"The Aisle" - Part 3 (chapters 24 & 25)

PART 3


Chapter 24

     Consciousness came to Beth as slowly as the light grows at dawn. For a brief instant, she thought she was still in the market. The gentle low pitched humming got louder. The sense of alarm urged her to open her eyes, but they felt glued; or stuck. She forced them enough to break the seal, allowing a flash of subdued fluorescent rays to penetrate the wafer thin slit between her lids.
     She heard murmuring from somewhere nearby. The sounds were close, but not close enough for her to identify the person, or persons talking. The low steady humming sound was occasionally augmented by a light beeping sound off to the right. Her eyelids felt like lead weights, but she slowly let them open so she could take in more of her surroundings. She didn’t feel good, but she was comfortable enough; lying down; a soft, warm, clean cloth covering her. The room started to clear. Her eyes, now open enough to provide greater periphery, detected a shape a few feet to her left. A person, standing, waiting, shifting. Then she realized it was not one person. There were two people in the room. One she sensed was a nurse. Now Beth understood. She was in a hospital, somewhere. The two people were standing at a counter, looking something over. The other person was glancing back and forth between the nurse and her. It was a few long moments before Beth realized that it was her niece.
     Beth wanted to say something; wanted to call out to her niece, and let her know that everything would be fine. That she was here, alive, and fine. That everything would be okay, but like her eyes a moment earlier, her voice wasn’t working. She had a tube running up her nose and down into her throat. She swallowed involuntarily as she tried to speak. Her mouth was bone dry, and her jaw felt weak; useless; unable to open and allow the sounds to escape. She slowly moved her head back and forth. Relieved that her neck wasn’t broken, she relaxed a bit and took some deep breaths. There was a machine on a stand to her right. The soft glow of red and green digital readouts displayed facts and figures that Beth hoped indicated stable condition. Items hanging from the apparatus fed into tubes and wires that led to her right arm, connected in several spots, delivering nutrients and medicine. “Unbelievable,” Beth thought, “I’m alive!” Not in great shape, but alive none the less.
     She turned her head further to examine the life support equipment. A small label hung from the side of the cart. It read “ICU – Room #4 – Do Not Remove.” Under that, on a small card mounted in a slot was her name, “Bethany Rose Littler.”
She tried to speak; again her throat got mixed messages and she swallowed involuntarily. This made her cough, which, stifled by her closed lips, created a burping sound instead. She coughed harder, forcing her lips to separate, adding volume. The nurse turned abruptly, approached the bed, and bent over her, looking directly into her eyes.      “Miss Littler?” she asked softly. “Miss Littler? Can you hear me?”
     Beth wanted to answer, but she was too exhausted, and her vocal cords wouldn’t respond. She just nodded.
    “You’re in a hospital,” the nurse said. She paused, waiting to make sure that Beth heard her; heard her and understood her. “You’ve been injured, but we’re taking care of you,” she reported, increasing the volume of her voice and slowing the delivery. “You’re going to be fine Miss Littler.” The nurse was leaning over Beth making small adjustments in the wires, tubes, and bedding. She checked the monitors which displayed Beth’s vital statistics. The nurse looked back into Beth’s eyes and smiled. “You’ve had quite a couple of days now, haven’t you?”
     Beth was starting to recall her circumstances; the memories seeping in faster now with the affects of the anesthesia wearing off. She wanted to know more; needed to know more. What had happened to the birthday celebration for Grandee? What time was it? What day was it? Beth had no idea if it was day or night. She looked at the nurse, whose face had changed to that of her niece, Elyse Smith. Elyse looked down at Beth, complete compassion in her expression, and rested her hand gently on Beth’s right shoulder. Beth tried to lift her arm; to hold her niece’s hand. Elyse sensed this and shifted her hand down, grabbing Beth’s hand with a gentle, comforting squeeze.
     “Aunt Beth… I’m so… we’re so happy you stayed with us,” Elyse said, a slight waver in her tone. “You’ve been unconscious for a couple of days now. Over thirty six hours actually. I guess you needed the rest.” Elyse tightened her grip. Beth liked that; it made her feel alive. Then the thought hit her. Over 36 hours! It wasn’t Mother’s Day anymore. It wasn’t even Sunday anymore. “My God,” she thought, “what about the party?” Beth pushed herself to try and speak. She managed to get out a word or two that Elyse could understand.
     “What time?”
     “Eleven”
     “AM…?”
     “PM.”
     “PM,” Beth thought. It wasn’t Sunday anymore; it wasn’t Mother’s Day; wasn’t even Grandee’s birthday. She had missed the entire day, and now it was her birthday. For the first time since Beth could remember; for the first time in their eighty years, the balance of give and take was disrupted. How could they celebrate Beth’s birthday if they hadn’t celebrated Grandee’s? 
 


Chapter 25

     Grandee was standing a few feet behind Elyse. The subdued lighting made it hard for Beth to see who was there, but as she started to make the images out more clearly, she turned her head fully to the side, more than enough to see Grandee standing with her walker; the smile on Grandee’s face was big. Grandee tilted her head a bit, relishing the moment, then she headed towards the bed. Using her walker, she moved slowly but deliberately until she was close enough to the bed to grasp the railing. She pushed the walker to the side, and pulled herself forward. She maneuvered around and sat on the side of the bed. When she was settled, she looked down with the same warm, compassionate expression that she usually showed when Beth was around. For the moment, Grandee looked totally fit; at least for an eighty year old woman; nothing like the elderly, moderately disabled woman that she was. Leaning over slightly, she reached out and gently rubbed the side of Beth’s head in a soothing, comforting manner.
     “What have you gone and done now, my little Rosie?” Grandee asked, rhetorically.
     Beth’s reaction was hampered by her drug induced numbness, but she had never, ever felt so good about seeing her twin sister Ellen.
     Grandee knew how Beth felt. She felt the same. She understood the feeling of despair as your closest friend suffers. She had cared for Beth before, and she would do so again, because that is what her sister needed, and that is what they did. They had always done that for each other; looked after each other and cared for each other.
     They didn’t look identical, but people would admit that Ellen and Beth were as similar as any twins could be, apart from appearance. Their lives, although always connected on a spiritual level, had taken somewhat different paths. Unlike Ellen, who had been married twice, with three grandchildren, Beth had never gotten around to getting married. She had had many chances; many opportunities; what with her natural beauty and vitality. She wasn’t stunning, but in her twenties and thirties, she could turn many a head; and not just the guys.
     After they had removed the tube from Beth’s nose, she was able to start to get some words out. Not totally intelligible as yet, but as the nurses worked to bolster her energy, she was able to grumble out some two and three word statements. Grandma Ellen nodded, almost patronizingly, but Beth knew she was sincere. They had always taken care of each other; back and forth through the years they would trade roles; unplanned and innocently taken for granted; yet in perfect keeping they had with the harmony of being twins. They were each other’s guardians; each other’s Nurse Nightingale. It went all the way back to when they were children at sleep away camp, and Bethany fell off the horse. She broke her fingers so badly that the camp doctor thought she should go home. She stayed though. Partly because kids rebound quickly, but mostly because she wanted to be with Ellen, her true friend and companion.
     Ellen would sit with Beth each night and read her stories; some short, and other much longer; stories that needed three or four nights to complete. It was a wonderful, almost magical time, and Beth loved it more than anyone could know. The group of six girls who shared the cabin all came to enjoy the story time, as Ellen was a vibrant, spirited narrator. Occasionally, girls from another cabin would steal out to hear Ellen read, hiding under the covers of one of the upper bunks, lest they get caught. The stories were many and varied, but they all ended happily; a requirement of the recounting insisted upon by Beth, which often required slight adjustment in the story line; an adjustment provided by Ellen with the seamless integration of a true storyteller with a good imagination.
     Ellen’s expressiveness, and gentle, melodic voice, made Beth feel safe; loved; connected. It helped a great deal that summer, to relieve the pain of Beth’s broken fingers. For that; for that kind consideration, Beth would be eternally grateful.
     Shortly after that, Ellen got sick for the first time. It was a bad case of pneumonia, which kept her in bed for three weeks straight. Beth was at her side the entire time, helping her, caring for her, and reading to her. A pastime; almost like a game, or an adventure, that they both came to love and depend on. And when each girl assumed the role of the caretaker, it was like a powerful presence that would help to alleviate, almost eradicate the woes of the world. This was their pattern; their bond; an alliance that would carry them through life, and buffer them against the inevitable misfortunes of being human.

     Each year they would have a special celebration; a two day celebration to recognize and revel in the joy of being sisters and companions. Ellen was older by only thirty seven minutes. Minutes that bridged the dividing line from one day to the next. And, although it felt like mere moments, it gave Ellen the prestige of being the older sister. Bonded by moments of time, but separated by the law of the calendar, they each lay claim to separate dates of birth. Two birthdays, back to back, offering the opportunity for a longer celebration; a single celebration, spanning two days honoring the birth of both girls with distinctive recognition. Ellen, the rightful elder, would always go first. But like clockwork, steady as the motion of the earth, the attention would shift the very next day. Two girls; twins; separated at birth by the twinkle of an eye; a twinkle that delineated the days of the week, giving one the advantage of being considered older by one day. The two day celebration was a symbolic ritual; a tribute and recognition of the special relationship they shared.
     First one; then the other.
     Beth honoring Ellen; then Ellen honoring Beth.
     A give and take that was as natural as the changing of the seasons. An exchange that manifested itself in many ways, on many occasions, throughout their entire lives.
And it would not end here!
 
     The nurses, and other family members in the hospital room stood back, giving the two women room to connect. Ellen reached down and grasped Beth’s hand. Beth was trying to talk, but her drowsiness and discomfort made it hard to get more than a few words out before she had to stop. Ellen held Beth’s fingers in her left, as her right hand softly stroked the back of Beth’s hand; an attempt to reassure. Beth was apologizing for missing Grandee’s birthday; the first time that either could remember.
     “Shh…shh…shhh,” Ellen whispered. “Not to worry. It wasn’t much of a celebration anyway, what with you all shot up and in the hospital. Besides, there’ll be plenty more,” Ellen said with a smile. “We have a cake for you though. It’s the one you ordered for my party. When they called from the bakery, asking when you’d pick it up, we knew something was wrong. It was quite a thing you did…at the market.”
     Beth furrowed her brow a little in an attempt to remember what had happened. It was still a blur, and she remembered only bits and pieces. Beth tried to shift; to lift her body a little, but the jolt of pain stopped her cold.
     Grandee brushed the side of Beth’s head, cooing softly. “There, there, my little Rosey. You rest. I’m here now, and I’ll take care of you.”
     Someone moved a chair over so that Grandee could sit by the side of Beth’s bed. Ellen slowly let Beth’s hand go, resting it on the soft hospital blanket. She settled herself into the chair and from her handbag she pulled out a small, tattered storybook. It was well worn, read many, many times. It was Beth’s favorite book from when they were young. Grandee smiled at Beth knowingly. Then she leaned forward a little, opened the book to the first page.
     “Here,” she said, “let me read you a story.”
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