Fight Night

December 7, 2021 

            The weather outside is frightful, but the fire is so delightful..I hummed along with Christmas Spirit, as I waved to the woman standing off to the right of the entry door, studying the door like it held the world’s secrets. Just beyond the grand piano, Perfect Posture Pearl sat by the window wearing her trademark pearl necklace with a tasteful red Christmas Sweater. I wondered what she thought about while she gazed out onto the parking lot. Twinkling warm lights wrapped around a tree that almost reached the ceiling decorated in jewel tones. A plate of untouched food sat in front of Mom, whose back-in-five stare fixated on the tiny woman across from her that was a dead ringer for Nancy Reagan. Nancy’s twin looked up and smiled. She’s new. I was curious if she complained to her daughter about Mom being crazy. The newbies were easy to spot as they always looked a little shocked by their surroundings, just like Mom had a month ago. 

            “Hi Mom,” I said, coming up on her side. I started to pull a chair up.

            “Let’s go sit in the big room,” she said, before I could sit down. When she pushed herself away from the table, half of a torn dinner roll tumbled from her lap onto the floor, catching the attention of the resident Maine Coon cat, who waited under the table. 

            Distracted by the cat, I trailed behind Mom who was already sitting on the sofa, mesmerized by the twinkling lights of the tree. “Do you want to grab coffee?” I took a seat. “Or get your nails done?” No response. Weird, I thought to myself, usually you’re eager to go outside. 

            A gaggle of women sat in a cluster of chairs off to our side. One woman looked half asleep, another carried on an animated conversation with herself, and the third looked upset, muttering angrily under her breath. Mom who I’d almost forgotten about, turned to focus on the woman having an animated conversation with herself. “I think that’s my sweater,” Mom blurted out, which was ironic because she made the accusation wearing an adorable snowman sweater that wasn’t hers. “We need to get a lawyer.” Because she’s wearing your sweater?

            “We don’t need a lawyer,” I said.

            I watched her eyes move to the left of the gaggle of women, then land on a woman who had just emerged from the lunch area. Her eyes narrowed. “There she is,” she said, like she was picking someone out of a lineup. “She’s bad news. She came into my room, so I hit her.” Great, you're going to get kicked out of here.  

            “Why did you hit her?” curious, I asked. Something in Mom’s demeanor made me believe she’d actually hit this woman. Waiting for her answer, I also waited to be called into the principal's office or in this case Jannis’s office. I was reminded of the time Mom had been called into the principal's office when I got caught drinking in the locker room in eighth grade. Payback, I guess.   

            “She tried to take my jacket,” Mom answered. “She fights with everyone. She deserved it!” I started to think if the staff wasn’t constantly redirecting this population, it would quickly become “Fight Night”. The woman Mom hit looked more stable than other residents in thick-heeled white sneakers.  I bet you can hold your own, I thought, eyeing her like I was going to wager money on a fight. Sun had left her face etched with deep creases, giving her a weathered, ornery appearance like she’d seen a few fights in her life.  

            The common living area felt tense, like at any second the delicate balance at play could turn to chaos. I suddenly longed for the painstaking routine of getting Mom out of the building and into my car.

            “I had a strangest thing happen this morning at breakfast,” Mom said. I can only imagine. “The married couple here, you know the ones that are usually so loving to each other?” Mom said, leaning into my face, her voice changing to a whisper. “Well, I thought he ripped her nose off!”

            “Jeez?” slipped out of my mouth, more as a reaction than a reply. In my mind, I immediately changed my wager to this man. He sounded like Mike Tyson in the third round of the Evander Holyfield fight.

            “I made a bit of a commotion about it,” she said, shrugging it off with a “what are you going to do” attitude. 

            In twenty-four hours, Mom had hit someone and made a commotion at mealtime over a hallucination. I was definitely going to be pulled into Jannis’s office. My mind started filing through back up facilities when my thoughts were interrupted by Mom’s voice.

            “Are you ready for the baby?” she said. Do I look fat? I thought about all the sweets I’d been eating. 

            “I’m not pregnant,” I replied, placing my hand on my stomach, as I pictured myself telling Travis, “Guess what? We’re not empty nesters.” 

            Thirty minutes ago, I’d come into the facility sane, but was now ready to check myself into a psych ward. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched the woman Mom hit, who’d I’d already nicknamed Fight Night, approach the gaggle of women. Her thick-heeled sneakers came to a stop alongside the woman who had been angrily muttering under her breath moments earlier. Shit, we need to get out of here. I practically ripped Mom up from the sofa to exit.

            Safely back in her room, Mom plunked herself down in the BarcaLounger. “Do you remember the snow that morning?” she said, her eyes taking in the picture of our family in Sedona, AZ, that hung on the wall next to her bed. 

            “I do. It was gorgeous.” I turned to look at the picture. Morning sun had illuminated the copper and pink of the red rock, shining a beautiful coral hue onto the fresh white snow. Our lodge, consisting of small individual cabins, sat atop a mountain of red rock. 

            “That was a good day,” she said, her words fading off. 

            Leaning on the steering wheel for support, I tried to gather myself, feeling like I’d been sideswiped by nostalgia. Memories of Sedona unlocked a release lever that flooded my mind with memories I hadn’t visited in decades. An image of Mom showing me how to do the tedious layers of baklava, my hands covered in sticky honey. Mom and Dad coming to pick me up when I was in my early twenties, because a panic attack had left me unable to drive. Decades of memories made the past feel present. You’ll be gone soon. What then?