With that last exhortation, Carmella pulled on the gait belt fastened under Sam’s arms and struggled to help him to his feet. With all his weight resting on his good leg, she deftly pivoted him and plopped his body into the oversize wheelchair. “Whew, Sammy, you just gotta be more help than that, or one o’ these days my back’s gonna plum give out and we both’ll be pickin’ ourselves up outa dat flo!” Carmella’s English hadn’t evolved much from the South Oak Cliff dialect of her youth, but Sam got the picture and actually liked it. He could think of a lot worse things than crashing to the floor with a cute young girl on top of him! Fantasies were about his only pleasure at this point.
The evening meal was a big time for socialization at Shadyside, and Sam, as token male, was the reigning king of the roost. The other 29 residents on his unit were all females, which he would have enjoyed immensely had he and they not all been in such a debilitated state. Nevertheless, his position was, at first glance, a somewhat-enviable one, at least from a gender perspective.
“Hiya Sammie,” came a sweet-sounding voice from across the room as Sam made his entry with Carmella propelling his wheelchair from behind. The voice belonged to Margaret Crawford, a feisty little 98-year-old widower whose primary problem was the fact that her body had unfortunately outlived her mind. “Are you just coming back from church?” she queried. “I heard the preacher say he saw you out in the audience today. I’m glad you were able to make it.”
Sam looked at Carmella and rolled his eyes. “Not even close,” he whispered. “Today is Wednesday, and I couldn’t get to church if I wanted to, which, by the way, is the last place I would choose to be. Where does she get all that nonsense?”
“Sammie,” Margaret continued, “did you give the preacher a big tip in the offering plate? Lord knows he needs it! He’s a big man! Maybe not as big as you are, but I’ll bet it takes a lot to fill him up!” she laughed. Sam knew that Margaret couldn’t hear even if he responded, which he rarely chose to do. This evening was no exception, as the only greeting he could muster was a perfunctory wave as Carmella wheeled him past on the way to his table.
Ruby, the toothless wonder, was at her place across from Sam, and had apparently already been served her pureed diet, which she was spitting on the floor as he arrived. God, he thought, do I have to endure this at every single meal? Most likely, he replied to his own question, as Ruby spat a large mouthful of green peas onto the freshly cleaned carpet, narrowly missing Helen’s foot.
Helen, a 57-year-old schoolteacher with Parkinson’s disease, rounded out the usual threesome at Sam’s table. As she attempted to move her foot from the trajectory of Ruby’s peas, her right arm twitched, sending her glass of tea directly into his lap.
“Incoming!” Carmella shouted playfully as the contents of the tea glass soaked into Mr. Wiggins’ housecoat and pajama bottoms. “That should simmer you down a bit, sweetie,” she teased the big man. “Don’t be upset, honey. She was just excited to see you!”
“Excited my ass,” Sam muttered under his breath. “These people are morons, every last one of them. I am the sovereign over a tribe of idiots! Carmella, get me a towel before this ice freezes my dick off!” he growled, referring to the contents of Helen’s glass now melting between his legs. “Jesus, just when you think it can’t get any worse…”
Sam’s woeful prognostication was interrupted by his vision of a tall handsome African American gentleman in a dark-blue suit who had just appeared over his right shoulder. “Mr. Franklin, am I ever glad to see you! The very sight of even one sane person in this establishment gives me almost enough courage to test tonight’s chef’s special. Let’s see…what is it now? Select cuts of local canine over a bed of yard weeds? Mmmmm, can’t wait to try it!” he mocked, fingering his fork like a baton and casting a derisive glance in the administrator’s direction.
Gabriel Franklin had worked hard to attain his present position as Shadyside’s administrator. The fourth child of Marcus and Shareen Franklin, he had always struggled for his proper place in the family. His father’s attention had gone mainly to his position as senior pastor of the Decatur Avenue Baptist Church, a medium-size, primarily African American church just outside the city limits of Denton, where Carmella was now attending college. What little energy that Reverend Franklin had left over by the end of the day rarely filtered down to the youngest child, Gabriel. As a result, Gabriel had to look for recognition elsewhere, primarily through his academic achievements and his athletic ability. He had been the first black quarterback in the history of the Denton Broncos and later received a full football scholarship to the University of North Texas, located just a short distance from his home. Regrettably, a rather-severe neck injury in his junior year resulted in several fused vertebrae and pretty much marked the end of a promising football career. By that point, however, he had managed to capture the heart of the Mean Green’s head cheerleader, Tamika Wilson, whom he later married the summer after they both graduated. As a result of his injury, Gabriel switched careers to health-care administration and went on to earn his master’s degree at UNT. He subsequently attained the administrator’s position at Shadyside and had been there ever since.
Fortunately, patients like Sam Wiggins were the exception rather than the rule there at the nursing home. The majority of the residents were either too ill or too demented to pose much of a customer service challenge. Gabriel Franklin, however, was as smooth as they come and responded to Sam with his usual aplomb. “Why, Mr. Wiggins, Chef Michael prepared tonight’s special just for you. A delightful roast, garden salad, and strawberry shortcake for dessert. I’m so glad you’re pleased with our menu choices!”
Gabriel Franklin was no stranger to long-term care or the challenges of dealing with the elderly and infirmed. It was no picnic working in this sort of environment, but he had done it for close to seven years, and now it was almost a game to him—seeing if he could lighten the mood a little and bring a smile to at least a few of the residents’ faces. Sam Wiggins was a particular challenge, but one that he nevertheless took in stride, accepting the gauntlet as it were.
It was just then, however, that Margaret, never to be outdone, chimed in, “Oh, look, it’s the preacher! Why, you must have made a special trip just to thank Sammie here for that generous tip he put in the collection plate today. Told me, as much as you ate, you really needed it just to keep food on the table. And, oh my, look what a nice meal you’ve prepared for us all! Isn’t God wonderful?”
“Oh yes He is, Margaret, yes He is! And I’m so glad you’re enjoying your meal! Perhaps your friend Sam here will do the same!” Gabriel was so smooth he could take almost anything thrown at him and turn it into something pleasant or funny. It was no wonder that the residents and staff there found him so nice to be around.
Carmella was equally charmed by his presence and added, “Why, Mr. Gabe”—almost everyone there called him that—“I didn’t see you a-comin’ up behind me. My, don’t you look nice tonight in that handsome blue suit! How is it we earned a visit from you so late in