When Rodney Met Dickie Part 2
When Rodney Met Dickie Part 2
by Chad Boudreau
Rodney was positioned near the front door. Dickie had sent the boy there to get as much distance as possible between he and Rodney’s seemingly nonsensical chatter. Ever positive, Rodney quickly realized he could greet the patrons when they arrived. He squeaked in eager anticipation when the door creaked, but his cheery salutation staggered on his tongue, stumbled across his teeth and pitched out of his mouth like a failing aircraft when he saw the antediluvian matron in her aluminum chariot.
The wheelchair was ordinary– a model found in any hospital—with the exception of two oxygen tanks strapped to its back. Snaking tubes were attached to a breathing apparatus covering the mouth of the wheelchair’s passenger. The frailness of her body brought sadness to Rodney’s eyes. Her thin legs hung limp. Her sneakered feet barely reached the footrests and knocked together as she was rolled into the building. Her hands, which rested on the homemade quilt in which she was swathed, were dotted with liver spots, the flesh pale grey and paper thin. Her fingernails were long and painted a striking blue. Her breathing was labored and wet, each inhalation a slow sucking sound, each exhalation a rattle that made her flesh draped throat jiggle like a turkey’s wattle.
The chair stopped beside Rodney. The stir of air brought the smell of cinnamon. Underneath that spice was the sharp smell of mildew.
“Caller, shake your balls and let’s play bingo.” Every geriatric neck that could still swivel without causing unbearable pain turned to the sound of that voice. It was a lot stronger than anyone in the room would have expected, with the exception of three elderly ladies seated together immediately in front of the raised stage.
Dickie was on that stage. He finished dumping a drum of colored and numbered balls into the bingo machine. He thumbed on the power and the balls began their dance, driven by combating funnels of air. The Caller, Daniel, a middle-aged man and former auctioneer, appeared and started fiddling with the microphone. It whined in protest. Somewhere in the crowd, a gaffer cursed and turned down his hearing aid.
“Boy, take us to our seats.”
Rodney smiled. This elderly lady was obviously very ill and needed his assistance. He was a Wombat. Helping others was not a chore. It was a pleasure.
“Sure, Ma’am,” he said cheerfully. The wheelchair was being pushed by a short and sallow fellow wearing a leather jacket and tight jeans. His hair was black as pitch and combed into an impressive wave that defied gravity. He gnawed like a rat on a toothpick. Rodney led the way.
There was a third person too, a squat old lady in a faded moo-moo. “My, what lovely manners you have,” she said. She had a kind voice. It reminded Rodney of his sweet great-grandmother. She lived in a seniors’ home not far from his school. He visited her every Sunday. He fed her lunch. “You learn those at home or in your Den of Wombats?” asked the woman in the moo-moo.
Rodney flushed with pride. “A little of both, Ma’am,” he replied. “My mamma and daddy raised me right. And I live by the Wombat Code of Conduct. My name is Rodney.”
“Nice to meet you, Rodney,” she said, smiling at him. “I’m Myrtle.” She motioned toward the young man pushing the wheelchair. “That is Switch. And this is Tulip, my dear friend.” She placed a hand on the head of the seated woman. She stroked the wispy white hair tenderly.
Rodney looked over his shoulder at that ancient face and what he saw made his heart ache. The pupils of her eyes were obscured by the milky film of cataracts. Her empty gaze was fixed straight ahead. Rodney concluded she must be blind but then her arm snapped up and a crooked finger pointed toward the front of the room. “There, boy”, Tulip said, her voice as sharp as the blue fingernail stabbing the way.
Rodney stopped and smiled. “I’m sorry but there are no empty chairs there,” he said.
“Over there,” Tulip repeated. Myrtle’s kind smile never wavered. The male attendant sneered.
Rodney nodded and started walking. He didn’t know what else to do. There weren’t any open chairs but surely if everyone was willing to slide over a little bit room could be made for Tulip and Myrtle.
Their approach did not go unnoticed. The three elderly ladies that were not surprised by the strength of Tulip’s voice were watching. Two were whispering into the ear of the third until she waved them away.
Daniel finished his mic check. He positioned himself behind the glass enclosed box in which the bingo balls whirled. He placed his hand, open palm down, above the transparent, cylindrical tube on top of the box. As if that were a cue, the first ball shot up the tube. It continued to spin at the top of the enclosure. The crowd cheered weakly.
Rodney stopped. There were six people around the table. Tulip’s white gaze was fixed on the back of an old man hunched over his four bingo cards. “You have to pee,” she said. “Go to the bathroom and don’t come back.” The chair scraped loudly as the man rose. He left his bingo dabber behind. Those opaque eyes shifted. “You left the stove on. Go home.” Another scrape of a chair; a woman shuffled away. There were tennis balls on the feet of her walker. Once more those seemingly dead orbs slid in their sockets. “Go or you will miss your bus.” A third octogenarian wobbled away.
Rodney’s brain tried to process what he had just witnessed but failed. He chased wisps of memory, but they were like tendrils of a dream that faded upon waking. Lacking comprehension, he smiled instead, happy that a place at the table had been made for Tulip and Myrtle.
The male attendant pushed one of the empty chairs aside and wheeled Tulip into place. He then took the seat to her right. Myrtle eased her bulk into the remaining chair. The three elderly ladies on the opposite side of the table were sitting as upright as their old bones and tired muscles would allow. Their faces were defiant. Myrtle addressed each one in turn, saying their names in a curt tone that chilled Rodney.
“Griselda.”
“Eunice.”
“Margaret.”
The three didn’t reply but the one in the middle, Eunice, nodded her head, a terse, wordless greeting. She was thin and tall, and possessed a face that was regal despite its many wrinkles.
Everyone else in the room was watching Daniel, waiting for him to pluck the first ball from the tube. He was toying with them, a big grin on his face. The more energetic seniors thumped the tabletops with open hands, enjoying Daniel’s tease but eager to get down to business. Dickie was still on stage, off to one side, leaning against the wall, looking bored, fiddling with the chain clipped to his pants.
Tulip leaned forward. The leather seat of her wheelchair creaked. She placed her hands on the table, her fingernails clacking unpleasantly. Her white eyes darted back and forth, probing the three women. “I found you. I have you each in my sight,” she said. “You will come willingly back into the fold or you shall be destroyed.”
“All the fours!” cried Daniel suddenly, causing Rodney to jump. “44 is the first number! N 44!” And with that the final game began.
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