His back hit the handicapped stall. The door opened like a rusty gate.
“You can’t hide from her! Little boys need to get clean for her! Death is coming! Death is here! We’ll die on Christmas Day!” she said.
Christopher backed into the wall. He had nowhere to go. He could feel her smoky breath on his face. Christopher started to cry. The words wanted to come out. Help! Stop! Anyone! But they were frozen in his throat. Like those nightmares he had after his dad died when he couldn’t get up.
“DEATH IS COMING! DEATH IS HERE! WE’LL DIE ON CHRISTMAS DAY!”
Finally, his voice unclenched, and he screamed, “HELP ME!”
Within seconds, the overhead light flickered on. Christopher saw an old man with coke-bottle glasses open the bathroom stall and walk into the light.
“Mrs. Keizer, what the fuck are you doing? Stop sneaking cigarettes and scaring this poor boy and get your old ass to bed,” he said.
The old woman glared back at the old man.
“This is none of your business. Go away!” she said.
“It is my business when you are scaring the shit out of little kids right across the hall when I’m trying to watch The Tonight Show,” he barked.
He grabbed the cigarette out of her arthritic hand and tossed it into the toilet. It hit the water with an angry hiss.
“Now stop being crazy and go back to your room.” He pointed to the door.
The old woman looked at the water turning cloudy with cigarette ash. She turned back to Christopher. Her eyes were coal black and angry.
“There is no such thing as a crazy person, little boy. It’s just a person who is watching you.”
For a moment, her eyes seemed to flicker. Like a candle when someone opens the door.
“Oh, go fuck yourself, you scary old bat,” the old man said as he ushered the old woman out of the bathroom.
Christopher stood still for a moment, feeling his heart find its way back into his chest. Once he was convinced no one was coming back, he walked over to the sink and somehow got the water going. He quickly rinsed off his hands and left the bathroom.
He looked down the long, dark hallway. The only light came from a single room across the hall. The only sound was the television playing The Tonight Show. The host made a joke about the president’s slow response to the crisis in the Middle East. And the grown-ups in the audience laughed and cheered.
“Damn right,” the old man laughed from his hospital bed. “Throw the bum out.”
“Turn that down, Ambrose,” a man’s voice said behind the curtain next to him. “Some of us are trying to sleep.”
“No. Some of you are trying to die. So, why don’t you go f—”
Suddenly, the old man’s eyes snapped to Christopher standing in the doorway.
“—screw yourself.”
The old man did not wait for his neighbor’s response.
“How you doin’, son?” he asked. “Old Lady Keizer scare the piss outta you?”
Christopher nodded.
“She’s got Alzheimer’s. That’s all. She lives down the hall from me at the old folks home. Good times. But she’s harmless. It’s best not to be too scared. Okay?”
“Okay, sir.”
“Stop calling me sir and start calling me Ambrose. Deal?”
“Deal.”
“Good. Then, have a seat or go to your room. Either way, shut up. I’m missing the monologue,” the old man said.
Christopher never got to stay up late to watch The Tonight Show. He smiled and climbed up onto the visitor’s chair. He looked at the old man’s tray. He still had his dessert on it. A big fat chocolate chip cookie.
“You like chocolate chip cookies?” the old man asked.
“Yes, sir,” Christopher said.
“Well, so do I. And that one is mine. So keep your paws off,” he barked.
Christopher nodded and watched the old man take the cookie. Without a word, Ambrose broke it in half and gave Christopher the bigger half. Christopher smiled and ate the cookie and watched television with the old man. Most of the time, Christopher didn’t know what was so funny, but he wanted to fit in, so he laughed anyway. At one point, he looked over at the old man and saw his leathery skin and a faded tattoo of an eagle.
“Where did you get that tattoo, sir?” Christopher asked.
“Army. Now shut up. I gave you that cookie so you would stop talking.”
“Were you ever in a war?” Christopher asked, undaunted.
“A couple,” the old man grunted.
“Which ones?”
“The good ones.”
The Tonight Show host said something about the crumbling economy and Mr. Ambrose laughed so much he started coughing. Christopher looked at his face.
“Sir, what’s wrong with your eyes?” he asked.
“Cataracts,” the old man said. “I have cataracts.”
“Do those come from a cat?” he asked.
The old man grumbled. “A cat? For Christ’s sake. Cataracts. I don’t see too well. It’s like my eyes are full of clouds.”
Christopher froze.
“What do you mean, clouds?” he asked.
“I see shapes. But they’re covered over with clouds. That’s why I’m here. I hit a deer with my car. I didn’t even see the God damn thing. Banged my head on the dash. They’re going to take my license this time. I know it. I won’t even be able to get away from that home for five minutes now. Fuckers.”
Christopher smiled at all the swearing. He loved it. It felt like breaking the law. So, he kept quiet and listened to the running commentary as he watched the lights from the television dance on the old man’s face. After a while, Mr. Ambrose “rested” his eyes in a grumpy old man way, and eventually he started to snore. Christopher turned off the TV with the chipped plastic remote in Mr. Ambrose’s hands.
“Thanks, junior,” he said. Then, he turned over and fell back to snoring.
No man had ever called Christopher “junior” before. And it made him smile. He went back into the hallway. But for some reason, it wasn’t scary anymore. He walked past the nurses’ station. Nurse Tammy was on the phone again. She didn’t see him.
“Dad, please stop calling. I have to do rounds. I promise to bring the merLOT,” she said, exasperated.
Just before he went into his room to go back to sleep, he looked down the hall and saw Father Tom. He had never seen a priest outside of church, so he was curious. He tiptoed down the hallway and looked in as Father Tom made the cross over an old man. The old man’s family was there. His wife. Two middle-aged daughters. Their husbands. And some grandchildren, who looked like they were in middle school. They were all crying as Father Tom performed last rites.
“Christopher,” Nurse Tammy whispered. “Back to bed, hun. This is nothing for a little boy to see.”
She ushered him down the hall back to his room. But before he settled in, they passed Mrs. Keizer’s room. The old lady was sitting up in bed, watching static on the television. Her yellow teeth drowning in a jar on her nightstand. She turned to Christopher and smiled a sick, toothless grin.
“She took another one. She’ll kill us all before the end,” she said.
“Don’t pay attention to her, Christopher. She doesn’t know what she’s saying.”