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y0lk-108
-- gunny's fruit stand
-- by trilobyte
melons are not compelling in the minds of most grey-haired old women.
the grey-haired old women sometimes have dark skin, which is strange,
because they don't go out in the sun. maybe they used to go out in the
sun, but have stopped since now they are old and unattractive. but alma
liked melons. she couldn't list off all the different types of melons,
but the melony flavor attracted her to them. she didn't grow any in a
garden, because she didn't have a garden, but once she thought of growing
them in a garden. she never had grown anything, actually, except for a
flower once in the flowerpot that used to be located on the edge of the
balcony of her former apartment. now, her room at the nursing home did
not have a balcony, but she could go outside with the assistance of a
nurse, if she so desired. she didn't, though. so she sat in her
wheelchair in the lobby and greeted folks as they came in the door.
bob, a man who had never visited the nursing home before, walked through
the door. he saw alma sitting nearby and expected her to greet him.
she rolled her eyes upwards, and without moving her head, she began
to drool, augmenting the collection of saliva already on her shirt. her
tongue began to slowly drift out of her open mouth and her head rolled
and pivoted a bit to the left. her right hand fell off the armrest
of her wheelchair onto the blanket on her lap. bob's son, junior, came up
and began to watch alma also.
alma mustered up enough energy to raise her right hand from her lap to
her face, but lacked the energy to hold it there. it struck her face and
then fell to her chest. she gave a slight cough and some phlegm shot out
and hit junior's hand. she then sat silent and motionless, looking at
nothing above bob's head. her eyes rolled a bit.
"heh," junior said, a few seconds after the phlegm was launched at him.
"heheh," he continued.
bob looked down at him and began to laugh also. they looked around, and
saw other invalids and mentally dead elderlies sitting about in wheelchairs
and on sofas all over the cavernous room. they were usually motionless or
moving very slowly, their eyes fixated on objects that were not there.
occasionally, one would give a cough, sending a ball of rotten yellow phlegm
straight out of his mouth. few reacted to each other, passively disregarding
the presence of other human beings.
nurses in white dresses and sky-blue aprons walked around carrying
trays of medication and syringes. here and there one of them would stop
and poke a needle into an old man's bulging vein or feed an old woman a
pill. they didn't really seem to notice that the old folks were there
either. they only noticed each other. occasionally one would express
some frustration at a stubborn old codger who would put up a pathetic
fight to avoid the nurse's medication. the old folks usually lost.
but gunny was not going to lose. not this time.
sitting alone on a sofa, he saw the fat nurse wobbling towards him
with her tray of supplies. she was going to give him his medicine,
he knew it. it usually happened about this time -- whatever time it was --
once or twice a week. his arm couldn't take the stuff anymore. it throbbed,
it was strange colors. he never used to require shots, so he doesn't need
them now. why does she always do this to him? can't she tell that he
doesn't like it?
the fat nurse came nearer to gunny's sofa. gunny let out a sudden
loud splurt of noise and fell over sideways on the couch. he made strange,
abrupt noises.
the nurse's face contorted into a look of displeasure. "looks like
we're going to have some fun today, gunny," she said flatly.
back when he was young, gunny was tough. he won any fight he could
pick. when he was working the fruit stand to support his family in his urban
dwelling, urchins would sometimes try to steal an orange or two. but they
never got away with it. gunny could chase them for miles and miles until
they got so tired that they died of exhaustion. when he caught a burgler in
his apartment, gunny punched him in the stomach and the burgler fell over
unconscious. from a punch in the stomach. gunny liked to think about the
times he had when he was young.
he saw the nurse in front of him and he climbed over the back of the
sofa and fell to the floor with a loud thump. it awoke lawrence, sitting in
his wheelchair nearby, who had been dreaming about farming. he turned his
head to investigate. all he could make out was a large blur -- probably a
sofa -- and a smaller, moving blur next to it -- probably a man.
"yeh," lawrence wheezed with no enthusiasm. he coughed.
alma was also awakened by the thump. she had become a professional
at wheeling herself around, except for the times when she fell asleep and
stopped right in place. she turned her head a bit and then began to wheel
herself to the kitchen window, about 20 feet away.
meanwhile, the nurse weaved her way through old folks and sofas to
get to gunny, who was trying to stand up. he hadn't stood up much recently.
he didn't have his cane, but he didn't need it. he never needed a cane when
he was younger. before the nurse could reach him, he managed to get to his
feet, and he scurried towards the front door, but bob jumped out in front of
him.
"whoa there, buddy. where do you think you're going?" bob asked
gunny.
"i never used to need medicine," he replied.
"well you do now. i think you should go back and sit down."
gunny said no, turned around, and walked towards the kitchen window.
alma had reached the window, stopped her wheelchair, and began to mutter
something about melons to the lady at the window. the lady had a quizzical
look on her face, but then assumed that alma wanted a melon.
"i'll have to look, but i shouldn't have a problem finding one," the
lady told alma.
"yup," alma said. she turned her head to the left and looked at the
carpet or at something that was not on it.
meanwhile, the nurse found hilda choking on her own vomit. she
attended to the old woman immediately. usually, situations like this were a
lost cause. you couldn't apply much pressure to the upper cavity of these
old folks. their ribs might break or they might, if mentally unstable,
die of shock. the nurse kneeled down in front of hilda and determined that
she was physically fit for a heimlich maneuver.
it was successful, but hilda's vomit flew.
far.
it hit poor old lawrence on his lap.
the kitchen lady found a melon and set it on alma's lap. it was a
rather small watermelon. alma placed her hands on either side and examined
it while junior asked the nurse for a cookie.
"no, son, i can't give you a cookie. we haven't baked --"
"AAAAAGGGG. AAAAHHG! AHHHHHHHHHHG," lawrence screamed.
"-- any --"
"aaiigh," exclaimed alma, scared to death by lawrence's outburst.
her hands flew up in the air, launching the melon across the room. it
splattered all over the marble floor.
"c'mere, gunny! a shot's not so bad," said the fat nurse. she
hurriedly walked towards gunny and slipped on the remains of the melon on
the floor in front of her. her tray flew in the air, she fell onto the
floor on her back, out cold. her medicine and syringes flew everywhere.
"-- yet..."
"hot damn!" yelled gunny as he made a break out of the front door.
he walked fast down the sidewalk towards the street, but then remembered
the time back in fifth grade when he put flypaper on the teacher's seat
and she sat directly on it. he stopped and thought about it, and the
first car he had, a beautiful blue ford convertible. he wished deeply
that he still had it.
a nurse ran out and took a hold of gunny's arm. he blindly
followed her back into the nursing home.
