I was in Normal at a meeting and cut out early to visit my former English teacher.
I last saw her in 1969 at my high school graduation and found her two years ago on Facebook. I’d arranged through messenger to see Ms. Norton (not her real name) in late afternoon.
I pulled up to a newly constructed two-story building. The sign said Assisted Living and Memory Care.
I walked in and found my way to a roomful of people in wheelchairs with lots of younger staff.
“I’m looking for Ms. Norton. Ella Norton.”
“This is Memory Care. Ella is upstairs.”
I was relieved. I took the elevator up, knocked on her door and no one answered. It was 4:30. I waited on a nearby couch where I could see her door. No one came. I went back downstairs and talked again to a staff member.
“You could try the Four Seasons room. She might be there.”
The Four Seasons room was set up for dinner. Three women were sitting quietly together at a table. I approached them.
“Excuse me ladies, do you know Ella Norton?”
The woman closest to me smiled and giggled. The woman in the center, wearing a pink blazer with pearls, sat on a scooter. She introduced herself as Brenda, and insisted I sit down. The woman next to Brenda looked at me blankly.
“Ella used to sit at our table but now she sits over there.” She pointed at a nearby table. “Please join us.”
I sat down.
Brenda did most of the talking. “Ella’s out I believe but she’ll be here soon. She never misses dinner. If you wait with us, I’m sure she’ll be here shortly.”
The woman who giggled moved her chair closer. “What’s your name?”
“Dave.”
“Mine’s Irene. Don’t you think that’s awful? No one names their babies Irene anymore.”
“I like that name. Leadbelly has a song using that name. ‘Goodnight Irene.’”
“I’ve never heard it.”
Brenda corrected her. “Yes, you have Irene. Everybody knows that song.”
Brenda went on. “How do you know Ella?”
“She was my high school English teacher. Ella directed me in a couple of school plays.”
Irene chimed in “Oh, you’re an actor.”
“Not anymore. Only in high school. Very small school.”
The woman next to Brenda looked at each of us when we spoke with a never changing blankness.
Brenda asked another question. “Was Ella stern as a teacher?”
“Only in the beginning. After that, she was very kind.”
“We had words the other day. She’d been watching the news and came down talking bad about that ex-president. You know,” she whispered, “the 45 guy.”
Irene interrupted. “We don’t talk politics in here.”
Brenda snapped back. “Irene, I was talking to the young man, not you.”
“Brenda,” I asked, “do you have a Trump bumper sticker on that scooter?”
Irene burst into laughter. The woman next to Brenda closed her eyes.
“No! I just told Ella, I’ll be for who I like, and you do the same.”
“I think she’s got a Reagan sticker back there,” Irene said, laughing even louder.
Ella hadn’t showed and it was after 5. I thanked the ladies and left my card for them to give to Ms. Norton. I guess politics is a touchy subject everywhere.
- Dave McClure lives in Ottawa. He is a long-retired director of a local private agency. He is also a blogger. You can read more of Dave at Daveintheshack.blogger.com