Planning his next escape from Springbrook Retirement Home, George wakes early, just as the first-shift staff start their rounds, so it isn’t surprising he is the only resident to observe Fred leave, zipped into a body bag, covered with a sheet.
Springbrook keeps the death of residents a secret, even though they live, as George and Fred call it, in the Foyer of the Grave. If an ambulance arrives during a meal, the heavy double doors to the dining hall are quickly closed. No one will be disturbed by the sight of paramedics wheeling a gurney out the front door.
George doesn’t particularly like Fred, but stepping back to let the EMT glide the stretcher into the hall, he bows his head to the shriveled form under the sheet. Yes, Fred was rude to the servers at breakfast, but he was a human being after all, worthy of acknowledgement and the life he lived. The paramedic nods and disappears down the dark hall. How quickly Fred has moved into the past tense.
Returning to his room, George spends the morning at his window. He writes notes in a shaky hand he’ll later tape to walls before sneaking out the service door while everyone else sits down to meatloaf and string beans: Fred Jensen cheated at poker here. Fred Jensen waited for the van here. Fred Jensen died here.
Phebe Jewell’s recent work appears or is forthcoming in Bright Flash Literary Review, Does It Have Pockets?, SoFloPoJo, New World Writing, BULL, and elsewhere. Read her at phebejewellwrites.com.
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