Chapter 5: Catching Up

Saturday morning, March 3rd, 1990, the doctor signed the discharge papers. Peter was wheeled down to the ground floor and then transferred to an ambulance for the trip to Clairmont East. Alan and Kathy rode with him, Alan in the back and Kathy up front. The EMTs, now familiar with him and his friends, catered to their adolescent whims by turning on the flashing lights during the brief trip up Hwy 167. Kathy squealed with delight as other cars slowed and moved over, yielding the right-of-way to the ambulance. The fifteen-minute trip took only twelve minutes before they turned in at the nursing facility emergency entrance, flashers now off.

Perhaps his handicap heightened his other senses because the first impression Peter got as they held the doors for him to wheel himself in (which he insisted upon) was the overpowering smell of Pine Sol that failed to cover the stench of sweat and urine. The lobby itself was large, airy, and brightly lit, with large windows filling the room with sunlight. A reception desk merged into an extended nursing station, which stretched before a long white hallway full of doors. Could that be the source of the disinfectant smell?

Peter paused in the lobby and examined his surroundings while the transport team collected his belongings and delivered his medical chart to the front desk.

Several elderly residents were seated in the lobby, just watching the goings-on. Others were gathered around a table having tea or coffee, and two elderly gentlemen at another table were working on a jigsaw puzzle. A silver-haired lady in her wheelchair caught his eye when she greeted him with a wide, toothless smile and a wave. “Bobby!” she screeched, startling everyone. “Bobby! You came back!”

“Jesus!” Alan whispered beside him as his heart skipped a beat.

“Now, Gladys,” a middle-aged woman in a uniform dress and short white coat soothed as she walked over from a corner where she had been sitting with another old man. “You know that isn’t Bobby! Use your indoor voice, please.”

Peter waved wide-eyed at the pair before returning to the reception desk in time to observe a tall, dark-haired woman in her fifties emerging from an office behind the desk. She had a handsome face and smooth skin and wore business casual attire with slacks, a loose shirt, and a bright red bow around her neck.

She took the records from the EMT, glanced at the cover, and smiled at him. “Ah, Mr. Peter Shipley!” she greeted, stepping around the counter. “Welcome to Clairmont!” Her low heels clacked on the linoleum floor. “I’m Denise Richmond, the Director here. It’s a pleasure to have you with us.” Her wide, toothy smile made him feel a phantom jaw pain as he accepted her handshake. “You’ll be our youngest guest here.” She glanced at his friends and the EMTs. “Are either of your parents here?”

He sat back in his chair and grunted dismissively. “Apparently not,” he grumbled. He was still pissed after his brief phone conversation with his mom the night before. She hadn’t been to see him in over a week, and he speculated she was out making bad decisions.

This feeling had been compounded during an unexpected visit from their pastor, Reverend Demetrius, who came to pray for him and offer the congregation’s best wishes. He’d brought Peter a small bible, which now resided unread in his hospital room. He had also expressed concern for Peter’s mother, who hadn’t attended services recently.

“No parent? That’s ... unfortunate,” Mrs. Richmond said, pursing her lips. “Let me show you around, and then I’ll take you to your room.” She gestured around the lobby, pointing out shelves that held books, magazines, board games, puzzles, and knick-knacks, as well as a big TV in the corner that was showing The Price is Right.

Peter learned the staff worked two twelve-hour shifts, starting at 7 am and ending at 7 pm. Meals were served in the dining area at the back, in another large, open room.

Peter and his friends followed her down the long white hall, passing nurses, aides, and housekeepers. Residents they passed looked at him with mixed expressions, some curious, most disinterested. His room, number 67, was in the back corner, just before the hallway opened out into the dining room.

“I’ve put you here to reduce traffic and noise exposure,” Mrs. Richmond said, opening the door. Peter wheeled himself in and looked around. The bed was on the right, head against the wall, leaving space for chairs, a table, and a desk. A phone with a black receiver sat on the desk. Mrs. Richmond explained how to dial out and his friends memorized his number. Opposite were cabinets and a door to his bathroom. “Guests should enter through the Dining room but must check in and out with security at the desk 24/7.”

The EMTs set his bags and boxes on his bed and desk, then high-fived him before leaving. Kat bounced on the bed to test the springs as Alan nodded. “This is pretty decent, dude.”

“Yeah. All we need is a disco ball and twin-stack amps!” Kat smirked.

Mrs. Richmond frowned. “Your school said you will be working to catch up, so I want to ensure your success,” she said. Her demeanor cooled as Peter listened while wheeling himself about the room. Finishing exploring, he parked beside the bed, facing the woman while Kat flicked an invisible speck off his shoulder. “I expect you to be a responsible guest and behave appropriately,” she said firmly. “This means no loud music, limited visitors, and no unseemly conduct.” Her eyebrow twitched as she stared at the tall native girl.

Kat leaned forward. “I think she means sex,” she murmured in Peter’s ear, loud enough for everyone to hear. She grinned mischievously as Peter blushed.

A pregnant pause passed as the tall woman bristled but kept her composure and continued. “Visiting hours are 9 am to 10 pm daily, except if your family collects you on the weekend for church services.” She pointed to a panel on the wall near his bed. “The room has a two-way communication system and a call light for trouble or needs. There’s a similar call feature in the bathroom. Please don’t abuse the staff with silly requests or favors you can handle for yourself.” She stepped back to the door. “I’ll allow you to make your room up while I sort out your paperwork. Good day.”

The door remained open until Alan got up and closed it.

“Wow, is it just me, or did she morph from Vanna White into Cruella de Ville in five seconds?” Peter mused. With his friends’ help, arranging and stowing his things took him three minutes.

Sighing, he picked up the blocky telephone and called his home number. It rang several times before someone picked up. A gruff male voice answered, “Hello.”

Peter rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Uh, can I speak to my mom, please? This is still the Shipley residence, right?” His tone dripped with angry sarcasm.

“Hey, what the—” the man’s snarl was cut off. “Peter, baby, is that you?” Janet cut in.

“Yeah, Mom, it’s me,” he retorted disgustedly.

“Oh ... hi,” she stammered. Her voice sounded tired, and her words were slow and garbled. “Is everything okay? Are you alright?” Fear seeped into her tone. “Did something happen?”

“You might say that,” he grumbled. “I’ve been moved to the convalescent center.”

“What?” she gasped. “Already? But ... I thought you weren’t...”

“The doctors told you this before my UW trip, Mom.”

“Oh, dear,” she mumbled. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I’ll visit you this afternoon, okay? Can I bring you anything?”

Can you bring my mother back? He made a sour face, “No need, Mom, I just wanted you to know where I am and that I’m still alive. You go do, ... whatever ... with your boyfriend. Want the number here?”

“Honey, that’s not fair!” she protested. “Paul is just being a good friend and helping me cope with all this ... stuff. If he weren’t around to keep me distracted from—”

“Distracted?” Peter shot back. Allan and Kathy gasped at his tone and stared at each other. “From what? Your son? The one in the hospital recovering from a near-fatal accident? Distraction from church? Yeah, Pastor Demetrius asked about you when he was here. Like I know or care what you’re doing with ... Paul.” His voice revealed his disdain for the man.

“Peter Elliot Shipley!” She cried over the phone. “You listen to me!”

He stabbed his finger down on the white button, disconnecting the call. Cursing, he began tapping the receiver against his forehead.

“Hey, you okay, Babe?” Kathy asked softly. She stepped forward and put her hands on his shoulders.

“Dude, that was harsh, don’t you think?” Alan said. He trembled at the thought of speaking to his own mother like that.

Peter clenched his jaw without responding. He wanted to snap back at his friend and tell him to mind his own fucking business, but a lingering subconscious specter imposed itself into his thoughts, and a sense of guilt washed over him. He’s right. I was a total asshole. He sighed, setting the phone receiver on its cradle. “Look, I’m sorry you guys had to hear that. I’m sorry I lost it like that.”

“Hey, I’m not saying you’re wrong,” Alan said softly. “It’s just that she’s gonna be in charge of your life for the next two years, ya know?” He patted Peter’s shoulder. “You might want to be a little nicer to her as long as she controls the money, eh.”

“Yeah, assuming ‘Paul’ doesn’t snort it all up his nose before I get released,” Peter grumbled.

Janet Shipley finally visited her son the next day. It being Sunday, she’d otherwise be in church. Paul entered the room with her and stared sourly at Peter while she made a mess of introductions.

Peter didn’t acknowledge him as he sat at his desk working through an essay on Cellular Energetics for AP Micro. The small talk trailed off awkwardly, and Janet sat on the edge of his bed, looking sorrowfully at him. She could feel his anger. “Peter,” she asked pleadingly, leaning closer and reaching to touch his unruly hair. “Baby, look at me, please?” She was near tears when he sighed and set down his pen. He turned to face her more to turn his back in disgust at the loser by his door. The man reeked of cigarettes!

She smiled tearfully at him and lightly touched his cheek. “Baby, what can I do? I know I’ve been awful in my absence, but I’m happy knowing they are caring for you.” She took a shuddering breath to calm her nerves. “Just tell me what you want, and I’ll do what I can, okay?”

“I want you to start acting like a caring parent, okay?” Peter said firmly. He sensed the man behind him shift, and Janet’s eyes darted to him over her son’s shoulder. “I want to know that you actually give a crap about how I’m doing!” he snarled. “I’m not asking you to stay here day and night and wipe my nose, but Jesus Christ! Could you at least try to visit or call once in a while?” His voice rose as his emotions boiled. Even the specter in his mind was drowned out by his outburst. “Ronnie called me three times last week, and she’s wondering what’s going on with you too!”

He watched his mom deflate under his harsh words and cursed himself for losing control. She sniffed miserably and nodded reluctant agreement. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

“I don’t want you to be sorry, Mom.” He softened his tone. “I don’t want you to be sad or worried or whatever. If you need to get away and put it behind you with... him, great. Just ... if you do, don’t come back, okay?” He took her hand and squeezed it. She felt cold, and her skin wasn’t as soft and smooth as he remembered. “I love you, Mom.”

She sniffed again and smiled tearfully at him. “Okay. I promise.” She kissed his cheek. He smelled residual cigarette smoke in her hair. She held his face and stared into his eyes. “When did you become so grown-up?”

He sat back and snorted. “Probably in that split second when I saw those bright headlights coming at me right before they nearly killed me.”

“Oh, baby!” she exclaimed harshly and embraced him tightly. He missed her comforting smell, sadly absent today, but he closed his eyes and hugged her back. His younger self wanted to climb into her lap and cry huge tears of self-pity. The older self hiding in his subconscious restrained him, acknowledging that Peter was the man of the family now and it was up to him to make things right.

With a firm squeeze, Janet released her son and stood again, dabbing her eyes as she recovered from the emotional by-play. “Okay, then,” she said positively. “First thing Monday, I will swing by the school and talk to—”

“Mom,” he interjected.

“—what’s that Counselor’s name again?”

“Mom!”

“What?” she demanded, sounding cross.

“She has the same name as you,” he replied. “Her name is Janet Reed, and I already have my books and coursework to catch up.” He gestured at the textbooks and notebooks on his desk. “I’m making up for my unit 3 lab with this essay on the environmental impacts on enzyme structure and catalysis.”

She stared in disbelief at the books and his handwritten notes before gaping at him. “But—”

“Alan and Kat have been bringing my homework assignments and returning my completed work,” he interrupted. “It’s all taken care of, Mom. Don’t worry, I will still complete 11^th grade ahead of schedule.”

She drooped her shoulders. “I don’t know what to say, Peter. You’re becoming a responsible young man. I’m so proud of you!” She beamed at him, and he reluctantly smiled back.

“That’s what I’ve been missing!” he declared. “Nobody can boost my ego like you, Mom!” he grinned at her as she showed some old personality. She rolled her eyes at him as she stepped toward the door.

“Alright, get back to it, and don’t stay up too late,” she said firmly. “I’ll be back for lunch tomorrow.”

“Can you bring something,” he asked with a tragic face. “It’s liver and onions tomorrow. I’d honestly rather eat my shoe.” If I had one.