Whiskey & Women

Mother and I spend many winter evenings sitting in the Memory Unit’s great room, comforted by the warmth of the gas fireplace in contrast to the sweeping, sub-zero winds rattling the windows and roaring across the roof. The intense weather outside is no match for the personalities of the people within the Unit’s walls.

The closest family HeyYou has is a son in Arizona, so he often worries about where his wife went with car or where his father put the liquor cabinet. He carries a serious demeanor that leaves a fine line between his dry wit and solemnity.

HeyYou devotes much of his time to napping in a living room recliner, or sprawled across the floral-print love-seat, or waiting at one of the dining room tables for mealtime or a nightcap, or sitting by the nurses' desk to chat with whomever is working. The bald octogenarian scoots around with a silver walker, and one of his common activities is to call for Nurse to help him off the couch or out of the recliner.  Once standing, he waddles to another seat, falls into it, waits a few minutes, and repeats the process. Between the cries of “hey!” directed at Nurse, he grabs the walker and pulls himself up twelve or so inches.  And then he pauses. Sometimes he continues upright, but most often he loses to gravity and returns to the cushions with an audible “damn” at the end. He tugs a crimson handkerchief from his dark gray sweatpants and alternately uses it to mop his forehead and accentuate his “hey you” calls to Nurse.

When the attempts to stand are successful, HeyYou takes a minute to peer over the black-rimmed glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. Once ready, he trots across the room on the balls of his feet, his knees bent forward and legs bowed outward as starch-white socks navigate across the carpet.

He loiters at the nurses' desk in the late afternoon and evenings, possibly to hear the latest gossip or just to feel like he belongs somewhere. One evening, I walk into the room just as he is explaining to the two women on duty that he has hot flashes. They compare husbands, and HeyYou says that he has a good wife. “What makes a good wife?” Nurse asks. In a calm and steady voice, he replies, “She hits me upside the head when I do something stupid.”

During supper that night, he grasps his empty soup bowl and declares “I'm still eating that” every time Nurse tries to clear the table. When she finally takes it away, he says, to no one in particular, “Almost got away with it.”

HeyYou has a doctor's note that allows him one finger of whiskey before supper if he remembers to ask. One evening, the ladies on duty discuss HeyYou's arrangement with his “toddies,” and the newest nurse mentions that her husband prefers Jameson. HeyYou perks up with a loud “Ooh” from his chair at the table. Nurse turns and wags her finger at him. “I see, you're just here for the free drinks,” she laughs with a smooth Texas accent.

Fanning himself with an open hand, HeyYou immediately replies, “And the women!”