Session Four

           Sorry I haven’t posted in a while.  I got the flu last week and couldn’t go read to Mr. H.  I literally stayed in bed all day playing Call of Duty (no complaints here!)

            So I went back this morning, carrying a backpack of a dozen different books.  I had no idea anything he might want to read, and I wondered what he did last week when I wasn’t there.  I felt kind of bad about it, but Mom said old people are fragile and I could’ve killed him with my germs.

            Christa ruffled my hair before leaving me and Mr. H. alone.  I grabbed my chair as usual and was just about to sit when my pocket dinged.

            He’s getting quicker.

           

            I was about to ask how he knew when he glanced at the door.  Duh, Christa told him.

            “Yes, sir, much better now.  I’m sorry I had the flu.”

            He narrowed his eyes and typed really fast.

            Did he . . . Holy crap, did he actually just say that?  I stared at the text.  How do you even respond to something like that?  I finally looked up at Mr. H.  He was . . . grinning.

            . . .Seriously?

            I gave a slight nervous laugh and said something like “Yes, sir, good one.” Awkward.

            I opened my backpack and read the titles to see which one Mr. H would want to read.  They were all things I had to read for class like “Of Mice and Men” and “Where the Red Fern Grows.”  I didn’t really like any of them, but I figured old people like these kind of books.  I held up each one, but Mr. H. didn’t respond to anything.  He just stared.

Way to make this more awkward, dude.

            Finally I just picked a random one: “A Separate Peace.”  Bleh.

            I started reading again, hoping for no more interruptions.  I described every flippin’ blade of grass and every flippin’ leaf on the tree to the point where I stopped listening to myself.  Time was just about up when my phone dinged again.

            “Yes, sir?” I asked, kind of annoyed.  “Have you already read this one too?”

            Crap.   “Is it that obvious?”  He nodded.  “I’m sorry, sir.  Is there a certain book you want me to bring next time?”

            I have to pick?  Great, more pressure.  “Okay, sir, sounds good.” I packed up my bag.  “See ya next week.”  I got up to leave and my phone dinged one more time.

            I really need to work on my poker face. 

Session Three

This morning I got to Shady Pines like usual with the mother, and she got mad that I ruined a perfectly good name tag.

This time I was able to find Mr. Henricksen’s room relatively easy and Christa left us again.  I sat down and opened the book.

“Chapter Four. . ."

DING!

That was fast.

This guy was relentless! 

Oh, I figured I should change it for liability reasons, ya know, in case I die from slipping on someone’s toupee and they can identify the body.

I didn’t say that.  You can’t talk like that to an older person!

Instead I shrugged and said “Didn’t want to cause confusion,” which is true too.

He nodded slightly again and looked out the window, which I’ve come to take as my cue to keep reading.

Our time was nearly out when my pocket rang again.  I didn’t even notice Mr. H. typing.

“. . .Sir?” I asked.  He stared at me.  “You’ve already read the Great Gatsby?”

He nodded once.

Really, dude?  You couldn't have said told me this earlier?

I was annoyed, but I wouldn’t show it.  “I’m sorry, sir, if I’d have known I wouldn’t have read it.  Why didn’t you say anything before?” 

Didn't wanna be a bother.  I smirked.  Well played, Mr. H. 

Christa came in then and told me it was time to go. I got up and told him I’d bring another book next week.  Now I just gotta think of a good one.

Session Two

 So two days ago I had my second reading session with Mr. Henricksen.  Once again my mom had to walk me in again in case I forgot where the reception area was.  I signed in with Dee again (her mood still hasn’t changed) but I have to keep my same name tag.  Luckily Mom let me go from there alone.  Don’t tell her this but I actually did get a little lost on my way but all I had to do was find the most deserted hallway and I was there.

I knocked on the door and Christa answered.  She was fluffing his pillows when I walked in.  Mr. Henricksen. . .I don’t wanna say he didn’t talk, or move, or anything, because of course he can’t.  I guess I can say he was. . .unresponsive?  Makes him sound like a coma patient, but whatever.  Anyway, Mr. Henricksen just lay there, watching me, as Christa moved around him.  She really was a good nurse.

She smiled and said “see ya in an hour” and closed the door loudly behind her.  I attempted a grin at Mr. Henricksen and dragged my chair over.  “Okay, Mr. Henricksen.  So I guess we left off at the part where Tom yells at Myrtle after he gives her a puppy, sooo yeah.”  And I started reading again.

I was about two pages in when I heard a loud chime and I jumped.  It was my phone.  I mumbled “sorry” to Mr. Henricksen about not turning it on silent and went to fix that when I saw it was from a strange number.  This is what it said:

I kinda sat there for a minute, glancing from my phone to my nametag and back again.  Then I looked up and Mr. Henricksen was looking at me expectantly.

“Oh!” Duh.  “Um, yes, sir, the lady at the front desk put the wrong name down on my badge.”

He sort of narrows his eyes for a second.  Then he looks down and I see his right hand start slowly tapping away on the ipad.  I just noticed how long and thin his fingers were.  He stopped and looked at me again.  My phone chimed.

“It’s fine, I mean it’s pretty close to Ethan anyway.”  I hadn’t even finished this sentence before he was typing away again.  Man he’s talkative today.  That’s really weird to say.

I shrugged.  “I didn’t wanna be a bother.  It’s really okay, Mr. Henricksen.”  I mean I kind of do care about it, but it’s not that big of a deal.  His head moved the tiniest bit, almost like a nod, and he typed one more time.

When I looked at him, Mr. Henricksen was staring out the window.  I waited a second and it didn’t seem like he was gonna say, well, type, anymore so I started to read again until Christa came in to get me.

I still don’t know if he was being funny or not.  He didn’t smile or anything.  I told my mom and she just said he is old and “feeble” and his mind’s not right.

When I got home I scratched out my badge and wrote Ethan instead. 

Session One

So Mom and Dad dropped me off at Shady Pines this past Sunday for my first session.  Mom insisted on walking me in even though I told her I can walk by myself.  I’m fourteen!  “Exactly, you’re only fourteen!”  If this were medieval times, I would’ve already been married with five kids and working in the fields!  But I didn’t say that.

So we went inside.

The whole place was painted in peach and smelled like musty Pine Sol.  It made me feel depressed. I hope I never end up there.

The lady at the front desk was named Dee.  She looked bored with life.  Without looking up she slid a visitor’s badge across the desk that read “Evan Montgomery: Student Volunteer.”  I started to tell her my name is Ethan, but I got a look from Mom.  Right.  Smile and say thank you, ma’am.

Christa came around the corner wearing scrubs that matched the ugly peach walls.  Mom always gets so excited to see her working.  Montgomery children make names for themselves.  Christa was born to be a nurse.  Just like Jay was born for accounting.

Mom gave me another look before leaving and Christa handed me a book (The Great Gatsby, my summer reading last year) and told me to follow her.  Every Sunday is Family Day, so in the main building were tons of people and kids visiting their grandparents and everyone was happy and laughing.  But we weren’t going to that place.

They don’t want the people that have no family to feel bad, so they come up with other activities for them.  That’s what I’m for.

Christa led me to a door and told me that the man I’ve been assigned is named Mr. Henricksen. Her voice got quiet and she looked sad when she told me about him.

Mr. Henricksen is a mute invalid.  He’s mostly paralyzed and can’t talk.  The only way they’ve been able to communicate with him is through text messaging.  Christa felt sorry that he couldn’t speak, so being the good one, she sold her tv and bought him an ipad.  She talks, he texts.

And I guess now it’s my turn.

The room was small and (thank God) painted white.  There was only a chair, a bureau, and a hospital bed.  Mr. Henricksen laid there, an ipad propped up on a stand on his leg.  You could see the veins in his hands and in his face.  The guy had to be in his 80s.

He didn’t look up when me and Christa walked in, just stared at the wall.  Christa fluffed his pillows and asked him how he was doing and introduced me.

“This is Ethan, my little brother.  He’s going to be your Sunday reading buddy.”  I feel stupid because I was kind of nervous and knew I would stumble over my words when reading, so I just smiled and said “Good morning, sir.”

            Mr. Henricksen watched me as Christa put my phone number in his ipad so he could talk to me.  His eyes were really blue.  I kept my head down.

When she was done Christa patted my shoulder and said “make me proud, bud” before leaving us alone.  I cleared my throat and said “Sooo we’re gonna read The Great Gatsby, I guess.  All right, Mr. Henricksen?”  He just looked at me.

Oh.  Right.  He’s mute.  I’m an idiot.

To avoid sounding like a complete douchebag I buried my face in the book and began to read.  I didn’t really look up the whole time and just concentrated on the words, and Mr. Henricksen didn’t try to communicate at all.  It was the longest hour of my life.

Finally Christa came back in and said it was time to go home.  I said goodbye to Mr. Henricksen and that I’d see him next week and I left.

Seems like an easy enough project, I guess.  I feel bad for Mr. Henricksen, though.  I can’t imagine not being able to walk or talk or anything.  I guess we’ll see what happens tomorrow.