Lily White Lies(8)

Each physical forward step I took through the lobby and main desk area, took me three mental steps backward. This weekly trip had sadly become an obligatory visit; one Gram insisted I accompany her on.

“Good afternoon, ladies. A little chilly for this time of year, hmm?”

Sporting a mouthful of bad teeth and scour pad hair, Norma was too cheerful for her surroundings. I felt certain I’d find a bottle of Prozac if the opportunity to search her purse ever arose.

“It certainly is, Norma. Is my little girl in her room?”

“She is, Ms. Embry. Listening to Bach today.”

Gram insisted on referring to Aunt Karen as her little girl even though she was almost forty-two, the same as she insisted that classical music play in her room during waking hours. She thought a constant stream of tranquil music might eventually drive away the demons that lived in Aunt Karen’s head, leaving room for normal thought patterns. Naturally, it wasn’t working, but Gram was as stubborn as the demons she was trying to exorcise.

As we started down the long hallway, I tried to ignore the desperate faces and pitiful stares that lined the walls. I felt heartless ignoring them, but knew if I hadn’t, I would be unable to contain my tears.

“Come here and talk to me… somebody… somebody please talk to me.” The begging voice echoed through the hall. A frail woman reached out for my hand, her pleading tone rang in my ears.

I swallowed hard and offered my best counterfeit smile as we continued to Aunt Karen’s room.

The man standing in the doorway of room one-nineteen grabbed his crotch and uttered obscenities, as he did every time we passed. I felt myself shudder. There had to be a better answer for people like my aunt, but I’d be damned if I knew what it was.

Each week I’d watch my grandmother transform from quiet and disheartened to cheery and anxious, as she’d cross the threshold into my Aunt’s room. For a couple hours every Saturday, she’d live in a make believe world. Speaking as if her daughter knew who she was, telling her stories as if she were listening and asking her questions as if she’d answer. I felt a little ridiculous talking to someone who didn’t acknowledge our presence, let alone our conversation, but every once in awhile; I’d see that look in Aunt Karen’s eyes. Not a look I could easily explain, but it was as if she had something to say—only to me. I’d see a thousand words in her languid green eyes but before I could figure one of them out, they were gone.



Aunt Karen sat in a chair facing the only window in her small but tidy room, staring at something—or nothing—on the other side of the glass.

“How’s my little girl doing today?” It didn’t bother Gram that her daughter didn’t answer, and she continued. “Oh, I’m so glad to see they didn’t put summer pajamas on you, it’s much too cold for cotton even though… why aren’t you wearing slippers? For heavens sake, you’ll catch your death of cold running around here barefoot...”

I sat quietly on the bed as Gram searched the room for a pair of pink, fuzzy slippers—cursing the staff under her breath.

Aunt Karen could have been a four-year-old child, judging by the way that Gram doted on her. She fussed with her hair, straightened her clothes, re-made the bed and organized the dresser drawers.

When she was through fussing, she would sit on the cast iron radiator next to Aunt Karen’s chair and hold her, gently rocking back and forth. It reminded me of the many hours she’d spent holding me after my parents died and I hoped my aunt found the same comfort in it as I always had.

The smile Gram forced throughout the visit eventually took its toll and she grew more pensive toward the end of our stay. She made one last check around the room, making sure her daughter had everything she would need until the next visit. Then, with a kiss on the top of her head, she muttered the same words I heard her say each week. “No one will ever hurt my little girl again, I promise.”

I offered a goodbye, but before I could turn to leave, I caught the pleading expression in my aunt’s eyes. Somehow, without a word passing between us, I got the undeniable feeling she was asking me to stay. As much as I loved my aunt, I spent my visits counting the minutes until we left, but today, my mind was racing, trying to find a legitimate excuse to stay.

As we made our way down the hallway, I said, “Gram, the book you used to read to Aunt Karen, what was it? Of Mice and Men, I think.”

“Hmm, I believe so.”

“Is it still in the bedside table?”

She offered a half-hearted nod. “Why do you ask?”

Not wanting to raise too many questions, I tried to sound as casual as possible. “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll stay awhile and read to Aunt Karen. That is, if you’ll be okay to ride back by yourself.”