story #10 in my “23 stories for a fried chicken sandwich” project.
when i walk the halls of the convalescent hospital, i can’t help but wonder which kind of resident i will be.
will i be the woman with the oversized, cage-like walker who can’t stop walking. she does about fifty loops a day. or more. she can’t stop. what does she think will happen if she stops? i can only guess. it’s quite possible she thinks she’s getting somewhere too, one big loop at a time. she sometimes stops and goes into other people’s room. maybe she thinks she has finally arrived. it’s probably very hard to get going again when she finds out she hasn’t.
or maybe i will be the tiny barefooted woman curled on her side in an afternoon nap on top of the blankets. does she feel at home there? will i? even now, i can’t take a nap without a blanket over me. how tired do you have to be to feel at home there?
the woman a few rooms down is tucked in a tight cocoon, her big eyes looking out into the hall. is that who i will be? too tired to fight, arms tucked inside the safety swaddle of an end that takes forever to come?