Why? Chapter 7

No. The knock on the door wasn’t by the cleaning woman, Kelly as Beck had imagined. It was one of the densest, dumbest, idiotic blue-shirts on the floor, She opened the door to tell Beck that she would be back to make his bed.

He knew that. He had told her he didn’t want his bed made, and didn’t want to be disturbed before noon, and still the moronic creature had to inform him she’d be back, and Beck had to wonder when? Oh yes, please come back. Come back as soon as you can. I’ve lived with an unmade bed for 50 some-odd years and make sure that when you make the bed, you move my remote controls for the tv and the air-conditioner someplace that I need to limp around to find, thought Beck.

Oh and why is Beck writing in the third person sometimes and sometimes in the first person. Take my word for it. There’s a good reason. In fact a third person will be brought in soon.

And while Beck mulled over his haphazard narrative plans, he still remembered that the day before he had trouble getting to a standing position from the corner of his bed. And this same idiot blue shirt just watched him until he asked for help.






So he let her guy disturb someone else. Waited a while. And then stood up using one of the PT mantras: Nose over toes.

If he got to that pivot point, he was up and could walk.

Beck remembered that while she was watching him try to stand, she said: You’re not trying.

Beck: Well, I hope you never have a stroke but if you do, remember me trying to stand.

Beck was constantly amazed by the lack of training the so-called health-aides received. If any.

Oh, and stop making the bed with everything tucked in for chrissakes. Beck had to pull the covers apart at the top and on the side to get into bed. And yes, he had told her many many times. Might as well talk to my plants instead. He had taken to talking to the plants lately.

So far, they weren’t answering him back.

Beck was beginning to have revenge fantasies tho. His best one was to take the stim(ulator) electric machine, set it on Russian, at the highest level, and put the electric conducting pads on the doorknob.

He didn’t know if it would conduct through the metal doorknob, but if it did, wowee he would be kicked out of the Castle or thrown into isolation faster than a speeding server in the dining room.

Published by Dave

My name is David Beckerman. I am a fine art photographer working in New York City. Or I was before I had two strokes. I now write from a Nursing Home. https://dave-beckerman.pixels.com

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