I turn to find a plump, middle-aged woman hurrying my way, her brunette hair pulled back in a tight bun.
“Is that you?” she asks when she reaches me, stopping.
“Yeah, sorry.” I smile.
“Great. I’m Annie.” She nods her head toward the opposite end of the hall. “Bingo starts in four minutes, and I’m fixin’ to be seriously behind.” She starts walking while she talks, and I struggle to keep up with her brisk pace. “You have any experience with this kind of thing?”
“No, but I’m really looking forward to it.”
“Yeah, okay, hun. Let’s see how you’re feelin’ after your first day.” She laughs, her gaze focused ahead, and she guides me into a large room already packed with elderly residents. People chatter over the round tables, some of them laughing and others bickering. “So here’s how this will go. I’ll host with you for the first round, then you’ll take over from there so I can finish settin’ up for the dance afterward. Got it?”
“Yup.”
She brings me to a long rectangular table at the head of the room where game supplies have been laid out. As I scan everyone seated before us, another small smile lifts my lips, and Annie shakes her head. “You’re sweet, honey, and most of the time they are too, but I’m not going to sugarcoat it—I’m throwin’ you to the wolves here.”
I arch an eyebrow.
She chuckles. “You’ll see what I mean.”
Annie wasn’t kidding.
Bingo was intense. Some of the residents surprised me with their stamina and determination. One Irish woman who wasn’t even part of the game peered up from her romance novel long enough to mutter, “If you all can’t keep quiet, I’m going to shove my walking stick up your feckin’ arses.”
After the game, I got to talk to several of them one-on-one. It amazes me when I imagine all the stories they must have to tell. Maybe that’s me romanticizing the idea of getting old, but I think it’s sad how easy it is to fast-forward through life, each day blending into the next. So often we don’t see—let alone feel—the magic in the moments we’re making until we’re old enough to pause and view them as memories.
After saying goodbye to Annie, I make my way back to the lobby. Just as I near the front desk, a couple pushes open the doors to the entrance, and a warm draft hits my skin.
I don’t know what it is about the sensation, but it stops me in my tracks. I look over my shoulder, toward the hallway veering right. Before I know it, I’m spinning on my heel, following the pull toward the room I visited earlier. Since the dance is going on, I expect her room to be empty like most of the others, but I find her sitting in the same chair as before. She’s still staring out the open doorway.
It feels wrong, this stranger being so alone and lost inside her own mind, but a balm quickly soothes my chest when I see a caregiver in the room with her this time. The woman, dressed in blue scrubs, turns on the TV, then flicks through the channels until the soft lull of a piano floods the room.
After the caregiver sets down the remote, she spots me. She angles her head, and her tone is hushed when she asks, “Can I help you?”
“No, I’m sorry.” I take a step closer. “I just started volunteering here.”
“Do you know Miss Riley?”
I shake my head.
“Oh, well ...” She looks back at the woman. “Would you like to say hi?”
“Can I?”
She smiles. “I’m sure she would love that. She doesn’t get nearly enough visitors.”
I walk deeper into the room, taking in the bland cream walls and tan furniture. As I move closer, I notice a gorgeous mahogany piano hiding in one corner, shadowed behind tall plants. I don’t play any instruments, but seeing it makes me smile. If I listen close enough to the soft strokes streaming through the TV, I can almost pretend it’s coming from her piano.
When I reach the woman, I kneel and set down my bag. To my surprise, her gaze follows me. She blinks a few times.
“Hi,” I say gently. “My name is Blue, and I’d love to stay with you a little while. Is that okay?”
She doesn’t respond, but I wasn’t expecting her to.
“I was about to brush her hair,” says the caregiver. “Would you like to do it tonight?”
“I’d love to. I mean,”—I glance back at Miss Riley—“if it’s okay?”
“Here.” The caregiver comes closer and takes Miss Riley’s slender hand in her own. “Can we brush your hair now, Miss Riley?”
