She was falling down the stairs, and absolutely nothing flashed before her eyes.
Elizabeth Virginia Mae Hoskins lay in a wrinkled puddle of flesh and brittle bones at the bottom of the cellar stairs and pressed the button of her Lifeline necklace, crying out: “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up!”
The formerly young and pulchritudinous
*******************************
Doctors poked and prodded her. She was cold and naked on a metal table covered only by a piece of paper.
“What will I do now?” she asked. And they put their stethoscopes in their ears.
“When can I go home?” she asked the nurse. The nurse slid a cold bed pan underneath her and left the room.
“I’d like to walk out by myself.”, she told the intern when she was released. He picked her up and dropped her in the wheelchair. That was the rule. “Well okay”, she replied automatically. Elizabeth Virginia Mae Hoskins had always obeyed the rules. He left her at the elevator with no explanation – to check on something and be right back, she supposed (she had to suppose since she hadn’t been informed). She sat in the wheelchair for forty-five minutes.
And then it was enough.
“No!”
She walked boldly to the exit. Elizabeth Virginia Mae Hoskins was doing exactly as she wanted. And only then, everyone paid attention – and, of course, tried to stop her.
*******************************
He tapped her shoulder and held out a small cup with marigolds painted on it and a chip at the rim. She propped herself up with some pillows and wrinkled her nose at the rancid fumes of hot milk spewing from the cup.
“I don’t want it”,
George pushed it meekly into her hands. “It’s good for you, Betty. Drink it.”
“Oh, all right.” He waited a moment to be certain she did as she was told, and when she put her lips to the cup he turned around and shuffled back out of the room.
“Disgusting.” Betty spat out the small amount that she had sipped in George’s presence. She reached over to the drawer of her nightstand, opened it, poured the foul liquid inside, and closed it.
*****************************
When dinner time arrived – dinner was always on the table promptly at 5:30 – Betty’s diminutive five foot tall frame was hunched over right in front of the television screen watching Madonna felate a microphone.
George sat in his armchair unable to concentrate on his evening paper – looking apprehensively at his wife, anxiously awaiting her journey to the kitchen to fix, for the 20,176th consecutive time, their evening meal. She never shirked this duty (“Betty doesn’t consider it a duty”, George always said, “She considers it a privilege.”). Betty did not even attend her sister Beatrice’s wedding because George did not like to travel – and she wouldn’t think of having him cook for himself, or hiring someone – a perfect stranger!
“Betty! Betty! Where’s my goddamn dinner?”
Betty looked at him with uncharacteristic irritation. She flipped through the Yellow Pages, picked up the telephone receiver and dialed a number.
“Hello? What! Is this Lung Chow Restaurant? What are those scrumptious things rolled up? Yes, dear. We’ll have four of those. What about that stuff that you put in those adorable little boxes with the little handle? Oh, you put everything in there? What do you like, young man? Ohhh, that sounds delicious…we’ll have that then….what was it called…Kung…POW…chicken? Delightful, dear.” She smiled with rosp optimism into the telephone, her dentured overbite locking her into the smile permanently – until she noticed it, and withdrew her teeth back behind her fleshless lips. “Yes, please deliver it to
“Betty!” George’s already shaky vocal chords cracked pubescently with panic. “What in hell are you doing? What is the matter with you? Chinese food? Delivered?”
“Oh, George, lighten up, you old fuddy duddy. It’s fun having Chinese food delivered. All the yuppies do it, you know.” She pinched her husband quickly on the cheek and went back to her station in front of the television where Mick Jagger’s cavernous mouth was coming in for a close-up.
After dinner George meticulously folded and flattened the little Chinese cardboard boxes and put them into the trash can. With a tight lip and creased brow he tied the garbage bag up, heaved it with much grunting and huffs and puffs, and took it outside, dropping the waste into his strategically placed garbage container (corner of the rectangular bottom lined up to the curb so as to form a perfect ninety degree angle).
He walked back into the living room and marched up to Betty, who was now playing a game of poker with an imaginary opponent and wearing George’s fishing hat with his Shriner’s pin, war medal and Benevolent and Protective Order of Elk’s membership emblem.
He plucked his prize possession off her muddled grey head of hair and wagged his finer admonishingly at her. “Betty, I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but this foolishness…this weird…Ever since you hurt yourself you’ve been acting like somebody else – not like my wife”.
Betty picked a card from the pile and placed it with controlled intent face-up on the coffee table. “Aha!” she yelled, and pointed her finger to the empty seat across from her. “I call your bluff”.
George’s long thin face withdrew bluntly. His normally well-balanced gray pallor blanched, highlighting facial black holes disappearing into the deep creases of his face. “I’m callin’ the doctor.”
He traced his finger down the list of emergency numbers and picked up the telephone.
“George! George!” Betty yanked the telephone from his grasp and hung it up. “George, honey. Don’t be silly. It’s nothing. I’ll be fine. Really I will. It must be some side effect from my medication. Be patient with me. Okay, honey? I’ll make a good dinner for you tomorrow, sweetheart.”
George stood immobilized still holding the receiver. “Well, I dunno…you sure are acting alien like.”
“I’ll make you cod cheeks and Eastham turnips for dinner tomorrow, sweetheart.”
George’s creases opened and lightened up automatically to the suggestion (though he meant to keep them rigid). They softened even more. “Cheeks, huh? And Eastham, not regular, turnips….mashed?” He had to ask.
“Yes, George.” Betty rumpled the sparse tuft of hair on the top of his beaming liver-spotted head. She kissed him on the cheek and went into the bedroom to sleep.
**********************
“Ta daah!” Betty waltzedsuggestively out into the living room, modeling her new outfit. “Well, Tiger!” She swung a hip toward George, who was sitting in his well-worn armchair. “Whadd’ya think?” She blew him a kiss.
George lifted his newspaper higher, blocking out his new reality now displaying itself so blatantly.
“Oh, come on George. Stop acting so old.” She leaned over his newspaper and teasingly placed her wobbling cleavage directly in front of his nose. “Isn’t this sexy and wild?”
She backed away with her hands on her hips, then turned around so that the short full green and black polka-dotted skirt twirled high in the air, revealing paisley silk underwear.
“”You’re making a fool or yourself, Elizabeth. I would suggest you remove those obscene garmets as quickly as possible.”
“Oh, George! What a good idea!” she laughed. “Oh, why bother? You don’t even know you said something funny. I like my new outfit and that’s all that matters.”
George scowled and returned his attention to the evening news. The front door slammed. “Betty! Betty!” She was gone.
**************************
“Goddamn it6 to hell, Betty! Where were you last night? I damned near called the police?”
“Sure, George. You probably just went to sleep. Well if you must know, I jitterbugged all night long at the Barley Neck Lounge. In fact, that nice young man from the Land Ho Bar – you know, the owner’s cousin or something --- Jack. He danced with me – right in front of everyone. He said I danced divinely, George! I was a knockout. I was wicked cool!”
“Wicked cool? Where are you getting this language, Betty?” He took a step toward her and pointed his index finger into her face. “Elizabeth Virginia Mae, if this nonsense does not stop…if you don’t start being my wife again, I’ll….”
“You’ll what, George?” She gently pushed his finger away from her face. “Oh, George. Why are we fighting” Why don’t you just loosen up a bit and join me? We could have so much fun together.”
“Fun! Betty, you’re just too damn old to be acting the way you are. It looks like I’m the only rational one here. Now, I’m going to remain calm. You put aside this instant youth junk and stop making a horse’s ass out of yourself.”
“And if I don’t.”
“I don’t want to even think about it Betty. But unless you prove to me that you’re not off your rocker, I’m going to have you committed.”
“Thanks George. Thank you very much for your loyalty to me.”
“I’m doing this out of loyalty, Betty.”
“Yes, George.” She walked into the kitchen with dragging, resigned steps and turned the kettle on.
********************
After breakfast Betty changed into comfortable clothes.
“Sweetheart, would you like to go for a nice walk with me to
George didn’t budge from his armchair, and clicked the television on with the remote control.
“George!” He remained deaf-eard, and continued clicking to different channels.
“Well, I’m going then. Alright?”
He remained silent. Her eyes drooped sadly, but she decided to go on her own anyway.
She walked over the little pedestrian bridge that crossed the deep lush green salt marshes to the dunes. She stopped in the middle of the bridge and looked into the ocean stream running below. Several large horseshoe crabs floated by with their prehistorically clunky bodies gracefully making their way through the water. She walked between the sand dunes weaving her way down to the water’s edge where she sat for quite some time staring at the multiple cross tides….criss-crossing….discordant waves….all reaching their own chosen destination.
After awhile she got up and walked down the beach. Up ahead she noticed a group of kids – young adults, really, maybe in their thirties. “I AM lonely,” Betty thought. “Why should’nt I just keep walking?” She veered towards the small group of five, following that funny smell that was wafting from them. One of the young women realized Betty was coming toward them and panicked. “Hey, Axel! Put it out. Quick! That old lady’s coming over here.”
“Mellow out Wim. What’s she going to do? We live here too. She probably won’t even know what it is.”
“Helloo,” sang Betty waving to them.
“Hi.”
“’lo.”
They all smiled to the elderly woman, but glanced at each other inquiringly.
“I was just taking a walk and you young folks looked like you were having such a nice time together, I thought I’d stop and say hello.” She stood for a moment, and graciously realizing that they may have been awkward at her indirect request, tried to make things easier for them. “May I sit down for awhile?”
Axel jumped up as if suddenly awakened and held hes hand out to her. “Sure. Of course you can. Why don’t you sit right here on this towel.”
“Oh, I don’t want to take your seat. The sand is fine. I’ve een sitting in it for over seventy years.”
t “Seventy years?” Wim asked with unjenuine, but well-meant, incredulity. “You don’t look nearly that old…..um….well, I mean…”
“I know what you meant, dear, and the compliment is accepted.” Betty smiled at the yong woman, who smiled back appreciatively for the protective response.
One of the other men picked up the small brown pipe, put it to his lips and lit it, inhaling hard.
“Orpheo!” Wim snapped at him. Her face reddened with embarrassment.
“Oh, don’t stop on my account,” Betty said. “You go right ahead. It doesn’t bother me one bit.”
The group all looked at each other. Orpheo shrugged his shoulders, and took another hit off the pipe. He passed it to Wim, who looked at Betty one more time just to make sure she wasn’t kidding. But Betty sat there and smiled serenely. The pipe went around the group. Axel took a hit and held it out to the next person in the circle, when he realized it was Betty. He was just about to pull it back when Betty’s hand was on the pipe.
“George --- that’s my husband --- he smokes a pipe once in awhile. I always wondered what it was like.”
She put the pipe to her lips and took a few tentative puffs. She looked around at the group who waited inpanicked anticipation for her to realize with outraged righteousness that it was not tobacco she had imbibed in, and then proceed to choke on the smoke and die in a coughing hysteria. But she was fine. Axel clapped with admiration and a gradual applause built up from the rest of the group. Betty radiated delight.
The pipe went around the circle a few times, when Betty suddenly blurted out, “Well, my, I feel so funny.” She started to giggle and put her hand to her face. “My skin! My skin feels so strange. Axel, dear, put your hand to my cheek….it feels so funny. Like Jello! She burst out laughing. Axel put his hand to her face and chuckled. “Everybody, try it! Touch my cheek. You’ll love it.” One by one they touched her cheek and joined each other in passionate laughter.
They gave Betty a plump green bud to take home with her, which she happily accepted and walked home admiring with a newborn thrill the ineffable wonder of the constellations.
*************************
The next evening, George caught her smoking his pipe beyind the house. He snatched the pipe from her fingers. His face flushed red with anger as he grabbed her wrist and pulled her inside, curing and raving incomprehensively.
“Oh, George…y….you….you”, she howled hysterically, hyperventilating with her effort to speak. “You look so funny when you’re angry.” And again she burst out in laughter, tears filling her eyes. The rest of the evening she watched MTV, while George sat in stony silence fliffping through already read pages of the newspaper.
**************************
“Good afternoon, Ma’am. I’m here today to inform you about the atrocities of vivisection. Would you care to hear?”
“What’s your name, young manj?”
“Keith.”
“Keith. Well, Keith, I’m Betty. And since you’re so polite, young man, you go right ahead and tell me about the atrocities of Vivian”s sex shun.”
While George was out fishing at Meetinghouse Pond, Betty invited the well-mannered, mustachioed animal rights activist into her home. She sat him down, served him a glass of milk and a plate of Oreo cookies, and listened to his passionate plea.
***************************
“And George,” she informed her animal rights ignorant husband at the dinner table that eveing, “they cut their head open while they’re alive to see what’s going on with the brain.”
“Pass the salt, Betty.” George piled a heap of mashed turnip onto his fork, topped off with one carefully balanced cod cheek.
“”And George, bunnies go blind from cosmetics testing. And that’s not even the worst. They give all kinds of animals different diseases. They give monkeys that AIDS disease.”
“They would’ve got it eventually from those homosexuals anyway,” George guffawed exposing a mouthful of over-masticated, thoroughly orally digested turnip.
Betty looked at her mate and suddenly wondered what perverse sense of loyalty had kept her with him for fifty years. She reached over and snapped up his dinner plate from beneath his face, which hovered with rapacious anticipation for his next mouthful.
“Wha’? What in hell are you doing. Give that back to me, y9ung lady.”
“Take back that disgraceful comment you made, and maybe you can have dessert.”
“What comment, Betty? I didn’t say anything.”
“Oh, George! Here. Take it.” She replaced the plate on the table where George resumed his gastronomical worship of mashed Eastham turnip and cod cheeks.
Betty sat in her rocking chair working on a rug hooking pattern to replace the bath mat. She remained tight lipped, glancing at George from the corner of her eye. He gave her a peck on the cheek and retired to bed.
When the first snore filled the air waves, Betty dressed herself in the black dress reserved for only the most popular funerals, her black hat with the wide brim and antique black lace veil given to her by her own grandmother, and left the house.
****************************
“Old MacDonald had a farm….”, sang Betty, “….ee eye ee eye..oh….” George stood under the doorway of the living room gaping wildly at the congregation of zoological invalids. A hairless and sore-splotched chimpanzee draped himself happily on George’s beloved armchair. Blind rabbits curled up in fetal positions in every nook and cranny of every cushion. Thirty-eight white mice ran frantically around, bouncing off walls and shaking wildly from heroin withdrawal.
The scarred primate leaped off the armchair and jumped into George’s arms, throwing his sinewy limbs around his neck. George screamed. “Get off of me! Get off!” He struggled with the animal, plying the long hairy fingers from the strangle hold it stubbornly kept around his neck.
The monkey jumped off and ran over to Betty with open arms. “It’s okay, sweetie.” She opened her own arms, welcoming the monkey with a warm embrace. “Isn’t he the nicest little thing, George? Poor baby.” She smiled at her husband. “And guess what? His name is George too, dear,” she said displaying the dogtag dangling from around its neck. “Isn’t that a funny coincidence?”
“That’s it
George turned to look at his insane wife. She was now pointing his very own hunting rifle an inch from his head. “Betty….now easy, Betty, dear. You don’t know what you’re doing….”
“Oh, yes I do, George. Now hang up the phone.”
A voice came in from the other end of the receiver. “Hello! Hello! Is anyone there?”
George put the receiver to his mouth. “Yes! Yes!”
Betty pulled the trigger.
George clutched his chest and with an ugly expression of abject confusion, fell to the ground.
Betty hung up the phone.
****************************
“Good morning, dear. How are we feeling today?” Betty pulled a chair up to the bed, sat down, and devotedly spooned some mashed turnip into George’s mouth.
“Mmm…mmmph…” came out of the right side of his mouth.
“Oh, George. You’re such a baby. I wasn’t going to actually SHOOT you. I only shot past you. It’s not my fault that you had so little faith in me. You scared yourself right into having that stroke. You brought it upon yourself, dear.” Betty spooned more turnip into his twisted mouth.
She sauntered out of the bedroom, down the hallway into the living room where the Beatle’s “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds” blared from her new stereo.
A bottle of Cuervo Gold waited enticingly by two shot glasses on the table. Betty put on George’s fishing hat and opened a new pack of cards. She held them over the table where a healthy, hairy arm reached to receive them.
“Your deal, George.”
