Page 5 of Paths
I decide to revert back to my creeper status, pronto, and let someone else deliver his order. As exciting as it was talking to Grady, I don’t want to push it.
Ugh. Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, I’m not just a creeper, but a scaredy-cat creeper.
Chapter 2 – One Step at a Time
Maya –
“Bingo!”
“You could not have gotten Bingo already, Erma. She’s barely called any numbers.”
“I did so, Betty. She’ll check the numbers, just you wait. The Bingo gods love me ‘cause I’m not a crabby old hag like you.”
“I might be crabby, but I’m not a cheater.”
“How can you cheat at Bingo? Maya checks. If you can cheat at Bingo, lemme know how, ‘cause I’m all for cheatin’.”
“No one’s cheating.” I sigh. Sometimes I wonder if I work with the elderly or preschoolers. “Tell me your numbers, Erma.”
Erma calls out her numbers and she was right, the Bingo gods definitely love her. She wins a lot.
“Bingo,” I confirm. I reach for the old boom box we use and cue up the song on the CD. “We all know what that means. Everybody up. It’s good for your circulation. Let’s hokey pokey.”
“I hate ‘The Hokey Pokey’,” Betty complains. Betty always complains about something. “Can we do the ‘The Twist’?”
“We’ll twist next Bingo,” I offer.
“I want to do that slide dance,” Foxy yells from the back. Foxy is spry and surprisingly limber for his age. When I first started working here, I asked how he got the name Foxy and he said he didn’t know. He’s been called Foxy his whole life and, since his given name is Cornelius, he was good with Foxy. Who could blame him? I’d be good with Foxy, too.
“Most of us can’t hop, Foxy!” Emma Lou shouts even though she’s sitting right next to him. She must not be wearing her hearing aid. She’s right, though. Foxy is the only one who can hop. He’s also the only man who plays Bingo and I’m pretty sure he does it only for the dances. We do a little dance every time someone gets a Bingo. It’s a good way to get them up and moving.
I push play on the CD player and yell over the music so they can all hear me, “Two more Bingos, it’s almost lunchtime. We’ll twist and cha-cha next. Come on, sing with me!”
I lead them in “The Hokey Pokey.” My group of about fifteen seniors sing and dance, some having fun, others only pokey grudgingly. I do my best to dance around the room to get them in the mood—I’m over feeling like a fool when doing things like this. It’s my job to keep them excited, and really, I think they like me for it.
We put our arms in and out, our legs in and out, and we turned ourselves around. By the time we’re done, they’re breathing hard and I can tell they’ve had enough. We play two more rounds of Bingo, with breaks for “The Twist” and finally the “Cha Cha,” which makes Foxy a very happy man.
There aren’t many men here at Rolling Hills Ranch. I’d say the ratio is hardly five to one. It’s also hard to get them involved in games like this—Foxy is one of the only joiners. I do my best to coax them out of their rooms.
They do like to be outside, though. This fall we played horseshoes. I had to fetch the horseshoes for them, but I did it because it made them happy. We even tried croquet, but they don’t like to bend over, so that wasn’t a good idea.
I quickly clean up the Bingo sheets and markers as the residents move to the cafeteria. I spot the sneaky seniors who I’ve secretly named the Clickety-Clique walk by. “Miss Lillian Rose, you better not sneak a regular plate again. You’re BP was up—you need to stick with the low-sodium meal.” Lillian Rose is from the deep south in Alabama, and her family moved her here so she could be closer to them. She loves her southern food, but her blood pressure does not. She’s thicker than thieves with some of these women and they’ve started smuggling her food on the side. “Yeah, I’m looking at you, Dot. You’re not doing her any favors by pilfering food that’s not good for her.”
Just to show me they don’t give a damn, the entire group rolls their eyes.
“That’s what my medication’s for,” Miss Lillian Rose says as she struts out of the commons to the cafeteria.
Sighing, I gather my things to return to the storeroom. I’ve been here since seven this morning to plan and get ready for the day. We usually start after breakfast around nine. So far today, we’ve gone for a morning walk, sung karaoke, played trivia, and just now, Bingo Dance Party. Not everyone does everything—that would be too much for anyone in this group. I try to vary the activities so there’s something for everyone. The Ranch isn’t the poshest assisted living facility on the planet, but it isn’t a dump, either. Their monthly payment includes activities to entertain and keep them healthy, both physically and mentally. They have other activities here in the afternoons, but they’re group-led, or volunteers come in to organize a book club or a Bible study. The residents are most energetic in the mornings, so that’s when I’m scheduled, which works well with the winery. I usually stick around through their early lunch, then by noon I’m back at Whitetail, where I work the regular lunch hour through closing in the tasting room.
As I put everything away so I can work on my schedule for next week, the director stops me in the hall. “Hey, have you started the process to get licensed in Virginia? Cheryl gave me her notice yesterday. She’ll be gone at the end of February. Everyone really loves you, and as much as I’ll hate losing you in activities, I need a good PT on staff.”
I bite my lip because I’m going to have to talk my way through this, and I’m so tired of bullshitting those around me. What I hate even more is I’m becoming really good at it, and coming from a long line of really good bullshitters, it’s not a family trait I was hoping to inherit.
I’m a bullshitter and a creeper. I’m beginning to hate the new me.
“I’ve gathered the paperwork and have started digging through it. Virginia is a bit different than New York. I think I have to take some additional classes, they won’t allow me to test out. I’m working on it,” I lie. Lying sucks and it seems the longer I’m here, the more I’m lying. Maybe it’s time to sever my ties and move on. I’m not quite sure what the normal protocol is for staying in the same place when you’re hiding from your ex and his family.
“Perfect. How long do you think it will take?” he asks.
