I left to go to Neverglade. It was quite a long trip, and I was practically falling asleep at the wheel. Luckily, I had generic radio music to keep me entertained. It's not that I don't love music, it's just...music. That's all. I was driving as if I was in a haze. I just went, I had to be somewhere, and I did it without thinking. Because of this, time flew by.
Soon enough, I arrived at Honey Oaks Nursing Home-it doesn't matter when I get the records, as long as I do sometime today. And it's a good time to arrive at the nursing home-10:00 sharp is when my grandparents prefer to get up. When you're a kid, you wake up at 7, as a teen you wake up at 6, though you wish to get up at 10. Adults don't care (older adults), and then old people again go to waking up late. At least that's the case for my grandparents.
As I went in, I noticed a man sitting on one of the benches of its nice, big porch. Really, it's quite a nice nursing home, but still, it's a nursing home. My grandparents don't have to be here-they aren't demented, or physically weak. They're definitly the most-dare I say it-alive people at the nursing home. Most people just are there, staring at nothing, watching tv, or creeping throughout the home. They don't often talk much. My grandparents are totally not like that. Sometimes, they just talk too much. They're the type of grandparents that want to give you all the advice they can.
I arrived to tell the secretary that I was here to see my grandparents. Though I have come here a lot all in all, she still doesn't know my name. That's not because she's bad at remembering names, but because I only am able to come here a few times a year. This place isn't exactly lively.
"Hello Mrs. Daubry. I'm here to see Mr. and Mrs. Evans."
She typed something in her computer, most likely saying that I was checked in. This place as so many formatlities. I can't even leave with them without her consent.
"Yes, what is your name, sir?"
"Alex Evans."
"Thank you, remember to check out when you leave."
"Yes of course, thank you. Have a nice day."
"Yes, you too."
Gosh, the formalities here kill me! Like Mr. Simmons, I don't always like to be so formal (but isn't that natural for a 22 year old man?), but not really as unformal as Mr. Simmons. I'm in the middle.
When I went upstairs, I noticed the cold hallway to my left. Since my grandparents were...brought here against there will for an unusual reason, they were able to get a special room. I'm not sure if it's because they were scared of them (llama knows why they'd be scared of them!) or who knows what. But their room is well decorated, and they were able to get a queen sized beds. The other rooms have single beds and are really bland and small. Also, their room is apart from all the rest, and their room is by one of the stay in nurses (I don't know, some nurse that doesn't have a life or a home, or both). They keep an eye on them, and I don't know why. I was never told why they were taken here. I don't think I'll ever be told. After all, I am 22, so I'm pretty much all grown up.
When I got in their room, they were lying on their bed, watching one of those soap operas with no end (to me they're like a never ending dream where there is supposedly a future but you never see it).
"Hi Grandma and grandpa! Surprise. I was able to come in because I'm in on business."
"What is that Mr. Simmons makin you do this time?"
Grandpa Joel doesn't really like Mr. Simmons. He thinks he runs me ragged since I always tell him the bad things about him and my job (as he always associates him with everything to do with my job).
Though my job is usually 'eh', I always feel the need to defend Mr. Simmons. The job's a living, but Mr. Simmons is nice, "Oh, nothing much. Don't blame him! I volunteered to come here. I am going to pick up some records. I decided to pick them up for him so I could visit you guys!"
"Oh, well, then I'm glad you came then!"
Grandma spoke up, "Why did he want you to drive here to get the records? There's a thing called UPS!"
Grandpa and I at the same time said, "He's a cheapstake."
Grandma really wanted to change the subject, "How about we go outside and enjoy this beautiful day?"
I waited for them to get up so we could go. Their speed is ten times faster than any other old person living here. Why are they here?
This place is a total paradise. But not an elders paradise, because these people living here are so old they aren't able to fully enjoy it. They sit on the benches and stare at the scenery sometimes, but usually they just sit on benches inside, or lay on their beds. Weather is unpredictable. But the warm heat inside is always set at precisely 72 degrees. I wish it was always that warm in my house.
We all sat on the bench,
"How have you guys been?"
I knew it wouldn't be polite to ask them the question I always wish I could, 'why are you guys even here? Why were you ever taken here?' Sure I believe some old people should be in nursing homes when they get old, and I'm not sure how old that would be, but grandma and grandpa are definitly not old enough-they certainly don't act like they're 90 like everyone else here. They're only like 78, or something like that. And they act much younger than that to me.
"Oh, the usual. Not much. So little occurs here. Bob has been under bed rest. He's had a fever for about two weeks, and he will pass soon, but it's nothing we're not used to. After a while, we just become numb by all the death that passes here. That's the reason why we don't try to make friends here. Who knows when they could pass."
In the nursing home, they've always been loners. Literally loners-just loners together. Sometimes I feel as though I'm a loner, even though I have two great friends. They're the seeds of the peach, and I'm the skin. One in the same, yet so far.
Grandma is always the positive one, as usual she decided to switch topics, "how has your life been going, Alex? Your job, your friends, any ladies yet?"
I became rather depressed when she asked about ladies. It's like I want one really badly, but I'm not desperate enough to settle. And too lazy to look for the right one.
"Well, my job is just the usual. Just the same people as there's always been, I sell things, but usually I don't. My friends both have girlfriends, but of course I don't have one. No one gets me. Not a one."
I wasn't comfortable bringing up my dreams I've been having-that that's getting me through life lately. It's a very liberal idea, dream interpretation and all that. And usually grandparents aren't liberal. They aren't super conservative either, but I wasn't willing to bet that they'd understand that.
"Oh, Alex. I'm sorry that your life hasn't been working out the way you want. You could always find a new job-there will be a girl to understand you one day. I know it."
I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, and how do you 'know it'?"
"Oh, let's just say I feel it in my bones! My bones. But not the bones in my hips. My hips aren't what they used to be."
Sometimes, I just wish I could laugh at grandma. Some things she says are so irrelevant, and she loves to make fun of herself being old.
"Yeah yeah, thanks grandma..."
There wasn't anything I could say in reply to that. But I do know one thing: they always seem to be right. Let's hope that their streak won't be broken this time.
"How about we go in the pool?"
It's pretty nice. My grandparents are the only people that ever go into the pool here. It's a nice sized pool, and yet they're the only ones to enjoy it. I don't even know why there's a pool here if everyone is too old to use it. They even like to hold their breaths as a contest sometimes. They are not normal 78 year olds.
We were swimming for a while, and soon it was lunch time.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I don't even know why I decided to eat lunch here. I have no clue what white mush we got, but I ate it, though I gagged the whole time. Oh well, I don't have to eat here that often.
As I passed a room, I couldn't help but look inside. The rooms are very bland, in shades of gray and brown. The only color in the room is in the tacky floral bedspreads. All of the rooms look the same. I would hate to live in a place like this, I don't know how my grandparents stand it. They're always quite positive even though they live in this house with the almost dead.
I was quite done with being here after lunch, so I decided I wanted to go somewhere, anywhere here.
"Would you guys like to do something, or should I get the records now?"
You'd think that they'd want to get out of this horrible place...
"No, no thank you, Alex. It's almost craft hour. I have to finish my bird house!"
They're pretty much the only people that ever show up for the planned activities.
"Oh-ok, then I'll go get the records."
I really don't know what to expect of this records place. Where would I pick them up?
I noticed an old man come out of the elevator. He, like many of the people here, was wearing pyjamas, crappy clothes, whatever you want to call it. He wore a perfect sneer. Gosh, what's wrong with the people here? It's like they're all brain washed.
"Hello Mr. Daubry, I would like to go now. Please check me out-I'm..."
For once, she knew my name. She smiled a slight smile (she's a very boring lady-her monotone tells me so).
"Yes, I got you checked out Mr. Evans. Have a nice day."
"You too."
I just wanted to leave this place right away-it gives me the creeps and it smells like death.
Well, I arrived at the address on my phone (Mr. Simmons texted me the address), and it was odd inside. Empty. To my left I noticed some lockers. Who knows how old they were-they were quite rusty. But the whole room was startingly clean-as if some robot comes in here to clean it, because the place seemed desserted.
To my right were barrels and boxes, as though these were orders for other people that ordered something musical, because I'm assuming this place doesn't only sell records, but possibly other antique music type things.
Then I saw a box directly in front of me on the counter. On top were some records, and there was a note.
Hello. This package is for Mr. Simmons. Thank you and have a good day. You may leave the 500 simoleons on the table. Thank you and come again! I hope you liked our products.
Sincerely, My Tunes, Your Tunes International
That certainly was strange. Who leaves a note when you pick up a package? Who TRUSTS you to leave money? Who knows, this makes no sense. But I did leave the money, and I brought the box to the car.
After that, I decided I would go on this path I saw. It just looked so pretty, and it was really nice out. It's certainly an improvement to that old nursing home.
I soon found myself at a cute little park. I went on the swing and I swung, acting care free, forgetting my problems as though I were a kid again. If only my problems-my fears, insecurities, my complete feeling of alienation-would disapear.
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