Episode
13 - Spots and Fences
“Hello?” Trace spoke as the phone
emitted sounds of confusion.
“Hey, there! Don’t hang up! I’m
here,” said Mare breathlessly.
“Are you okay? What’s going on
there?” asked Trace with a touch of concern.
“I was outside smoking, and I heard the
phone ring. Oh, you know me; God forbids, I miss a call. So,
I ran to get it, but I forgot to leave my cigarette outside
and when I turned back toward the door I tripped over the cat.”
Mare paused for laughter. “At that point, I said fuck
it, and I reached for the phone, but the cat tripped me again
so . . . fuck, this story is long—I dropped the phone—that’s
it; enough said—so how are you?”
“Better than you at the moment. I’m
at work.” Trace stepped into the threshold of the living
room to survey the unit as he spoke.
“I don’t know about that; your
last few messages sounded pretty intense. You are really into
this Davis guy, aren’t you?”
Trace scanned the unit. No one was in sight
save Dori who walked slowly along the atrium windows. Trace
watched her stop and look into the atrium to enjoy the view
of the garden below, as he responded: “I guess so.”
“Guess so! Well, that’s an understatement
if I ever heard one. You are stressing on him, and you know
it. Admit it, Trace,” pressed Mare.
“Yeah, Davis is a nice guy,” replied
Trace.
‘Nice, I would hope so—you slept
with him pretty quickly.”
Trace watched Dori raise her hand and hold
it just before the glass, as he answered: “I didn’t
expect that to happen.”
“But you liked it right?” asked
Mare.
Trace studied Dori as she pressed her hand
to the glass pane: “Yeah, I liked it.”
“You like him, right?” Mare questioned
with a voice full of uncertain curiosity.
“Yeah, I liked it.” Trace absentmindedly
answered as he watched Dori begin to rub the glass, as if she
held a washcloth or sponge in her hand.
“Hon, I know you liked it but what about
him?” redirected Mare.
Trace wondered what Dori saw and decided she
thought she was cleaning the window, but instead of washing
the whole window, she was focused on a very particular spot
just before and above her eyes. She rubbed it vigorously. Trace
thought it must be a very stubborn spot, as he answered: “How
would I know? I only saw him that one time.”
“Oh, my god. I’m sorry. It seemed
like more than that had happened with all the messages. Have
you at least spoken to him,” Mare asked.
“No,” replied Trace flatly.
“But you fell for him, didn’t you?”
asked Mare.
“No,” replied Trace flatly.
“Come on, Trace, level with me,”
exhorted Mare.
“Okay, you win. I can’t stop thinking
about it,” admitted Trace.
“You mean him, don’t you?”
questioned Mare.
“What do you mean?” asked Trace.
“You said “it” again; you
said “it” when you meant him. You’ve done
that twice now,” clarified Mare.
“Dr. Freud is on the line,” quipped
Trace.
“I don’t know about that, but if
I was, I’d be Anna not Sigmund, but I do know this--your
dodging the issue,” argued Mare.
Trace lost his focus as he realized Dori continued
with her spot cleaning. With her arm raised over her head she
continued to rub at whatever spot she saw. Stronger spots than
imagined stains have yielded to less elbow grease, thought Trace.
Mare interrupted Trace’s thoughts by
repeating herself: “And now you are refusing to answer
me.”
“No, no, I’m not. I was just distracted,”
replied Trace.
“That’s my point, Trace. Despite
what you’re willing to admit, you are completely distracted
by this guy. Head over heels, or in your case, heels over head.”
“Ah, that’s a good one—very
witty—very quick. I am glad to see hanging out with me
is beginning to rub off on you. If you keep this pace up, you’ll
have your heels over your head before you know it,” retorted
Trace.
“Your lips to God’s ears; it’s
been a while, but that’s not my point, this thing with
Davis is,” redirected Mare.
“Yes, Anna, you’re right. I am
distracted. He hasn’t called since that night, and of
course, I’ve called him twice, and I am thinking about
a third time. I am thinking about him all the time,” admitted
Trace.
“I hoped your messages meant you had
seen him again or at least heard from him,” offered Mare.
“Not a word,” replied Trace sadly.
“I’m sorry, sweetie,” condoled
Mare.
“How do you go from that to nothing flat?”
asked Trace.
“How long has it been?” asked Mare.
“Three weeks last Friday.”
“Ouch, so I guess we’re beyond
thinking he’s going to call tonight, huh.” Mare
joked tenderly.
“You might be; meanwhile, I am checking
my messages twelve times a day; not making calls, so I don’t
miss his; and not going out besides work, so I won’t miss
his call.”
“Sounds pretty restricting to me. Trace,
don’t spend all your jism on one jerk,” advised
Mare.
Trace saw Dori was still rubbing the glass
but harder now. He realized she was going to rub her hand raw
if he allowed her to continue.
Mistaking his silence for resistance, Mare
pressed, “Trace, I’m serious. It’s great you
met someone. It’s about time you did, really, but don’t
let it become everything. It isn’t everything.”
Trace felt caught between his need for advice
and his need to meet Dori’s needs, he opted for the latter
without dismissing Mare’s advice: “Kinda hard, when
it already feels like a second shade of blue after Elan.”
Trace paused until whatever rose from his chest and threatened
to moisten his eyes faded. “Listen, I have to get going.
I really do. I have to redirect a patient.”
“Too bad you can’t redirect yourself
as easily. That’s what you need to do, you know. You should
. . . “
“What?” interrupted Trace.
“I don’t know, wait—yes,
I do! You should do what you do well and what makes you feel
good—volunteer,’ answered Mare.
“I’ll think about it. Thanks, but
I really gottta go. I’ll call you later,” responded
Trace.
Trace decided to redirect Dori with towel folding.
He approached slowly and waited until he was close enough to
be heard but far enough to avoid scaring her before speaking:
“Dori, you’ve done a great job with that.”
Trace deliberately ended with the imprecise pronoun because
he did not in fact know what Dori thought she was doing.
The mostly aphasic Dori turned toward Trace,
smiled, and uttered something unintelligible yet inflected with
a tone of gratitude.
Trace followed quickly with the redirection:
“That’s all we need to do here.”
Dori responded immediately by dropping her hand and uttering
a sigh of relief as she shook her weary arm at her side.
Trace spoke slowly and with a few choice words
he knew Dori could still process: “Dori, I need help.
Will you help me?”
The always eager to please Dori locked her
eyes on Trace and shocked him by responding intelligibly: “Yes.”
Trace moved beside Dori and offered her his
elbow: “Let’s go.”
Positioning Dori in front of a round table
in the living room, Trace retrieved a laundry basket full of
clean bath towels, hand towels, face clothes, and dish rags.
Trace handed Dori a dishtowel, and she immediately began to
fold it.
Making a round of the unit, Trace gathered
Sally, Dee Dee, Lavinia, and Helga to join Dori around the table.
Within moments, there was a fury of folding activity. Trace
reminded himself the tactile activity was the goal, as he realized
only one client was technically doing something that resembled
folding. Nonetheless, everyone held a towel in her hand and
fiddled with it as she wanted.
While retrieving more towels, Trace managed
to coax a resistant Howard to join the group. Howard would only
sit at a chair some distance from the table, but the stimulation
of observation is better than nothing, thought Trace.
Stepping back from the table to observe the
activity, Trace looked from face to face to make sure no one
was frustrated, and no one was. He found smiles instead of grimaces,
and he even observed several of the busy ladies engaging in
a conversation of which he could not identify a single syllable.
Before joining the group, Trace retrieved a
radio from his activity cart. A chorus of humming rose from
the group as soon as he hit play and Porter’s lyrics filled
the air: I want to ride to the ridge where the west commences,
gaze at the moon till I lose my senses, I can't look at hobbles
and I can't stand fences, Don't fence me in.
Stepping toward the table, Trace knew Mare
was right.
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