I Thought I Saw
Chapter 1: Elisa: The Knock Heard Round the Television
I've lived in this house for forty years. I can count the things that have changed within it, a piece of furniture, a picture in an old picture frame. It’s what's been happening outside that has me wired. There is just so much going on, so much that I have missed, in this house all these years.
“Elisa,” Joe called from the side porch entrance, “I’m here…. Let’s see what our agenda is for today.”
The ignorant nurse-y boy was here. There was so much he didn't know. So much he brought into her house that endangered her. The phone, the notepad which he used to take notes of her condition, and worst yet: the television he ‘gave’ to her as a ‘gift.’
As usual, when he walked in the door, he turned on the television to the sport channel and began to work with medications in plastic vials. She could hear the clicking of each pill as he dispersed them between her weekly pill box. He had no expectations of her. No questions to ask of her preference or appeasement to these shiny little pills. He did not know of the woman who existed.
In frustration, I yelled out with ferocious enthusiasm, “You are in violation of my civil rights as a citizen of the United Stated!” Each word belted from my chest. It was all I could muster.
“Now, now, Elisa,” he cooed as if to a lowly child, “you mustn't get all worked up again. I like my job here and if the neighbors hear you hollering every time I get here, they’ll thinking I’m really hurting you and lock me up.”
He pushed my chair into the bathroom and began the preparations of washing me. I sat there, defeated once again. He thought I was crazy, always crazy.
Joe sighed, “You like me, don’t you Elisa. It’s not me your mad at right?” He probed for attention. “Seems like you’re the only thing I've got right these days.”
I let out a low gurgling moan. This poor boy, I thought, twenty something and begging for attention. He should have a pretty little young thing to give him all of that, not some grumpy invalid old lady.
“You search for the atonement of your sins,” was all I could manage to put forth into his world.
At this he smiled, beautiful young eyes shining down as if I’d actually said the right thing. “You know Elisa,” he giggled, “I bet you've got more going on in there than I could imagine. I wish I could hear your thoughts.”
I gave him a smile and sat idly as he washed me. My word wouldn't always come clear. More often than not, they were awkward and simply wrong. I just couldn't explain what I was thinking clearly.
When we were finished with my daily washing, we moved on to the living room. I knew Joe liked to watch the TV. I would even tolerate most of what he put on. I loved some of the comedies that would play endlessly, even some of the action or adventure movies thrilled me. There was something exciting and inviting about an intentionally fictional world.
There were two types of television that I would not tolerate. I refused to watch reality television and most adamantly… the news.
Joe was trying to coax me into watching a really strange reality TV series called American Pickers. My poor defeated brain kept spewing out statements like, “These men proudly display the unhealthy non-role models of America. They broadcast our deepest weaknesses to our enemies.”
“But they've got so much old stuff on the show,” he begged, “they’d love your old time refrigerator.”
“They are a danger to the American society,” I’d wail, “and in violation of the civil rights designated by the United States Constitution.”
Joe sighed, nearly in resignation when a knock sounded at the door.
We both jumped, most assuredly because the front door was only about three feet away from where we were both sitting. The knock was so dominant, with full gusto it sounded throughout the whole room.
Joe looked toward me with eyebrows raised. No one ever visited me. When I say ever I don’t mean that I had some long lost ungrateful son that had moved across the country, I mean that there was no one to visit. Joe didn't even know that the person who paid for his grateful services was not a member of my family or friends circle.
The bewilderment across my face at the sound was enough for him to decide that it must be some Jehovah's Witness here to spread the good word. He left American Pickers on TV intentionally hoping I would fall in love with the lanky man and agree to watch it.
“How can I help you?” Joe asked politely at the door.
“I would like to speak with my grandmother,” a young voice chirped determinedly.
“I’m sorry,” Joe cooed in his polite but wiser-than-thou voice, “I don’t believe Ms. Elisa has any children.”
“No,” the voice grumbled, “of course not. The program which has sent me here is for young at risk youth to interact with wise, old, and sometimes grumpy elders. She’s meant to give me wisdom so I don’t ruin my life and I’m supposed to inspire her to live again.”
Joe continued to explain idly that I should not have been entered into any such program due to my current state of mind. He went on and on about how my ‘condition’ was not befitting to help anyone. He continued, “I would rather such a program be informed that Ms. Elisa is in dire need of a professional psychologist, instead of a little girl.”
I could not see the child, my chair was turned instead toward the television. I could, however, hear the stammer in Joe’s voice. His hesitation in sending her away and his distress when she did not seem to budge. He stammered on for a good length of time without pausing to let her get her explanations in. Mostly, I was sure he simply wanted her to show some sort of resignation and to leave defeated.
Finally, Joe paused long enough to take a much needed deep breath. I heard her determined voice then. “Listen, I don’t care if she’s loony. My other options are much worse.”
“Shouldn’t an adult have brought you the first time? Or at least informed her nursing facility,” Joe argued.
“What is your name?” she demanded.
“Well…” he stammered, “Joe.”
“Nice to meet you, Joe, I’m Aaron.” I heard her, “Now the way I see it we have two options. First, I could go away and you can have a quiet evening of Double Jeopardy or something. Or, you can let me in and at least allow this Ms. Elisa to decide for herself. If you’ll let me remind you, Ms. Elisa is not an infant, but an adult.”
Joe didn't say another word and I heard the door close. A young girl no bigger than my rocker marched in.
“Who are you?” I asked.
“My name is Aaron. I have been assigned to your home to provide entertainment and company at least two days a week. I’m 11 years old and I’m living with my Aunt next door for the summer. She asked if I would come try to sit with you. Mostly, I think she doesn't know what to do with me. I can be very high maintenance.”
What a deal of spunk, I giggled to myself. “And what has led you to determine I will allow such an arrangement?”
“You've got nothing better to do,” she sighed, “and neither do I.”
“Joe’s told you to go?” I half said, half asked.
“I expected you to be of an age to decide for yourself,” she shifted nervously.
“Then you've been taught to respect my rights as human and citizen,” I tried to keep it together without getting weird, perhaps this young girl will listen and understand my pain.
“People are people,” was her only reply.
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