Flee, Fly, Flown Read online

  I’m feeling very proud, almost cocky about this clarity. I do know that it isn’t always so. It’s like I’m back. It gives me promise.

  “Let’s eat lunch, and then we can pack our clothes.” I say.

  On our way to the table, we stop to look out the window. We’re not allowed outside much—never, in fact, unless we’re on the special bus for some sort of goofy outing.

  I don’t mean goofy, really. The market is fun, but we don’t get to take money so we can only look. And we get ice cream on our way back. That’s good. I miss the outdoors though.

  I can sit for hours and look out the window like I’m watching TV or something.

  A blue taxi is parked out front. The driver opens the passenger door to let someone in. On the side, painted in large white figures, there is a phone number. I pull a pen from my pocket and a napkin from the table and write it down.

  Audrey is watching. “Do you always keep a pen in your pocket?”

  “Yeah. You never know when you’ll need to remember something.” I replace the pen and tuck the napkin in beside it, poking around and pulling out a wrinkled message from a few days ago. “Good things happen when you write them down,” I say. ”Don’t worry. Everything will work out.

  It always does.”

  I stab my fork into the crusty topping on the macaroni and cheese, one of my favorite lunchtime dishes. I raise it to my mouth but it’s hard to swallow. I manage a few bites and a cup of weak coffee, then slurp down some half-melted orange sherbet.

  Back in my room, I fold pants and shirts, nightgowns, underwear and socks into my pack, then take them out and put them back again. Every article of clothing has a big white tag stitched on it with my name—even socks and bras. I can’t figure out how it is that my clothes are always getting stolen right out of my closet when they’re marked so clearly. No one believes me. They say the missing clothes are in the laundry, or that I never had red pajamas. But I’ve seen other people wearing my clothes. I have.

  Despite my bravado with Audrey, I’m unsure about leaving. I can’t decide what to bring, what to leave behind. Tranquil Meadows is suddenly very comfortable and secure.

  I finally hide the bag in the closet and lie on the bed to rest, my back throbbing and my mind numb.

  I stare at my supper. I have trouble concentrating.

  Audrey leans close. “Are you packed?”

  “Yes, I’m ready. What about you?”

  “I found a big shopping bag in my closet and filled it with clothes, pajamas, and soap and things,” Audrey says. “I even stuffed two rolls of toilet paper in the bottom just in case. And I emptied my purse again to be sure the keys and money were still there and found a credit card, not yet expired. That might be useful too.” She can hardly contain her excitement. “This is gonna be great.”

  “Wonderful,” I say, trying to gather some enthusiasm.

  “What’s wrong? Are you having nerves?” Audrey asks.

  “No, no. I’m just a little tired. I want to go. For sure. I’ll feel better tomorrow.” I pick at my food. My stomach is telling me to stay, but a stronger sense somewhere inside is urging me to get away from this sameness of one day to the next.

  Daylight nudges under the curtain that surrounds my bed.

  At first I have only a vague sense that today is special, but when I rise and open my closet, I spy the backpack, brightly colored and filled with all my things. My heart starts to race. I dress as quickly as I can, my muscles and joints creaking and moaning, tie my running shoes, and leave my room in search of the dining room. The route is short and surprisingly direct.

  The air conditioner billows clouds of icy air into the room. I don’t like the cold. Inside this place, I’m always wrapped in a sweater. The idea of driving along a hot country road with my bare arm out the open window makes me smile.

  “Good morning,” I say, joining Audrey at the window.

  “It sure is.” Audrey waves her arm toward the sky. “Look at that beautiful…ocean. Not a cloud in sight. How are you this morning?” she asks.

  “Fit as a fiddle. And you?”

  “A little nervous.”

  I try to reassure her. “It’ll be an adventure—no expectations. We’ll be like Jack Whatsisname. You know, On the Road? Or Bob Hope and Bing Crosby in The Road to…wherever? We’ll just see where we end up.”

  Porridge, toast, scrambled eggs. We leave the dining hall and arrive first at my room. “Come in for a minute,” I say. “We need to decide how this is going to work.”

  Audrey looks confused. “I thought we’d decided that.”

  “But the details—we need to talk about the details, like where is your car. And a letter—we should leave a letter explaining that we’re fine so they don’t worry.”

  “Right,” Audrey agrees without much thought.

  We compose a letter on a small sheet of paper from the pad in my purse, then tuck it under the pillow with a corner peeking out. I gather my purse and backpack, struggling to maneuver the pack over the hump on my back—a dowager’s hump. Such an ugly name. My doctor has explained that it was caused by long-term damage from advanced something-or-other-osis. I don’t usually notice it’s there unless I happen to catch sight of it in a window or mirror. Audrey tries to help me get the pack on properly but the straps are too short.

  I finally sling both straps over my right shoulder.

  I poke my head out the doorway. “The hall’s empty. Everyone must still be eating. Let’s go to your room.”

  I motion to Audrey to walk behind me. Turning in the opposite direction from the workstation, we walk single file around the rectangle to Audrey’s room. Quickly ducking sideways into the room, I breathe a deep sigh. “We made it this far. Your room is perfect. We can see the elevators and the desk from here. Is your car in the parking lot?”

  “Maybe. No. I don’t have a car.”

  “The one you sold to the boy. Where is it?”

  “Probably parked at his house, I guess. They live next door.”

  “To here?” I ask.

  “No…to my house.”

  “Then we’ll need a taxi. Do you have a phone?”

  Audrey looks around. “My roommate does.”

  I wave the phone number in the air. “I need to call the cab. Do you have your bags ready?”

  Audrey pulls the large shopping bag and purse from her closet. “I just have to go to the bathroom, and then we can go. Don’t call until I come out.”

  The room is dark and turquoise. Heavy cotton drapes hang ready to circle each bed, the same drab color as the ones in my room. They make me think of a stifling tent and of how glad I am to be leaving.

  The bathroom door opens and Audrey steps out with an armful of Depends adult diapers in the shape of underwear. “We’ll need these. I almost forgot. When you’re traveling there isn’t always a bathroom close by. That could be bad.”

  “Good thinking,” I say. “Have you got room in your bag? Here, give me some.” I swing my backpack around and lay it on the bed. Just as I zip it up, a face pokes through the doorway.

  “Oh good, I’ve caught you both in one place. We’re heading down in half an hour to hear a choir sing oldies but goodies. Will you join us?”

  I move to stand in front of my pack. “Not today, Dear,” I reply.

  “No? What about you Audrey?”

  “No, I don’t think so,” she says. “I’ve got a few things to do here.”

  The woman continues down the hall, recruiting an audience.

  I take the napkin from my pocket and check back over my shoulder. “You watch the door while I phone the taxi.”

  I dial and wait. “Hello? Could you please send a car to Tranquil Meadows Nursing Home to pick up two passengers? We’ll be waiting outside…Pardon? Where do we want to go? Could you wait for a minute please?
” I hold my hand over the receiver. “What’s your address?” I ask Audrey.

  She stares blankly back at me. “I don’t know.”

  “Just downtown,” I tell the man. “Thank you.”

  I hang up the phone and clap my hands. “Come on, my friend. We’re getting out of here.” As I slip the number back into my pocket, my fingers stumble on something hard. “Oh, wait. I still have the wristband in here.” I drop it onto Audrey’s bedside table.

  In the hallway, I reach for the button and the elevator doors open. From inside, a stranger peers out. “Is this the upper floor?” he asks.

  Audrey nearly bursts into tears. “Yes—upper floor—yes!” she blurts.

  She squeezes past him, bags and cane crashing against the frame, into the elevator.

  I step back to let the man out, and, with a quick glance up and down the hallway, step inside. I push the button to close the door.

  “Oh, my Lord,” Audrey says, breaking into laughter. “He scared the bejeezus out of me. I thought he was a doctor.”

  The hall is empty on the ground floor and the daylight shines from just around the corner, encouraging us on. We walk slowly and deliberately down the hall, toward the double doors leading outside.

  “Oh no!” I say, as my shoulder mashes against the door. “It’s locked.”

  Audrey drags her bag along the floor like it was a dead weight. Cane, step, drag, cane, step, drag. She points to the doorframe where there is another keypad. Stooped and silent, we stare out through the glass.

  A blue taxi pulls up out front. A man gets out and comes to the door. He pushes a button outside and the lock releases. “Hello, ladies. Are you the two who called for a cab?”

  “That’s us.” I turn to Audrey and wink. “Isn’t this our lucky day?”

  The man opens the car door and helps us in, then stores our bags in the trunk.

  Part II

  FLY

  The Vacation

  4

  “Where to, ladies?”

  Audrey clutches her purse and snaps open the latch. She leafs through the items inside until she finds her wallet, and inside that, her license. Probably expired long ago, it still has her house address on it. She reads it to the driver.

  “Okay. I know where that is,” he says, pulling away from the curb.

  We ride for what seems like forever through the streets of Ottawa, my head spinning as I try to recognize the city I’ve lived in all of my life. Finally, we stop in front of a white clapboard house, dressed up with shutters and a porch across the front and one side. It seems out of place with the others on the street. They’re a little rundown and tired, in need of some paint.

  “This is the place,” the driver says. “I’ll help you with your bags.” He sets the shopping bag and backpack on the sidewalk and opens the door, offering a hand to Audrey. I ease out on my own.

  “Can I help you carry your things?” the man asks.

  “Oh no, we’re fine. Thank you, young man.” Audrey bats her eyelashes and flashes a wrinkled smile.

  She’s always flirting with men—all men. It doesn’t matter whether they’re young, old, filthy, or well groomed.

  He forces a polite smile. “That’ll be eighteen dollars then,” he says.

  Audrey hands the man a twenty-dollar bill. “Thank you for your help.”

  As the cab pulls away, I scan the street. “So this is where you lived? Nice neighborhood.”

  Audrey looks again at the house. I can’t read anything from her expression. She seems almost curious, questioning if this is the place.

  “Someone else is living here. I wonder where Terry is. Those curtains are flowered—ours are beige—and there’s a bicycle on the veranda. I’ve never seen that before.”

  “So, where do you think your car might be?” I ask. “Did you say the boy next door bought it?”

  “I think so. He lives there,” Audrey says, pointing to the house on the right. “Or is it the one next to that? Let me think. I don’t remember exactly. I don’t really know my neighbors that well. Terry doesn’t like me to be too friendly. He always says people are nosey—they don’t need to know our business. I think the neighbor kids are kind of afraid of him because on Halloween, I watch them go right past our house if they see his car in the driveway, and I notice that the newspaper girl only collects when he isn’t home.”

  We set our bags down and walk a short distance along the street. The car is nowhere to be found.

  “Good grief. Here we are, packed and ready to go on vacation, keys in hand, and we can’t find the car. Are you sure the boy even lived around here?”

  “Yes. It’s got to be here somewhere.” She turns around a little too quickly, loses her balance, and whacks me on the ankle with her cane.

  I shake it off. “I’m fine. Let’s just keep looking for the car. What color is it again?”

  “Blue, a blue Oldsmobile Intrigue,” Audrey says. “I know that because I used to repeat it to myself over and over when I was in the mall so I’d be able to find it when I went out to the parking lot.”

  “I understand, believe me. Now, where could this blue Intrigue be hiding? Maybe it’s in a garage. You scoot up there and have a look through the window. I’ll wait here.”

  Audrey turns around, horrified. “I can’t do that. What if someone sees me?”

  She looks up and down the street and her face brightens. She points across the road. “There it is—my car! The boy lives across the street. Now I remember.”

  “Halleluiah! Come on, we’re off then.”

  The key fits right into the lock like magic. We stash our bags in the backseat and I take my place behind the wheel.

  “I can’t remember the last time I drove. Let me see now…”

  I look for the lights on the left of the steering column—bright—dim—off; another knob on the right squirts water onto the windshield. I feel under the seat for the lever so my feet can reach the pedals and adjust the rearview mirror. Finally, I turn the key in the ignition. The car fills with a thunderous roar as music blasts from the speakers.

  “Heaven help us!” Audrey shouts. “That scared me.”

  We fumble with knobs on the dashboard, looking for the volume button. Audrey pushes one that starts a fan blowing full-speed. Eardrums pulsing and hair flying in the gale-force winds, we sit back and howl with laughter.

  Once we have the buttons and knobs figured out, I shift into reverse. The car rolls slowly backward onto the street.

  I sit very straight, my nose inches from the steering wheel, turn the wheel, and accelerate cautiously.

  “This is a cinch.” We cruise down the block and around the corner. “We need money,” I say. “Any idea where the bank is?”

  Audrey stares blankly ahead.

  “Can you check my purse? I might have written it down.”

  She finds my notebook and leafs through the pages. She looks up just in time to shout, “Stop sign!”

  I slam on the brakes, screeching to a halt in the middle of the intersection. A car approaching from the right slows to a stop and the driver waves a little too vigorously, motioning us to move out of the way.

  “Oh dear! You’ll have to help me watch for signs,” I say. “I’m out of practice.”

  Audrey stays pretty calm. “It’s okay. No harm done. Just pull over up here, and we’ll talk about where we’re going.”

  The car rolls to the curb, and Audrey shows me the notebook. “Is this it? People’s Bank, Albert Street?”

  “Yeah, that’s it. Do you know where that is?”

  “Not really. I have a hunch the downtown is this way,” Audrey says, pointing to the right. “It looks more squishy in that direction, more tall buildings all mashed together.”

  “Okay, off we go then,” I say, touching the gas peda
l and pulling back onto the road.

  A red van swerves around the front end of the Intrigue, horn blasting.

  “Jeez Louise! I thought I checked the side mirror.”

  Audrey’s breathing sounds heavy, as if she’s struggling to get oxygen. “Maybe this driving isn’t such a good idea.”

  “Nonsense, it was just a miscalculation. That bus came out of nowhere.” I turn at the next corner onto a busier street.

  Audrey sits straight, her head swiveling left, right, to the front and back, calling out traffic signals and signs as we approach each intersection.

  I am silent, concentrating hard.

  “Albert Street!” I shout, as the sign comes into view at the last minute. I veer to the right, round the corner, and almost hit a man who jumps out of the way with, as near as I can tell, a few choice words sent in my direction.

  “Good grief, you need to give more warning!” Audrey says.

  Trying to forget about the close call, I drive on. Two blocks later, Audrey spots the bank’s sign. There is an empty parking space right in front. I edge slowly up beside the car that’s there, point the front end toward the curb and inch in. The front wheel hits the curb. Two drivers honk and pull out around us, shaking their heads as they pass. So rude and impatient! I put the car in reverse and back out, pull forward beside the car in front and try to back in. It’s hard to turn that far around. This time the back wheel hits the curb, the front, stubbornly street-bound.

  Audrey’s looking out the side window at a young man watching us from a bench in front of the bank. She smiles.

  “This is hard,” I say. “The space is too small.” I try to catch my breath, which I hadn’t even noticed I’d been holding.

  I could just leave the car this way. I’m sure I won’t be long in the bank, but traffic has already started to gather behind us.

  Audrey glances again at the young man on the bench and back at me. I see the look in her eye. Lord have mercy! The world does not need an eighty-year-old flirt. She rolls down the window. “Excuse me, Handsome. Could you help us, Dear?” she asks. “We’re having a little trouble.”