Fade To Black

 

I used to be Marilyn Monroe. 

I’m sitting in a bedroom with white curtains and pale walls that remind me of coffee with heavy cream. Not quite brown but not quite beige either. I’ve been sitting in this room for twenty years, staring at the same rotten, dried landscape all day, every day. It gets quite boring, but it passes the time. The time always passes, no matter what I do.

On Wednesdays, I get to go for a ride to the park. The big gray bus that picks us up smells like rotten potatoes, and the driver sometimes forgets that we’re old. The way he flies over those bumps and potholes is enough to make anyone dizzy. Sometimes we get to feed the birds. We watch the waves rise and fall, and they look so beautiful. The waves can swallow you whole and drag you to the depths, if you’re not careful. Yet the deep blue of the water calms me.

One day at the park, a group of school children were visiting, and we crossed paths. There was a little boy in the group with mousy brown hair and big blue eyes. He smiled at me as he walked by, and I smiled back. The smile that I saw suddenly became familiar. It was not so familiar that I knew who he was exactly, but I had seen his features in another form. Perhaps in my younger days I may have known his family.

Making eye contact with the boy, I smiled again and motioned for him to come to me. Unsure of me, he glanced back over his shoulder to see if anyone was behind him to tell him if he should come to me or not. When he saw that no one was watching out for him, he paused briefly, I assume he was thinking about what he should do, as he started toward me. The determined look on the boy’s face as he approached me spoke to the pride he had in his decision. His grin alone was enough to make me chuckle out loud, which was enough to cause one of the groups’ caretakers to call out, “Daniel! Time to go.” Daniel turned toward the voice and then looked at me. Frowning, he shrugged his shoulders, ran back to the group, and headed out of the park. I was sad, but I understood that he needed to go.

Once the boy left, I began to think…I was trying hard to remember how I used to be. Lights and music were a large part of the memories I had, but beyond that, nothing is clear. I remember a man, a tall man, with serious eyes and a warm smile. The first time I saw him, I was so nervous. I knew he was smarter than me, and more sophisticated than I could ever be. I’m not sure if I love him or not but I know that he protected me and cared for me.

******************************************************
Now I’m standing in front of a crowd, and my heart is racing. Taking a deep breath, I’m thinking about why I let him talk me into this. All these people staring at me like I’m a freak, or worse, almost reduces me to tears. I turn to walk off the stage, and I see him in the audience smiling at me, but with piercing blue eyes. I know what will happen if I leave right now, so I walk up to the microphone and speak. I hear the words, but my shame stays buried within me.

I close my eyes and try to remember. Images of my childhood come very easily and stay with me, but new experiences seem to be fleeting. Where am I, and who keeps looking at me? The only thing that stays emblazoned in my mind is coming from the tall man. It makes me uncomfortable. I’m sure it’s been years since he last looked at me. That makes me feel like a misbehaving child.

But I’m not a child. I’m a crippled old lady with a brain like a scarecrow.
I called for the attendant because I was feeling uneasy. Of course, he’s talking to some young girl with brown eyes and a tight skirt. Young ladies don’t have any class these days. I don’t want to yell too loudly. I really don’t want to cause a scene.

Now I see the man who was staring at me stand up. He’s walking toward me. I may be old, but I can reach for the wheels on my chair and push myself in the opposite direction. Oh no…I must’ve hit something. My chair is starting to tip over.

Now I’m lying on the ground, unable to move. I don’t want to open my eyes. I’m afraid that if I open them, I know that he would be staring back at me. So I’ll just lie here and try not to cry, even though I’m in pain.

I feel someone touching my arm. Please don’t let it be him! I open my eyes, and I see a much younger man. That’s a relief! But I’m still scared. I don’t know this person. I hate being touched by people I don’t know. It makes me feel dirty. But he’s trying to help me get up. That’s nice.

As I get to my feet, someone brings me my chair and sits me down gently. People are asking if I’m all right. The young man says that I’m fine, and that I just need to rest. I expect that someone from the home will push me to the van. That isn’t happening though. The young man takes my chair as the staff walks away toward the other residents. I’m starting to panic.

A van pulls up and the side door opens. I’m being pushed up a ramp quickly, and the door closes behind me. Someone swings my chair around, locking it into place in the van. Now I’m crying. The driver is staring back at me. I’m terrified. I see a familiar face smiling at me. This man, who I can’t quite remember, is driving too fast. My head feels heavy, and my mind is scrambled. I feel a pain and then I see nothing but darkness.

I swallow and take a deep breath. I look out into the crowd, and I see him sitting there. No one else matters but him. I smile and start to sing, “Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday, Mr. President…”

Fade to black.