Devin Dustman

Race Class and Gender

2/20/2018

Jose Hernandez Zamudio

Short Story

On the fifth of July 2007 Robert H. Lowell, a retired professor from central Michigan,

fell. This was the last of three similar falls, the first two resulting in only short hospital stays, and

leaving little permanent damage. This final fall was different. While Robert was crossing his

home to pick up his keys, he tripped, and fell forward, unable to catch himself in time, his right

hip colliding directly with a bare patch of floor. What he actually tripped on is unknown, as

Robert only had only the vaguest recollection of the events, but a rug, or an especially slippery

patch of hardwood was the likely culprit. After sustaining the blow, Robert laid, splayed out on

the ground for more than 2 hours, struggling to regain his feet. All the while his yells of

frustration and pain went unheeded and unheard. These cries only ceased when for brief spells as

he fell in and out of consciousness.

While this was taking place, Robert’s daughter was growing worried. Cristie Lowell, had

planned a brunch with her father that very afternoon, and after an hour of unanswered calls her

sense of unease had grown into a powerful terror. She has seen her dad grow more and more

careless as of late, and the last two falls had been quite hard on his body and mind. She had

suspected something like this was going to happen again, but she could have never guessed so

soon. As she jumped in her car and started to drive her fears blossomed, forming an intricate

pattern of self-doubt, and paranoia. How she wished her father would have gone to the nursing

home at least three he could have stayed safe. By the time she rounded the bend, and got onto the
small rural road leading to her father’s house she was certain he was dead. Doubtless to say, the

last few months had been hard on Cristie as well.

By the time Crisite pulled into her father’s driveway, Robert yells had been quieted to a

whimper, and the pulsing pain in his hip had risen to a screaming crescendo. The ringing of the

doorbell, and the sound of a fist slamming against the front door, barely registered, through the

blinding agony. Even the sight of his daughter’s light grey clogs, and her terrified yelp, did little

more than confuse him in those strained and frightening moments.

In some sort of strange cosmic cruelty, Cristie’s emotions were almost mirroring her

dad’s, as the confusion and shock she felt, was almost comparable to what her injured father was

feeling. Because of this it took her more than a minute to finally wrest her phone from her pocket

and dial emergency services. Even when she had them on the line her reeling mind could say

little more than “accident” and she had to be prompted multiple times for the address. After

hearing confirmation that an ambulance was on its way, she hung up and began to try to help the

prone Robert get off the floor, and out the driveway. Unfortunately her father was largely

unresponsive at this point, and his cold,shaking hands made the warm summer air flowing in

from the still open door feel absolutely icy.

Robert awoke, more than eight hours later, in the Mclaren hospital, with a dull pounding

pain in his his head, and hip. His body attempted to jolt upright reflexibly, though a hand on his

chest briskly blocked that movement. “Probably not a good idea not to push your luck after that”

wishepered Cristie. Who Robert suddenly realised was classping his right hand. “You know you

could have died there, right.”

 Still unable to formulate his thoughts into sentences, and still partially unsure about

where he was, much less why he was there, Robert simply nodded. Hoping it would calm

Cristies clearly frayed nerves. “You can’t go home after this accident, it’s just not safe, I already

have a room reserved for you at the veterans home in Mount Pleasant.” That was truly a shock

for the pained Robert, who had strived for years to stay independent, refusing to give up the

homestead he had grown up in. It was the home he had raised Cristie in for god sakes. Even after

Helena died, he had stayed, how could some fall, possibly drive him away?

“No negotiation”, Cristie's tone hardened cleary noticing her father’s reticence. “This is

the third fall in less than half a year. It just eats me up, constantly worrying that you’re going to

hurt yourself. You simply don’t have the motor skills, to function independently anymore, you

know that as well as I do. Besides, the place in Mount Pleasant is good, it should be nice to have

people to talk to.” Robert just squeezed her hand, and hoped she wouldn’t notice the tears

welling up in his eyes.

Robert’s final day at the Midtown Hospital began with an aid helping him up from his

bed to his walker. That was the second time he had left his bed during his five day stay, and

while the pain in his hip was still fairly significant, he struggled through, and he was once again

gaining some confidence in moving on his own two feet. The surgery on his hip, had apparently

been a decisive success, and according to his aids, Robert was healing at an absolutely

remarkable pace. Even his mental health seemed to be in a state of flux, he was talking, and his

thoughts had a logical flow they had lacked for some time. Maybe that was the social aspect of

the hospital, or the drug cocktail he was on. Either way Robert was planning on taking his

returned mental capacity anyway he could get it. Overall, Robert had enjoyed his stay at that
little hospital quite a lot, with him having generally good interactions with both the staff, and

surprisingly pleasant visits from Crisite. Who seemed to be pacified by him being largely

immobile, a thought that sent fury through the veins of old Robert.

On her final stop at Robert’s hospital room, Cristie, after making pretty idle chatter for

most of the evening, concluded the visit with a quick murmur “By the way, you are leaving for

the Veterans home in town tomorrow.”

By the time Robert got around to a response Cristie was gone, simply leaving no room

for discussion. It was exactly what her mother would have done, Robert mused. He had lost her

almost a year ago but it to him it felt like yesterday. The ovarian cancer struck quickly, and in

less than a week, she had gone from fully functional, to dead. In some ways Robert had envied

her for that, she had been saved from the ugliest parts of growing old, that he was still being

pushed through himself.

Crisite picked up Robert from the hospital just after eleven, taking her father in a

wheelchair, she brought him outside to the large truck in which she had stored all of Robert’s

requested possessions. As soon as they were both in the car, Robert asked her the question that

had really been on his mind throughout his short stay in the hospital, “Hey Cristie, if things go all

right, and my hip heals up nicely, the home will still be waiting for me right?”

“Dad, I will hold onto the place as long as there is some hope of you getting better, that

house means just as much to me, as it does to you.”

 “Good, I think I will be able to hold on, as long as this stay in the home is temporary, I

just don’t want to die in there.” after a moment, he added “like Jim, he ended up at that very VA

ya know. He got stuck there and rotted, I’d take just about anything over that.”

“That won’t happen to you dad, I’ll make sure of it as best I can.”

“Please, just don’t sell the lot, not yet.”

“I won’t dad.”

The rest of the ride was filled with nothing but silence.

When Cristi pulled up to the Central Michigan Veterans administration building, and

loaded up Robert into his wheelchair, he let out little more than a grumble, and largely just

followed instructions. The building that Robert saw gave him a burst of terror the likes he had

not felt in years, it was a drab stucco complex, that stuck out like a sore thumb, in the medium

sized homey town of Mount Pleasant. When the sliding glass doors opened, the smell places like

that always acquired wafted around Robert. A combination of prunes, and plastic, was the best

way that Robert thought to describe it. It was the scent that always came with the old or the

broken. As a sociology professor he once had done a study in one of the local “permanent

residence facilities”. That one had hosted the young and mentally unfit, but the residence centers

did certainly did smell startling similar.

As soon as the glass doors slid shut behind him, Robert heard a cheery voice from the

front desk, where a receptionist sat with a phone to one ear. “Hello, this is the Central Michigan

V.A, you must be Mr.Lowell. Your room has already been prepared.”

With that she made a gesture with her hand indicating she wanted them to continue on,

and she then continued her earlier conversation on the phone. An aid then took over from there,
chaperoning the two of them to Robert’s room, and giving the two of them a general feel for the

place. The aid showed off the buildings cafeteria, game room, garden, and main hall, all of which

were met with all of the polite oohs and awws, along with an occasional jostle from Crisite. As if

to say ”Look, it’s not so bad right”

While the facilities indeed seemed to be quite nice, Robert was largely focused

elsewhere, at the people sitting around. Be in front of a television, or at a table awaiting dinner, it

seemed that everyone in that building was in a semi-permanent state of malaise. An observation

that shook Robert to his very core, there were very few things he cared about more than his

mental sharpness. A thing that he had seen to many good friends lose, and a thing not easily

regained once lost. The general trend of confused or clearly depressed residents continued for the

rest of the tour, and while there were a few outliers, smiling with family or friends, it seemed to

Robert that the place itself had taken on a dour tone.

At the conclusion of the tour, the aid dropped off Robert and Critie off at their wing of

their room, and introduced both of them to the nurses on duty. The two nurses that Robert came

to realise that would likely be helping him do everything from showering, too shitting too simply

moving around, at least until Cristie showed up in the evenings, or on the weekends. As Robert

and Cristei finally got about entering Robert’s room, one of the nurses remarked that. Robert

should be excited to meet his new roommate Howard, as he was a “a sweet one”.

Upon entering the double that would become Robert’s room, for the coming months,

Cristie remarked on how nice it seemed, and indicated surprise at Robert having a roommate,

something that she did not recall seeing in the brochures. Robert’s only reaction to the room was

disgust. The walls were covered in colorful decorations, and tinsel and there was a cutesy

calendar on the wall describing all the events that would be taking place during the upcoming
month. To Robert it seemed like the decorations usually reserved for a daycare, something

Robert found disgusting

“Is there something wrong dad” Cristie asked, clearly picking up on her father’s

resentment.

“This place is a shithole, and I don’t want to stay here. It reeks of death, and makes me

feel like a child. The fact that you would even consider sending me here, is disgusting, and

honestly I am halfway—”

“Don’t use that tone with me! What are your other options, do you want me to just leave

you at home, sitting on your ass all day, at least here you have something to do. At least here you

won’t fall on the way to goddamn kitchen.”

“I would certainly rather die, on my own floor than rot here”, Robert’s voice now

quieting to a mumble. Crisite knew that meant he was mad, really mad, the sort of mad, that had

made her and Arco cower when they were children. Her father never hit them, but that voice

always made it seem as if he might.

Cristie shuddered and shook her head, all the spite of her past statement draining out of

her. “I’m sorry, but this is how it has to be, I will visit, I promise—”

Cristie was suddenly interrupted by the sound of a walker’s wheels from the entrance to

the small shared room,in the doorway stood an old black man, appearing to be in his mid 70s. He

looked fairly spry, at least compared to many of the people in the home, and he carried himself

with a certain dignity, that Robert had not noticed in any of the other residents. “I hope I'm not

interrupting anything here, just coming in for my afternoon nap.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Said Cristie, “So… you’re Howard, right?”
 “Yes mam, I have staying in this room for almost 9 months now, and it’s always good to

see a new face around here. It’s Robert right?”

Robert, putting on a friendly demeanor after his outburst, smiled at his new roommate.

“Yeah, just took a bit of tumble back at my house, coming out to stay somewhere a little safer

while my hip gets better.”

“Huh, that’s exactly what my last roommate said.”

“Did he ever make it home?”

“No, he died of Pneumonia last week.”

Over the next week, as Robert slowly transitioned from wheelchair to walker, him and

Howard, slowly grew closer to one another, despite the rough start. They attended breakfast,

lunch, and dinner in the cafeteria together. These meals were what broke the days up for Robert,

and were honestly some of the few times that he enjoyed his life in the Central Michigan

Veterans home. The food that was served at these meals, was fairly middling if Robert was being

honest, but the conversations with Howard, and his two other tablemates, were always

entertaining. Miserable loves company as they say, and the four of them certainly made

miserable company, at least that’s how it may have seemed from the outside. At that small table

they complained about everything, providing not only a way to vent, but also a route for simple

conversation.

On Robert’s seventh day, him and Howard were having one of their thrice daily

discussions. The other two table members were both out, Dave had eaten a little too much for

breakfast, and Hammond had tired himself out with his physical therapy earlier that morning. As

Robert concluded a rant about one of his favorite topics, Cristie. How she was too hard on him,
how he should let him go home, the whole shabang. Howard had listened intently as he always

did, despite what he may or may not have thought about the actual topic, he was always a great

listener. Robert quickly grew to love that about him. Once Robert had concluded his tirade with a

huff, Howard cut in, “You know I would miss if you went back right. You’ve been a good

roommate so far”

To this Robert only scoffed, “What am I going do, organise a party?”

Howard chuckled at that, “Have I ever told you about Jerome, he was the guy who lived

in your spot before you came in.”

“All you said was he died of pneumonia”

“He had been struggling for a while, the old man. He was out of it, talked to himself,

forgot where our room was, the war was catching up to him in his final day. I felt bad about that

if nothing else. By the last few day, he was cursing up a storm, even had a good few choice

words to say about me, I tired to ignore it, but after a month, it grates.”

Robert knew those types, the men and women who after losing their inhibitions, from

either dimmentia, or whatever drugs, the university hospital hooked them up to. They could often

be found in the halls or at the tables starting fights or having their kids called to talk to them. In

the time Robert had been staying there a man had actually been kicked out, for calling a female

resident a whore, and pinning another resident to the ground . The irony of the situation, children

being the guardians, of mentally addled parents was not lost on Robert, and he found at least

some humor in the whole situation.

“He was also one racist bastard, that Alex.” Howard said as he let out another chuckle.

That was another thing that homes like these seemed to pull out of men, after losing

whatever inhibitions that may have stopped them in the past, many simply said whatever came to
their mind. Apparently, racial slurs, were often on the mind of a certain subset of the populous, as

was demonstrated by the occasional comment that Howard got during the days. Even in the short

time that Robert had been staying at the home, he had heard five different individuals making

rude comments about Howard’s race. One of the comments was even directly pointed at Howard,

who, just walked by, seemingly unfazed. When questioned about this incident later Howard’s

response was that the man in question was just a repeat offender, trying to get a rise out of him.

Robert was impressed by Howard’s stoicism nonetheless.

“Yeah, there’s plenty of those types.”

“He was worse than most though, talked to me about that shit every day, had to sleep next

to the guy. That probably made it a whole lot worse.”

“Why do you think that happens to people? Most of these guys who say, this trash would

have never said that sort of stuff to your face, before. They may have believed it, times are

certainly different, especially when it comes to racial views.”

“I know that Alex grew up in Virginia, and that he came up North after the war, if I had to

guess the guy just grew up with those beliefs, while down in Virgina, and shut up about it after

he came up to Michigan. Maybe he still felt that way, maybe he even acted on it when he thought

he could get away with it. But when they get in here, they have usually lost that filter , so they

say what comes to their mind. Alex though, he was a special case. He had been infected by the

paranoia that becomes so prevalent when people enter their twilight years. That along with all the

free time in the world, can just destroy a man’s spirit.”

“I saw that plenty when I worked in homes like this, as a professor.” Robert said, “When

people are seperated from friends and family long enough, things just start going wrong.”
 “You’re lucky to have Cristie you know, she visits, and she clearly cares about you a lot.

Even if the way she expresses that is a little erratic, she clearly just wants you to be safe, and

happy.”

“I know Howard, I know.”

Soon after, a server came and took away their plates, marking the end of lunch. The two

walked themselves over to the biweekly Bingo game.

Robert continued to recover. On the 14th day of his stay, his physical therapist gave him

the OK to start transitioning from walker to cane. This was an incredibly exciting moment for

Robert, as it indicated continued improvement. If he continued on this same track, he could hope

to return home within two weeks. Something that everyone, including himself had deemed

unlikely upon his entrance to the Central Michigan VA.

On the fifteenth day, as Robert was returning to the cafeteria for dinner, he noticed that

Hammond was not at the table, after missing all the meals that day, as well as the day before.

“Any update on Hammond.” Robert asked as he approached the small table, where Dave and

Howard were already sitting.

“Yeah, apparently he got evicted.” Dave said, still staring down at the lasagna and

broccoli sitting on his plate.

That was incredibly startling for Robert, because as far as he knew, Hammond was a

pretty upstanding guy. He never threw fits, and usually was very kind to the staff. It seemed that

only the very worst of the worst got evicted.People who got in fights, or who regularly got into

yelling matches with the staff, not Hammond.

 “Yeah his family just couldn’t pay the fees, they hadn’t done so in months. So he got

kicked.” Dave bluntly stated.

That absolutely stunned Robert, he had met Hammond’s son once, and he had seemed

like a good enough guy. “Do you know why they couldn’t pay up?” Robert asked, genuinely

concerned about his friend.

“Never got any real details, I know his family fell on some really hard times in the last

few months, one of his kids lost his job. I think they were actually planning on taking him home

anyways. The eviction really just ended up speeding up the process a little bit.”

The whole economy of this place struck Robert as odd, with many of the people simply

no longer having any money of their own to spend. Having to rely on either their families or the

home itself. For many people, including Robert this was one of the most difficult things to adjust

to. It was just so strange living one’s whole life around making, spending money, only to have

that system one day not apply. In Robert’s case in particular, the freedom of going out to buy

food, equipment or even clothes was always something Robert had cherished, at least when he

still felt comfortable driving himself.

Though in the Central Michigan Veterans administration home, others struggled far more

with this than Robert. Most notably, some of the wealthier people who had for whatever reason

ended up in this little backwater home. Robert had noticed that people like this, after living a life

of slightly better means, sometimes reacted poorly to living with those who they had considered

less than for most of their lives. Robert always found that interesting, the contensions created by

the transition from normal society to a strange largely classless place. A place where the only

relevance of money was its ability to keep them in the home, as Hammond had just learned. In its
place it seemed to Robert that the only currency was friends, or maybe the Soda acquired during

Bingo.

The whole situation reminded Robert of the boarding school he attended for three years

as a boy. The school his family had sent him too in eastern Minnesota, where he had enjoyed

some of the best years of his life. Now here he was, just 200 miles east where that camp once

stood, spending his days eating, undergoing physical therapy and playing games he had thought

reserved for children. The cyclical nature of the whole situation was almost comical to Robert in

those few moments.

Cristie rapped on the door of Robert and Howard’s shared room, “Hey dad. Sorry I

couldn’t make it yesterday, you know how work is sometimes. The boss needed me to--”

Robert was sitting in his bed, totally covered excluding his head, he was clearly ill. He let

out a cough interrupting Cristie’s greeting. “I came down with something today, my nurse thinks

it may be a UTI.”

“Shit, why didn’t they call me! I thought those aids might do something like this. If I had

known I would have come out sooner.”

“Don’t worry about it, I just started feeling sick like an hour ago, calling you wouldn't

have helped.” Robert’s voice clearly slurred throughout that statement, only furthering his

daughters worry. The statement itself was also a lie. Robert had been feeling bad for at least the

last three days, his body and mind just felt unsettled in a way he could not totally describe. He

had been trying to ignore it as best he could, but when he passed out at his physical therapy

session he came to the conclusion that without rest and treatment whatever ailed him may never

get better. This illness had really frightened Robert, as he had been making continued progress
and had just last week given up his walker for a cane, even when traveling outside the veterans

home. Yet in the last few days, the optimism brought on by that progress seemed to fade away,

and in the last few days, it had really weighed on him. It seemed to him, that he was inches away

from once again achieving independence, when it was stolen from his grasp.

His especially dour mood was noticed quickly by his two reaming table mates, who

indicated a surprising amount of concern for their friend. Howard actually guessed that Robert

had a UTI before the nurses had even taken samples. He then consoled Robert, saying that UTIs

usually go away pretty quick, and rarely lead to any lasting damage.

Cristie interrupted Robert’s thoughts with a sharp “I need to go talk to those ladies out

there, and make sure that nothing like this happens again.” Before she stormed out of the room

clearly looking for some sort of confrontation, which was just like her, Robert mused. That was

actually one of the clearest thoughts that Robert had had in almost three days, for whatever

reason his recent malady had affected far more than his urinary tract, making his mind feel fuzzy

and slow to react. That was what honestly scared Robert the most. The idea that his brain might

be failing, one of the last things that remained in good condition.

Cristie visited every day for the weeks following Robert’s initial contraction of the UTI,

each day she came in and sat by her father’s side. Her panic grew, as her father grew sicker and

sicker, worsening even further as it became clear that whatever he had contracted was largely

resistant to the antibacterial cocktail. MRSA, was the final verdict, and when Crisite heard the

news she sobbed, harder even than after her mom had passed on, only a little over a year ago

now. She blamed herself, for sending her dad here rather than to the nursing home down in

Lansing, she blamed herself for not being closer to him when they were younger, and she blamed
herself for not holding the nurses to higher standards. One of the few things that gave her solace

was Howard, who always made an effort to comfort her, even going so far as to help Cristie walk

her dad to dinner every night.

Even after Robert got moved to the more high maintenance centre of the facility, Howard

always made an effort to sit outside with Cristie when he got the chance. An effort that Cristie

was endlessly thankful for. Howard helped provide conversation long after her father stopped

being able to make conversation of any kind. Something the two of them both sorely missed.

During one such conversation, Robert brought up the increasingly likely prospect of Robert’s

death. “Please take don’t let him die in here. We both know he wouldn’t have wanted that.”

“Where would I take him, his doctors sure as hell wouldn't let me take him home. Even if

I could get him out of here I doubt he would even notice the change in scenery at this point.”

Cristie said, her voice starting to tremble.

“At least get him out of here one last time, OK.”

Cristie took the next morning off of her job, and angrily called into the V.A., demanding a

transfer for her father to a real hospital. She demanded that she be the one to take him, as she no

longer trusted the V.A. staff to do anything. When they resisted she threatened a suit, claiming

that a man in as good of a state as her dad should not have just broken down so quickly. The

people at the office eventually acquiesced, saying that her father was having a particularly good

morning afterall.

When she drove over, her father was already outside with the receptionist from their first

day helping load Robert into the Cristie’s Subaru. The receptionist warned Cristie that she was
taking all legal responsibility away from the clinic by moving him herself. Though Cristie was

unfazed, and simply slammed the door, beginning the drive over to the Lansing hospital.

As soon as Cristie had turned out of the parking lot of the V.A. she looked over to her

father and quietly said “let’s take ourselves a little detour.”, as she reached over and squeezed his

hand. Robert just nodded, and released an incoherent mumble, but Cristie took that for

comprehension and sped off for the little rural road, where Robert had mode his homestead all

those years ago.

When Cristie parked in the driveway of her father’s house, about 45 minutes later, Robert

made a grunt that bordered on comprehension, and when Cristie looked over from her seat in the

car she saw that her father was crying. Before she knew what was happening Cristie began

bawling herself, seeing her father like this was simply too much for her to take in that moment.

She grabbed her dad, and held him in her caress. Like that the two of them sat, for almost 20

minutes, as the fall morning began to shift to day.

Cristie then left for the Lansing hospital, where she knew, with absolute certainty her

father would die. Which he did, about 9 hours later, as the MERSA infection finally spread to his

blood stream.