Edgar and Helen in Pieces

Edgar and Helen in Pieces

Morra Rose©2019

Humor and heartache at the old folks home.

"Edgar! What the hell is this? Are you cheating on me?!"

"What, Helen? Speak up!" Edgar fumbled adjusting his hearing aid with an ear-piercing pitch. He joined his amiable spouse in the bedroom to see why her knickers were in a twist. She pulled a dumpy white mass from the tangled sheets.

"See these Depends, Edgar? They're not my size! I can't believe this!" Helen stormed out of the room, the thump of her walker reverberating through the floor.

Edgar sighed and took a seat on the edge of the bed. He never meant to cheat, but it's just that Miss Flora across the hallway seemed so lonely, and she never laughed at all the wrong answers he called out at Jeopardy in the community lounge. It would be hard living this one down, but probably wouldn't take long.

Helen burned rubber to the kitchen. Along the way, she stopped by the bathroom, stole Edgar's teeth from the crusty glass by the sink, then hid them in the back of the freezer. She set about preparing lunch despite the recent unsavory discovery. Eventually Edgar appeared around the corner from the kitchen, approaching warily. Helen bustled about the kitchen as if nothing had happened. They both started talking at the same time;

"Edgar, I told you I hadn't got to the ShopRite yet, so..."

"That bulb's out in the hallway again. I wish..."

"...I'm trying to get the Tuesday bus if..."

"...they'd wired this damn place correctly..."

(Microwave) beep beep beep

"...my hairdresser can keep the afternoon..."

"...when they built this dump. Boy, if I'd..."

"...appointment. So we're having lasagna for lunch..."

"...been on the job then..."

"...and I'll get the chicken for Wednesday."

"...it'd been done right."

beep beep beep

"Helen, what's for lunch?"

"Oh, for crying out loud, Edgar! Shut your mouth and open your ears. We're having Oysters Rockefeller for lunch!"

"Oysters Rockefeller?"

***

Flora lifted her forlorn face to the mirror. Her flower faded years ago, but photos of Harold tucked along the edges of her mirror revived the luminescence in her eyes. "Oh, Harold..." she could only say, as a fingertip gently brushed the corners of each photo. Harold with baby Jim on his shoulder, with the wide red collar of Harold's shirt bent awkwardly backwards. The annoyed look on Harold's face in three-quarters view, as he poured what he thought was a secret third drink at Lou Anne's 1978 luau. And, among all the other photos, Flora's favorite; Harold in profile, gazing at the ocean somewhere in Cape Cod. Flora never knew what he was thinking about in that photo, and she didn't really want to know. What struck her is that he seemed unusually handsome, almost a different man. Boy, that was an old one, too, around 1970.

She smoothed her hands over the thighs of her white knit pants. Generally not fond of wearing white except for special occasions, she felt drawn to wearing something clean and pure today. Chicken divan on the lunch menu. Fancy, and a little heavy for lunch fare, to be sure. She felt like neither staying in for lunch, nor going down to the dining room. She feared seeing Edgar and worse yet, Helen.

***

Helen rolled her eyes and slammed her hands into the dirty dishwater. The splatter left bits of Palmolive suds and dissolved Cheerios on the backsplash. There was a time when she dutifully, diligently, wiped the backsplash daily. Anymore, she preferred it dirty. The spatter of spaghetti sauce in the upper left reminded her of when Edgar forgot to put out the trash last Wednesday. The dried smattering of coffee grounds brought back memories of their argument last Sunday morning over breakfast. Was that about not having any Jimmy Dean sausage on the plate? No, that was Monday morning. What was Sunday's argument about? "Oh, who cares?" thought Helen, as she finished scrubbing the new fry pan from QVC. She'd deal with Edgar's screwing around later.

The beeping microwave announced lunch.

"Helen, is that the smoke detector?" Edgar crowed from the hallway.

"No, it's the microwave, stupid! Come to the table. It's time for lunch!" she shouted, then muttered, "Old fucking fool." Not that he'd of heard it if she spoke out loud.

"All right! All right! Just a minute!" Edgar trudged to the bathroom to fetch his teeth, "Oysters Rockefeller, really?"

He stood, dismayed, at the sight of the empty glass on the bathroom counter. "Well, I'll just let her stew like a prune," he thought. He hiked his pants up defiantly to his chest, then turned to face the music and enjoy another pleasant meal with his wife. "I'll let her think she got one over on me. Ha ha, old bitch! I've got my old set of teeth hidden in the back of the freezer! I just have to get them out without her knowing..."

Edgar took his seat at the small white Formica table. Helen dumped a small portion of steaming, slimy microwave lasagna onto a large plate.

"What? This isn't Oysters Rockefeller!"

Helen rolled her eyes, "No shit, Sherlock!"

"Good thing those eyes are real," Edgar thought, "or else they'd have rolled right out of her head by now, and I'll be damned if I help her find them."

Helen took her seat at the table to replay a scene that had long since played itself out. She served herself a large portion, and they ate in silence. Helen solemnly watched Edgar gum his food. A barely perceptible grin lightened her countenance. She quelled a chuckle when it occurred to her, that without his teeth, he could probably suck his own dick from now on.

Or maybe Flora could do it.

Flora. Suddenly, Helen wondered why she assumed Flora was the other woman. The grin disappeared as Helen turned her gaze to the sloppy mess on her plate. She knew full well why she suspected Flora, and wasn't that karma, or poetic justice, or something like that? They'd practically been neighbors years ago, and now they were neighbors again. It had come full circle, and now time for Helen to pay.

Edgar diligently gummed away at the mushy lasagna. Small grunts accompanied his chewing. He'd been a grunt-chewer for years, and Helen marveled at the fact that it didn't bother her. Lord knew that at this point everything else about him did. Helen poked the lasagna with her fork. Soft meal, softening heart? She'd wait and see how she felt later.

Lunch finished, Helen slowly washed the lunch plates, the limp dishcloth going 'round and 'round the smooth porcelain. The events of the morning took a lot out of her, and her hands in the warm, soapy water made her sleepy. She thought about her time with Edgar. Fifty-five years together; when did it go wrong? She stopped. Staring at the edible divorce complaint strewn across the backsplash, a voice in her heart caught her by surprise; when was it ever right? Helen released a huge, deflating sigh.

Edgar retired to bide his time at the card table in the tiny living room. He pursued a week-old half-finished crossword puzzle with false relish. He thought about Flora. Did she stay in her apartment and eat a lonely lunch, or did she go to the dining room, laughing with friends, and perhaps keeping an eye out for him? The warm thought shattered remembering Helen's discovery of their discrepancy. Flora would know soon enough that Helen discovered the cheating. But wait a minute-Edgar remembered that he never mentioned Flora's name, so why did he think Helen would know it was Flora? True, they knew each other from years back, but something wasn't right. Well, a lot of things weren't right, but this was beyond not right. Edgar figured at least this mystery would give him something to chew on until Helen took her afternoon nap. He would steal into the kitchen and retrieve his set of backup teeth hidden in the freezer. Fully acquainted with Helen's vindictive nature, Edgar figured that someday he might need that extra set. Years ago, when he could still bend over well enough to tie his shoes, she daisy-chained them all together with triple-knots. That was punishment for a comment about her sister, whom he called one of the Furies. She threw away one of a pair of beloved cufflinks for forgetting her birthday, and on more than one occasion, he discovered his brand new tie cut halfway across in the middle. All these years he tolerated the madness, chalking it up to the womanly thing, or just women's nerves. So far as he knew, every woman behaved this way from time to time. It was normal behavior.

Helen finished up washing the dishes, and spat on the backsplash for good measure. "Sealed with a kiss!" she sneered. Thoroughly drying her hands on the terry cloth dishtowel, gaily decorated with lemons, she gripped her walker and headed down the hallway to her bedroom for a nap. "Funny to take a nap in that bed," she thought, "but where the hell else can I go? Should've taken Sam up on his offer last year before he passed away. Maybe he would have willed me that pull-out loveseat. Oh well, too late." She narrowed her eyes as she passed by the living room. Edgar looked up briefly, snarling and dismissing her with a wave of the hand. She made a pissy face, entered the bedroom, and shut the door behind her.

Sitting heavily on the bed, she roughly straightened out the sheets on the other side as best she could with one arm. She swung her legs onto the bed and propped them up with Edgar's pillow. She lay down and sniffed the air to catch a whiff of the other woman, but detected nothing out of the ordinary. "Hmmph, they must have met while I was at chair aerobics this morning." Chair aerobics every morning, then coffee with Cerise and Charles, if they weren't off to doctors' appointments. Helen hated the fact that Edgar might have had a good time. Edgar enjoying himself always made her blood boil. Wasting money gambling, or gawking at scantily clad girls. Always such a fool.

Edgar waited about an extra twenty minutes before tiptoeing into the kitchen. Aggravated that he had to sneak into his own kitchen, he dreamed of cracking a tray of ice cubes over Helen's forehead as she slept. However, it was established years ago that he was not allowed in the kitchen, except to eat when a meal was served. "If you're not cooking or cleaning, stay out of the kitchen!" Helen threatened many times, and had once literally put her foot down on his, during a rather intense period of gout. Edgar never forgave her for that. Why did she have to be so mean?

He carefully opened the freezer door, enjoying the cool, frosty air that washed out over his face. He imagined the same cold air over Helen's face as she lay in the morgue, with Edgar standing over her, laughing, with a mouth full of beautiful, white teeth. Then he stopped imagining that scene. He was sure if it ever came to that, her dead eyes would pop open and literally scare him to death, giving Helen the last laugh.

The reserve teeth were hidden in the far right corner, beneath the pile of Swanson's meatloaf dinners. Carefully wrapped in several layers of newspaper, he managed to retrieve the teeth without knocking any frozen items onto the floor, thereby waking the Fury in the other room. He giggled like a naughty schoolboy and shoved the parcel into his pant pocket. Shuffling over to the brown Laz-E-Boy recliner in the corner, he settled in with his little secret for his own afternoon nap. "I'll show her!" he chuckled, and fell into a noxious, evil-ridden sleep, dozing fitfully in the recliner. The small bulge in the pocket of his trousers seemed to poke and wiggle as if the teeth wished to get out of his pants. He even dreamed that the teeth bit his pecker, and that startled him awake.

1:43 pm: three more hours until the dining room opened. The shuffleboard decks were closed due to renovations, and he wasn't in the mood to search out anyone in the card room. He thought about knocking on Flora's door, but thought the better of it. She was probably at wreath-making class, or perhaps working in the greenhouse. Edgar was not allowed to partake in more than just a few activities, unless Helen accompanied him. When they first moved to HiLife Manor, Edgar thought it charming that Helen wanted to stay by his side. "She's proud of me!" he thought. "I'm one of the few men here without a cane or walker." After a while, he realized there were very few men there, period. Helen wasn't proud; she was jealous. Worse yet, over time, Edgar realized she was just controlling. All these single women, their husbands dead, and he, virile and spry. No wonder Helen tightened her grip.

Edgar turned the TV on and found Judge Judy. He had to guess what was going on, as he must keep the TV on mute during Helen's nap time, or during shows she did not like, which were most of the ones he did. The only show they could agree on was the Lawrence Welk Show. She had a crush on Lawrence, and Edgar was just happy to be able to hear something.

Judge Judy gesticulated with her hands and silently chastised some slack-mouthed dolt wearing an ill-fitting jacket. A thud from the bedroom made Edgar jump. Not that he could hear the thud so well, but rather he felt the vibration and knew; Helen was awake. A sliver of fear touched a deep-rooted, latent sense of disappointment that she apparently had not passed in her sleep. He sighed. He pointed the remote at the TV and turned it off. He settled back into his chair and closed his eyes, feigning sleep.

Helen thump-thumped across the hall to the bathroom, took care of business, and continued down the hallway. Despite seeing Edgar sleeping, she banged the walker down on the floor as hard as she could. She thumped to the TV and laid her hand on it. Still warm.

"Hmph." She articulated and thumped over to retrieve the remote control. She turned on the TV, blasted the volume, and changed the channel to QVC. Oh good--Quacker Factory was on! Helen's favorite! While the hostess announced with great enthusiasm that the sequin bedazzled double-knit zippered hoodie came in five of the season's most exciting colors, Helen prepared for herself a cheese and cracker platter, complete with a diet Canada Dry ginger ale. She placed the platter on the TV dinner table set between their recliners, just barely out of Edgar's reach. Edgar slyly opened one eye and looked at her.

Bitch.

Game over. He knew Helen was onto his ruse. He re-adjusted his hearing aid.

"Helen! Do you want to talk about it now!" he hollered over the TV.

"Talk about what?" she shouted back in her raspy voice.

"You know what, about this morning!"

"Oh Edgar, I know you didn't really cheat on me. You couldn't. You couldn't get that thing up!" Helen cackled, then shut up, busy mamphing cheese and crackers.

"The hell I can't get it up. At least I canget up." he thought.

They watched TV in silence. Helen stuffed her face while visions of multi-colored, sequined shirts, pants, and baseball hats reflected in Edgar's eyes. He was disappointed that Helen dropped the subject. He wanted her to recognize he was still a man, and that someone might still desire him. He'd finally found a way to really stick it to Helen, and she'd managed to thwart even that.

At long last, Edgar stirred. "Come on, let's go for a walk. You need some exercise."

"Oh, fuck off! Susan Graver Style is on next. You go walk by yourself." Helen turned up the volume more.

Edgar rocked back and forth several times and heaved himself free of the recliner. A little stiff, he shuffled to the door and donned his straw fedora. Without a word, he opened the door and left.

3:00. The stuffy scent of rice and stale urine greeted him in the empty beige hallway that was nothing like the clean, smooth hardwood floors and fresh breezes flowing through the windows in his old house. He missed that place. Not that it housed a lot of happy memories, but at least it didn't smell funny, and he'd had his own den with his own TV. Declining health, mostly Helen's fault, precipitated their move to HiLife Manor. Helen had insisted they stay social and because of her condition, that would be impossible if they stayed in their house. So, semi-assisted living it was. Edgar wondered why Helen wanted more social life, yet took so many meals inside their apartment.

Shuffling down the hallway, he thought about his years long ago working in the city. Every day he wore a suit and tie and hat, took the train in, and then shuffled the five blocks to Solid Rock Insurance. He loved every minute of it, or at least he realized that after he retired. Retirement full-time opened his eyes to what 'home' really was. He pictured Helen happy as a lark to have him around all the time, serving him snacks on a tray and letting him watch whatever he wanted on the living room TV, whenever. Snacks instead turned into nagging about crumbs "I vacuum this floor every day!" blah blah blah. TV in the living room produced deep sighs of exasperation;

"General Hospitals on now!"

"It's time for Hawaii Five-O!"

"No, The Price is Right comes on next!"

Finally, "Can't you watch TV in the den?"

The longer Edgar hung around the house, the clearer it became that Helen didn't want him around. It was puzzling. He was a good guy, right? He always worked, paid the bills, came home and had a few gin and tonics in the den, staying out of the way while Helen got dinner ready, took care of the kids, and finished up the laundry. He'd always spent time with the kids watching TV after dinner, while Helen cleared the table, washed the dishes, and tidied up the kitchen. After Gilligan's Island, he usually fell asleep in his chair. When he woke up, Helen had put the kids to bed and sat at the far end of the couch reading. Reading what, he wasn't sure. Reader's Digest, maybe? He never asked.

And then Edgar realized something else; he and Helen had nothing to talk about.

***

Flora moved gingerly through the neat rows of straggling ivies and hanging pots of tiny begonias in the small greenhouse. She wore her sunhat although little sun struggled through the algae-crusted panes of the greenhouse roof. She'd changed into jeans and an old, long-sleeve T-shirt after lunch. She didn't see Edgar or Helen there, to her disappointment and relief, respectively. She felt only a little guilty for cheating with another woman's man, but everything seemed so right at the time.

Her delicate fingers poked in and out among the paltry ivies, picking out the dead leaves. Why didn't plants thrive here? They received plenty of indirect sunlight, water, and food, yet did not thrive. A sudden, overwhelming tiredness forced Flora to take a seat. She put her face in her hands and sobbed.

Edgar rode quietly down the elevator from the second to the ground floor. The ding announced the ground floor and he stepped out sprightly as he could. A few other white-haired residents in powder blue knit pant suits and khakis and blue Oxford shirts wandered the main hall. Edgar wondered what they did in an earlier life, when time always seemed short and hectic. Now they had all day with nowhere pressing to go. What did they do? What filled their minds?

He headed towards the door that opened onto the rear grounds. The grounds weren't all that big, but there was a little-used paved walking circuit. The late spring weather made for a pleasant day as Edgar walked the path twice around. Sometimes Ed Fogerty joined him, if his arthritis wasn't too bad. Feeling he had walked enough, Edgar sat on a bench and put his head in his hands.

Helen finished her plate of cheese and crackers. The dining room opened at 4:30. Time to get up, if she could, and get ready for dinner. She rocked and heaved and puffed, cursing the recliner for its poor design. Finally she attained just the right forward momentum to throw herself out of the chair and onto the walker. Cursing everything between Earth and Sky, she made her way to the bathroom. She teased her short hair back into a hairdo of sorts and applied a light coat of blue eye shadow and rose lipstick. Next, she moved to the bedroom and changed into a blue and white batik muumuu. Edgar used to complain that she looked like a circus tent, but eventually his senses came to him and he remembered he was insulting his own wife. Of course, she always claimed that she didn't care what he thought. It wasn't as if Edgar's younger clothing fit him anymore, either.