurch from
The Addams Family
, so I’m amazed he can limbo so low. When he clears the rope, he robots over to Mabel’s bed and lowers himself down like he belongs there.

“Who’s he?” I ask.

Mabel hurries over, grabs Lurch by the arms, and pulls, scolding him like a bad dog. “No! This is not your bed. Get out of here. Go on!”

Lurch looks bewildered. I go for help.

“Excuse me, there’s a man in Mabel’s room.”

“That would be Tom,” the nurse says.

“Does Tom make a habit of climbing into old ladies’ beds?”

“Well… he’s harmless. We try to keep him out with the rope.”

“It doesn’t seem to be working.”

She bustles out from behind the desk, unclips the rope across Mabel’s door, and rustles Tom from the bed, speaking in a loud voice.

“This isn’t your place, Tom. You have your own bed.”

She escorts Tom from the room, smiling at Mabel. “Are you going for a walk, dear?”

Mabel turns to me bitterly. “I hate when they call me that.”

“Where’d you get the teddy bear?” I ask, picking up a small red bear from her pillow.

“Oh, that.” Mabel waves it off. “It sings.”

I squeeze the bear. It plays a music-box version of “Let Me Call You Sweetheart.”

“Who gave it to you?”

“One of them,” she says, dismissively

“Well, that was nice.”

“I don’t want it. I want to go home.” She places the bear on the bed next to hers. “There, she can have it. Please, dear, let’s go.”

She grabs my arm and tugs me toward the door. We bump into the doctor, making his way in. Mabel recoils as though the Lord of Darkness just entered the room.

“Oh, no! It’s that horrible person.”

The doctor has a comb-over, wire-rimmed glasses and thin grey lips. He holds his hand out limply for me to shake. I don’t take it.

“I’m Dr. Hackit,” he says, retracting his hand and sliding it into his pocket. “And you are …?”

“Uh … Marie.”

“Granddaughter?”

I look at Mabel. “Daughter,” I say, and Mabel smiles.

“Yes, yes. She’s the …” Her voice trails off as she gropes for the right word.

“Baby,” I say.

“Yes, the baby.”

Hackit ignores her completely. “Are you aware of your mother’s condition?” he asks.

I can’t believe he’s talking this way in front of Mabel so I just stare blankly back at him. He takes this as a “no.”

“We believe she’s had a stroke in a very deep part of her brain. We also believe she’s been having mini-strokes for some time now. There is no chance of her making a significant recovery.”

Whatever happened to bedside manner? I mean, I know Mabel’s walking around like an undercover crime investigator, with her sunglasses and magnifying glass, but she’s not
that
far gone. “I don’t think we should talk in front of her like this.”