46. Sad

Thad hated the highway, hated driving on it on all accounts: he said it just worked his nerves too much. So he always requested side roads or even old country roads preferably. And in Oklahoma you could still use the old roads to get from town to town, avoiding all the speeding interstate hubbub, they just took a bit longer, which didn’t bother him a bit. I never knew what germinated this highway fear in him, and he never said, but today he was driving us back from Ma’am’s on the highway, fast, white-fisted, and silent.

The day started fine, but the visit had been purely debilitating. I had picked Thad up this morning and as we drove up to Ma’am’s on the back roads, we exchanged stories about the rest of our evenings. Bettina and Bayne had fought on Main Street before his second band set, but then made-up, but then fought again back at their house and Bayne had passed out in the tall grass on the side of the house and Bettina in a lawn chair on the porch. They had made up this morning, so all was well in their grain alcohol world.

Thad had asked once about the Gaybor and I passed it off as, “Oh, he’s a professor I know from campus…Wants to go to coffee to talk shop…” which was sort of a lie. I had placed his business card under a vase on the mantle as I knew Thad would not look there, having an avoidance to dusting. We said no more on the issue, but I could tell Thad wished that he could ask more. I still felt shame for what I was thinking, and maybe even planning. 

Ma’am’s big gothic house was even more forlorn than the last time we saw it in December. The lawn was unkempt, the trees straggly, and the flowers flat dead. Esteban’s old red truck was again parked outside. He let us in, to find the inside in just as much disrepair, with the house dusty, cluttered, and full of gloom. Thad had snapped, “This is filthy!” and Esteban shrugged, “I am very sorry. I have been very busy with Ma’am.”

Esteban led us through the jungle trumpe l’oeil dining room, out to the back patio. It was a viney, overgrown cobblestoned affair, with empty terra cotta pots surrounding a dry fountain: a cracked statue of a small boy wrestling a dolphin rose up out of the middle. He was missing his left arm. Ma’am lay in a large white deck chair, wrapped in a thick blanket even though it was a comfortable 65 degree May day. 

“Who’s that?” She asked as we neared, slightly raising her head.

“It’s Thad and Michael,” Thad said, going to crouch next to her.

She sat up and he hugged her but she did not hug him back. She did not look like the woman I had met at Christmas. She was gaunt and her polish was gone: Her hair was not done, she had no make-up on, and she wore only simple pants and blouse with mismatched house shoes. The look in her eyes was one of fear. It was clear she had no idea who we were.

“Pardon?” she said, pulling back from Thad.

“It’s Thad, Ma’am! Thad!” He had fear in his voice, which just broke my heart. 

She looked at him in confusion, then a wide smile broke across her face. “Oh, kumquat! How are you? It’s so nice to see you.”

“Ma’am! Oh, Ma’am!” He cried, hugging her, “You scared me!”

“Oh, I’m just getting so forgetful there old days, but I could never forget you.”

“No, no, you couldn’t…” he said, turning away to wipe his eyes. I looked away. Thad did not like people to see him cry. 

She turned and swung her feet off of the lounge chair and seemed suddenly more like her old self. “And who is this?”

“Well, that’s Michael. You met him at Christmas.”

“I did?” She tilted her head, with no flicker in her eyes at all: she knew him but had no idea who I was. At least she knew him.

“You know, my friend Michael? We lived together for, like, four years. He came and had Christmas dinner with us...”          

With a look of quiet shame she said, “Yes, yes. How nice,” and looked away. She was faking it, but I was not going to let that embarrass her, so I stepped up.

“Yes, Ma’am, it’s so nice to see you again.”

“Yes, thank you.” She said. “Thank you. So nice to meet you.”

We sat on the patio for the next hour and Esteban served us punch and cookies. Thad and Ma’am talked, and I added things here and there. She was clearly not as together as he wanted, or needed her to be. He spoke of his Mother and Father and she knew them, and had historic recall, but she had almost no short-term memory. She laughed and talked about a Christmas story from 1972 but was incapable of explaining what she had been doing the last few days, including the night she was found wondering the streets by the neighbor.  Thad refused to give in on the issue, and badgered her until she finally had to snap, “Honey, I don’t know how I got out there. I’m sorry. I just don’t know.”   

Thad rose suddenly, “We have to go.” He walked to the side of the patio to wipe his eyes again.

I thanked Ma’am for the visit and she asked, “What is your name again, son?”

“Michael.”

“Oh, I like that name. He was an arch-angel, you know.”

“I do,” I smiled. “But I can’t fly.”

“Oh, you silly,” she cooed. “I wish I could. Then I could see which houses had pools and which did not.”

Thad stomped over from across the broken patio and bent to hug her tightly, whispering something in her ear.

“I will.” She said quietly. “I always will.”

And Esteban showed us out.

When we got to the car Esteban said, “She has good days and bad days, but her memory is very bad now. Very bad. I will take care of her. I love her, like you do, Mr. Thad.”

“Mucho Gracias,” Thad said.

As we sped down the interstate, Thad had said no more, and I knew not to.

Looking out the window, I wondered if I should write my father before it was too late.