Beneath The Skin Read online

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  I, Me

  "All of you. A swift kick is what you need. All of you," Beatrice yelled when she walked around the corner. "I don't agree with you at all," she said, approaching a man, stopping him in the middle of the sidewalk. "I'm talking to you." The man stepped around her and went on his way.

  Nearly everyday, Beatrice wandered down from her apartment to search the neighborhood for her living. For over a year, this was a habit she had rarely changed. Her routine was to visit specific places, trashcans, parks, public buildings, before returning to her room hours later. Beatrice looked around at cars passing on the street, and then pulled the blue stocking cap further over her dirty hair. She went a few hundred yards then stopped before a dumpster in an alley between two buildings. The trash had been collecting for a few days, and she knew the dumpsters might have items of interest. Beatrice lifted the lid and began to look at the contents. After a few minutes, she pulled out a lamp, with its torn shade and frayed cord. The lamp would be a fire hazard if anyone tried using it. She slowly set the lamp down at her feet, before turning back to the rest of the trash. After a moment, she returned to the lamp, where she looked at it with confused attention. Her gaze traced the cord as it stretched along the ground away from the base. She picked up the lamp and slid her right hand down the length of the cord until she reached the fray. Her grimy thumb ran over the exposed wires a few times. "Hell mongers," she said before setting the broken item back with the rest of the junk.

  Her dementia first appeared about a year before her husband died. There was the loss of direction, and the odd phrases spoken and repeated. At first, the doctors would say things like, "Mrs. Haney, we can control this with the proper treatment," or "this may only be a one time occurrence, we won’t know for some time." As her condition worsened, phrases like, "Additional care," and "institution" began to come into the conversation. Though she was having difficulty understanding, these words came through and terrified her. Nothing scared Beatrice more than being shut away in a dark smelly room, in a forgotten building. Now, this thought was all she could recollect from those doctor visits.

  Leaving the trash, she went back to the sidewalk and continued until she came to a small diner. She went around to a back door and knocked softly. Oblivious to the street noise and the commotion from inside the diner, she let her attention focus on the door. A minute passed. Two minutes. Other than shifting her weight from foot to foot, she looked content to wait. Finally, a young man stepped out.

  "Hello Bea," he said.

  "I’m trying to..." she said before the thought trailed off. He handed her a half-eaten loaf of bread and a small box, and then disappeared back into the restaurant. She stuffed the loaf into a pocket in her jacket and opened the box to find the man had been generous enough to give her plenty of food for two or three days. "Kind boy," she said while wandering away.

  Beatrice returned to the street, intending to go the park. Instead, when she came around the corner, she became distracted by a woman wearing a green dress walking in a crowd moving the other direction. She craned her neck watching until the woman disappeared from site. People of all shapes and sizes were going by, while her head went back and forth trying to see their faces. "Hey," she said.

  They were all going somewhere, and after a few moments, she joined them. Keeping pace, she held the box close in front of her and stayed three or four steps ahead. The crowd thickened, as people heading to work came off subways and busses. Footsteps, traffic and voices, all fought to be the loudest. More people pushed in until she was engulfed, her blue cap and dingy coat in contrast to their business attire. Everyone was walking shoulder to shoulder, moving in a single direction, making it difficult for one person to deviate from the rest.

  Beatrice continued walking for blocks until most of the crowd thinned out. She came to a tall building with a rotating door. Without hesitation, she went into the department store, and walked through the women’s clothing section. Beatrice went to the escalators and rode up two floors until she saw the kitchen appliances and a microwave oven. She placed the box of food into the oven and waited.

  "Ma’am," a security guard said as he came up behind her. He opened the door on the oven and took the box out.

  "I have to get ready for lunch," she said, as he gently pulled her away by the elbow. She looked at his uniform and a dark grimace came over her face.

  "Ma’am, I’m afraid you can’t stay," he said.

  "But I live here. I have to get ready for my friends, they are coming over," she said.

  "There isn’t anyone who lives here," he said, taking her towards the escalator.

  "I do," she said in a broken voice, grabbing the box out of his hands. "Don’t take me there, don’t take me there."

  "Where is that?"

  "To the room," she said, her voice getting small and tight. "Don’t take me there, I’ll never come out. Oh please please. I don’t want to go. Leave me here. I live here."

  She pulled her elbow loose and tried to hide behind a display. The guard reached around, but she moved to the other side. With small lunge, he was able to grasp her arm again and pull her to the aisle. "It’s time to go now."

  "No no no," she said, her voice getting louder. She shook her head hard enough that he had to stop walking. "I won’t go. Not there!"

  The guard again started leading her out of the area and down the escalators. They reached the ground floor, where he took her through the rotating entrance and back out to the sidewalk.

  "This is my house," she yelled at the guard once he let go of her elbow. "I live here. Why are you doing this? I will not leave my home!"

  "Sorry, you have to go home. Your home." The guard went back inside.

  "Home. Yes. I live here," she replied shaking her finger at the rotating door, dropping the box. She took a step towards the building.

  Her eyes followed the entrance as it spun around. She was breathing fast as she looked up at the building and put her hand on top of her head. She squeezed her eyes shut and jammed her tongue in and out between her teeth. People walked by, glancing as they passed, while she wrestled with her splintered thoughts. Finally, opening her eyes and dropping her hand to her side, she took a deep breath and looked down at the box. "Yes to my home." She bent over and grabbed the box off the sidewalk.

  Beatrice went back to her building and began climbing the stairs. As she tottered her way up the dark passage, the stairs groaned and bent, sounding like they would give way and send her backwards. She almost fell a few times, though she failed to notice. "Damn it, why isn't it here, why isn't it like this," she said at the top of the first flight. "God damn you all!"

  Her apartment was on the second floor. After fumbling with the keys, she opened the lock and moved the door open to enter the disheveled and desperate space. She set the food among the filth of the kitchen counter. "You need to put the food away," she said before she walked off. She went back and placed the box and the loaf of bread in the empty refrigerator.

  Beatrice settled into the only chair in the room. As she sat mumbling to herself, she picked up an old framed picture on a table next to her. The picture was of a woman sitting on a stool, and a man standing behind her. She struggled, but after several seconds, the two people in the picture began to look familiar. The woman was herself, she was able to figure that much out, but the man puzzled her. The dark hair and eyes brought up a level of recognition that left him just out of grasp. She gave up, and put the photo back on the table. Beatrice stared at the television, before reaching over and turning it on. On the screen there was a woman wearing green. Beatrice began to remember everything that happened that morning. However, as each thought came up, the trash, the diner, the department store, it would focus, and then fade. All the memories of that day went blank, except for one thing.

  "I know he was going to take me away," she said, the image of the store security g
uard fixed in her memory. "They do that. They take you away. Take you away someplace. They do that." The television droned on in the background as she started to fall asleep, thinking for sure he intended to lock her up in the dark room.