Tomorrow Is Another Day

by

Pepper L. Bauer

A shaft of brilliant morning light pierced the cheerless gloom of the tiny room, falling across Helen Matson's sleeping face like a translucent golden scarf, seeping under her eyelids, into her consciousness, and causing her internal alarm clock to gently prod her awake. She opened one eye and quickly squeezed it shut, blinded by the sunshine.

Helen tugged her quilt up over her head, and tried to go back to sleep. Inwardly she groaned as she heard the familiar squishing of crepe soled shoes in the hall. An all- too-cheerful voice from her doorway called out. "Time for us to get up. Come on Helen, don't be a sleepy head. We don't want to be late for breakfast."

Suddenly, Helen's warm cocoon disappeared, replaced by the friendly, smiling, coffee colored face of a Nurse's Aide. Helen blinked while trying to adjust to the light level. "Wait a minute, I haven't got my eyes yet", she stammered, covering her eyes with her hand.

The Aide laughed and affectionately patted Helen's frail, parchment skinned hand. "That's O.K. Hon, I'll help you get dressed". She turned to the window, grabbed a cord, and yanked opened the curtains as far as they would go with a purposeful jerk, while continuing her morning "pep" talk. "It's a brand new day, and you never know what will happen. Why, it's just full of promise. Something exciting will happen today, you just wait and see!"

Despite herself, Helen could feel the assistant's enthusiasm infecting her like some sort of "Happy-Virus". She slowly and painfully scooted to the edge of the bed, and very deliberately stood up. She raised her arms as high as her arthritis would allow, and permitted the Aide to pull off her nightgown. "You know," Helen thought, "Something interesting could happen. Maybe someone will come see me. I haven't seen the kids for a while. It's been a long time since I've seen anyone from church. Today might be the day".

Helen's optimism continued to grow as she slurped her watery oatmeal at breakfast. She didn't even allow her two tablemates constant inane chatter to dampen her spirits.

Across the table from Helen, Mary talked constantly about her husband. "Last night we danced 'til two, made love 'til three", she repeated obsessively in a conspiratorial whisper.

Helen didn't acknowledge the fantasy. She knew Mary was a widow.

Next to Helen, Anna mumbled quietly in German while poking at her limp bacon. In her mind, she was an immigrant child of eleven and could no longer speak English. Helen tuned her out completely.

After hurrying through breakfast, Helen rose and shuffled off to her room for her morning rituals. In the hall, she passed a big-boned woman with wild white hair, seated in her wheelchair, shouting at anyone she could make eye contact with. "I'm sore, I'm sore!"

Helen ducked her head and tried not to look at the shouter. The woman had yelled like this constantly since she arrived months ago. Helen never knew what to say, and besides, it was hard to feel too sympathetic. Everyone was sore.

Later she settled herself strategically in the sunroom, with a perfect view of the parking lot. "I'll see anybody who comes", she thought happily.

The sun streamed warmly through the wall of windows, thickening the atmosphere, creating an irresistibly drowsy environment. A buzzing fly kept Helen company as she dozed fitfully. Suddenly she jerked awake as a loud grating voice shouted into the lounge, "Time for our morning "Chat Group". Come on Helen, we need your input. Today's topic is fashion."

Helen winced. She hated these kind of activities and tried to avoid them whenever possible. She wasn't stupid. She knew they were thinly disguised attempts to keep the residents anchored in reality.

In fact, she sneaked a peek at the Activity Director's clipboard once and saw that they officially called "Chat Groups", Reality Orientation. After that, she never wanted to attend again. She didn't need it; she had more reality than she could handle.

The Activity Director slipped up behind Helen and touched her arm. "Come on, we're about to begin."

Resignedly, Helen sighed. She stood up obediently, and allowed the Director to herd her down the hall to the Activity Room.

To Helen, the next hour seemed like an eternity. The staff showed the residents interminable pictures of clothing, hoping to spark conversation.

Feeling patronized, Helen obliged them with an occasional noncommittal grunt, but kept her eyes glued on the door. She hoped a visitor would show up and rescue her from this purgatory. Unfortunately, no one came.

After an unremarkable lunch, accompanied by the usual chatty table partners, Helen was more than ready for a nap. Afraid of missing her visitors, she asked the receptionist at the front desk wake her if anyone came to visit; then fully dressed, she gingerly lay down on top of her made bed.

Helen fell into a deep sleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. She started to dream almost immediately. She was on a picnic at the beach with the children. Her husband was there too, handsome in his bathing suit, with his quick smile and hearty laugh. The kids were hugging her and wishing her happy birthday. She was unbelievably happy.

The beach dissolved as Helen woke with a start. She looked around the sparse room, confused for a moment; then reality set in and she began to cry.

At the sound of sobbing, a Nurses Aide stuck her head in Helen's door. "Are you all right Honey? Is there something I can do?"

Helen sat up, shook her head no, and tried to smile. "I had a bad dream," she lied. "I'm O.K. now."

"That's fine, Honey", the Aide answered, then she continued. "You might want to get freshened up. A big choir is coming tonight to entertain and you'll want to look nice."

Helen went into her bathroom washed as much as possible. She liked doing for herself. While she combed her thin, white hair, she thought about the concert. Maybe her son could come hear the choir. He liked music. When he was a boy, he sang in the church choir. She decided to call him.

Helen used the telephone at the front desk to call her son. He wasn't home, so she left a message on his answering device, telling him the concert was at seven o'clock. Certain he would come; Helen started to feel cheerful again.

All during supper, Helen watched out the window hoping to see her son arrive. She saved her dessert for him, wrapping the cherry pie carefully in her napkin. The juicy cherries made little red kiss designs on the thin paper. It was his favorite.

She hid a fork in her pocket.

After her meal, pie cradled in her lap, Helen sat at the empty receptionist's desk so she could watch the front door for her son's arrival. As concert time approached, she became more anxious. Maybe her son didn't get the message. She didn't trust answering machines. It was possible he wasn't even home yet; he worked way too hard.

Tears started to tickle Helen's cheeks. Through blurred vision, she spotted a member of the visiting choir walking towards her. Quickly, she rubbed her face dry with the palm of her hand. The singer stopped in front of Helen. "Are you coming to hear us sing? We're starting in a minute." Helen forced a wan smile. Reluctantly she tore herself away from her vigil, placed the pie on top of the desk, and followed the woman into the lounge.

The choir sang beautifully. As Helen listened to the exquisite harmonies, she closed her eyes and imagined herself singing with them. Time and place melted away. She was young again: strong and full of life. Her voice rang out, clear, and sweet.

Helen could almost feel herself standing in front of the audience, swaying with the music, beaming at the crowd; the lines between past and present becoming blurred. She sang alto in her own church choir for fifty years. Precious memories, but she realized sadly, gone forever.

Helen never heard from her church choir members anymore. She wondered if anyone even remembered her. It was as if all those years were a dream; that maybe they never really existed.

All at once, Helen was overcome with weariness. She just wanted her comforting bed, the oblivion of sleep. Quietly rising, she threaded her way through the wheelchairs, tables, and chairs, aiming for the door. Once outside the lounge, she slowly walked down the hall to her room.

A pleasant teenage Nurses Aide helped Helen prepare for bed. She stood docilely, arms raised, as the child's amiable conversation swirled around her. "It's going to be a gorgeous day tomorrow Mrs. Matson. Spring is finally here. Get a good night's rest. You never know what wonderful thing can happen on a beautiful spring day."

As the gentle mantle of sleep descended on Helen, her lips curved faintly upward. The young woman was right; there was promise in the air. After all, tomorrow is another day.