Sour Segments

Sour Segments

A puff of cigarette smoke blows by her face, but her eyes do not move from her cards.  They sit behind bottle cap glasses, waiting for the next ball to be announced.

“B 11.”  The announcer is the youngest person in the bingo hall.  His hair is starting to grey and he holds the bingo ball away from his eyes and squints to read it.  Betsy’s mind is slow to register which of her sixteen bingo cards hold this number, but her hands are quick to dab the squares with her Brite Brilliant Bingo Ink Marker.  Teal is her most used color.  Her meager lips part as she gives a humble smile, slowly rising from her bench. 

“Bingo,” she announces, her bony fingers curling around the handles of her walker.  A cumulative sigh fills the room.  Someone coughs on the haze of cigarette smoke.  Betsy scoots her walker to the front of Bill’s Bingo Hall to receive her prize.  There are rumors that this hall is rigged because Betsy always wins, but these are just rumors.  Betsy collects the last prize for the afternoon from the announcer and shuffles into the crowd of senior citizens.

The bus back to the Sands of Time Retirement Home fills quickly, but the third bench on the left always remains empty.  It is always filled last by Betsy, and only Betsy.  Every day on the bus she thinks of her husband as she watches the cacti and stores pass outside.  She leans her head on the glass and ignores everyone else on the bus.  She remembers her husband.
Betsy’s late husband John introduced her to bingo, and always beat her at the game.  When her was hair blonde and his was a slick black they would go to the Bill’s Bingo Hall in downtown Albuquerque.  His fingers were stained with the smell of cigarettes but his eyes were a soft teal.  He was a charmer and made a living filling in bingo cards every Friday and Saturday night for the big cash prizes.  They had a picnic together every Sunday.  John’s favorite dish was fruit salad.  It was accompanied by ham sandwiches and Cokes as they sat in the park and relished in their blazing bingo lifestyle.

Betsy’s blue tinted afro reflects on the window of the bus.

***

Classic Fruit Salad

Ingredients:

- 6 cups assorted fresh fruit (combine at least three of the following: pineapple chunks, blueberries, raspberries, peeled and sliced pears, diced mango, quartered strawberries, cubed cantaloupe, or honeydew melon)

- 3 cups of whipped cream

Directions:

Place chopped fruit in a large bowl.  Slowly mix in whipped cream with a large wooden spoon until all fruit is covered with a light haze of cream.  Chill and serve.

***

It is ten til six when the bus arrives at Sands of Time Retirement Home.  The seniors file off the bus slowly.  They move in herds toward the automatic doors of the home.  Betsy collects herself and scoots her walker to join her friends Fern and Fita.

“Good day at the hall,” Fita says.

“What?” replies Betsy.

“I said good day at the hall.”

“What?” replies Betsy.

“I said, GOOD DAY AT THE HALL!”

“Oh, yes it was,” replies Betsy.  The two make their way to the dining room as usual and join Ralph.  He is sunk in to his chair, his spine is curled like a pig’s tail.  His oversized pants are held up with suspenders and the sparse hairs on his freckled scalp wriggle in the air conditioning.

“Hey!” Ralph calls to a male nurse.  “Don’t ya realize we’re starvin’ over here?  Whadya think my kids are payin’ ya for?  Workin’ is good for ya kiddo so how about ya work on gettin’ me some food!”  Ralph draws his attention to Fita, Fern and Betsy and begins to ramble about his day.  Betsy nods politely and offers her smile after she pokes at her watery fruit cocktail.  Fita and Ralph talk about how scandalous a visitor was.  A young girl came to visit her grandmother with a tattoo on her arm.  Strangers are always trouble.  Fita is sure the girl is planning to come in her window at night and steal her brooches. 

“That woman is a robber and a cheat.  I don’t know how she got into the building,” said Fita.  Betsy nods.

After dinner Betsy, Fern and Fita gather around the seventy-inch TV-blaring Wheel of Fortune.  Betsy sits in her green, stained chair.  The velvet fabric is faded in the shape of a small woman especially where the head of the woman would rest.  The category is phrases.  The old folks try to fill in the blanks but aren’t successful. DO_N   _E_ORY   L_NE.  The letters fill the blanks on the TV but the gears are rusty in the minds of the geriatrics.  DO_N  MEMORY  LANE.  Finally Fita calls out the answer.  Betsy grows tired of the game and retreats to her room.

Betsy sits on her bed and looks into the mirror on her dresser.  Her skin sags on her face and creates slight jowls.  Her dark eyes look enlarged in her bottle cap glasses.  She brushes her bluish white curls with an ivory brush John got her.  She holds her wedding photo.  She lays down on her bed, and cries herself to sleep.

The next morning Betsy picks out which pin she will wear on her sweater.  She has trouble deciding between her American flag or her snowman made of white buttons and Puffy Paint.  She chooses the snowman, even though it isn’t quite winter and there is no snow to be seen in Albuquerque.  Betsy hears a cane tap across the floor outside her door.  A commotion.  She grabs her walker and scoots out the door. 

A flock of geriatrics surround the room next to hers.  They part to let paramedics leave pushing a stretcher with a white blanket covering Fern.  The home becomes silent.  Betsy makes her way to the bingo bus.  She has a good day at the hall and leaves with a smile on her face.

A week later someone moves into Fern’s room.  Betsy wears a red cardigan with bluejays on it, hoping to make a good impression.  She steps out of her room into a crows of onlookers.  Betsy shuffles into the group to see moving boxes.  A box reads “Lila S Shole” in the scribbles of a fresh Sharpie.  A woman emerges from the room.  She wears a cheetah print scarf with black suit pants, and the cloying smell of potpourri wafts from her room.  Her grey hair hugs the sides of her head.  The movers step out of her way as she glides towards the group of onlookers.  

“Hello, everybody.  My name is Lila, but you can call me Lila S Shole,” says the woman.  She smiles like she is laughing, mouth wide open, baring her real teeth.  

***

Although some people may like shredded coconut in their fruit salad, do not serve it at a banquet or potluck.  Some may be allergic, and will have a bad reaction.

***

At noon the seniors board the bingo bus.  Betsy shuffles onto the bus to find Lila S Shole in her seat.  She sits down next to her and doesn’t say a word.  

“Hi, I’m Lila S Shole, do you play bingo a lot?” asks the woman.  Betsy pretends she can not hear.  “Hello,” says Lila, in a louder voice.  Betsy’s cheeks grow red and she turns to face Lila.

“Hello,” Betsy replies politely before returning her attention to the front of the bus.  

“I’m thinking about starting a jazzercise class at the home, what do you think?” Lila asks.  Betsy doesn’t answer.  “It’ll be fun!  A nice break from the same old, same old, don’t you think?”  Betsy still doesn’t answer.

At the bingo hall Betsy organizes her sixteen bingo cards.  They lay in rows of four in front of her.  She pulls out an extra teal Brite Brilliant Bingo Ink Marker and neatly places it to the right of her card display.  She smiles eagerly and admires how nicely arranged her cards are.  Lila S Shole clambers onto the bench next to Betsy, knocking Betsy’s extra marker to the ground.  Oblivious, Lila organizes her cards in front of her.  Betsy struggles to reach her fallen marker, but only retrieves it with the help of the bingo announcer.  She turns her attention forward towards her cards to find that Lila has conveniently organized her cards to cover up the “O” column on Betsy’s four right cards.  Betsy politely nudges the intruding cards away.

The game begins and Lila immediately fills in squares.  Betsy is on a roll too, occasionally glancing at Lila’s squares.  Lila S Shole uses a hot pink bingo marker, much too flashy for the regulars of Bill’s Bingo Hall.  She lights a cigarette with one hand, needing to focus much less on the cards than Betsy.

“N 23,” calls the announcer.  Lila S Shole rises with a squeal of excitement.

“Bingo!” shouts Lila.  Betsy’s concentration halts when Lila elbows her clambering up off the bench.  Lila bares her real teeth as she takes elongated strides to the front of the room.  She takes her prize from the shocked announcer and bows to her audience.  Betsy and the announcer exchange glances.  Lila S Shole returns to her seat and shakes Betsy’s arm in excitement.  Betsy stares blankly at her cards.

On the bus Betsy stares out the window and watches the cacti and pedestrians pass by.  She thinks of Lila, whose shrill voice releases a slight scent of garlic and and basil, talking of her success at the bingo hall.

For weeks Lila S Shole wins at bingo.  Week after week Lila lines her cards up over Betsy’s and week after week Betsy politely picks up her fallen marker.  She only gets the window seat half of the time on the bus and is constantly squished on the bench with Lila.  Week after week Betsy thinks of Lila, and only Lila on the bus.  On the bus Lila talks to Betsy.

“Why do you even bother playing bingo? I trounce you every time,” says Lila.  Betsy looks at her.  Her eyebrows rise up as her eyes search for an answer.  She doesn’t remember. 

***

Do not let the fruit salad chill for too long. The colors will dull, and the flavors will become sour.

***

After an exciting episode of Wheel of Fortune, Betsy rises to her feet and leans for her walker.  She rises to find Lila leaning on her walker, just out of reach.  

“I feel like we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot,” says Lila.  Betsy grabs her velvet chair for support.  “How about I take you and your friend to get manicures? A girls’ day out, how about it?”  Betsy does like Lila’s shiny nails, but John would not approve.  Betsy gestures towards her walker and Lila gives it to her.  

The next day Lila, Betsy, and Fita step off the bus in front of Tips and Toes Nail Salon.  Lila floats inside while Betsy scoots and Fita shuffles.  The toxic smell of formaldehyde wafts from the doors as the girls enter.  The girls find some open chairs.  Lila’s mouth runs as her nails get filed and Betsy shifts nervously.  Fita clutches her purse to her chest, eyeing the nail technician.  Betsy and Fita look at each other desperately.  They both choose clear nail polish.  Lila chats to them about her friend Sheri, who will be moving in to the home soon, and how the two of them used to jazzercise together.

At dinner, Fita and Ralph chat at a rather high volume about Lila.

“I don’t use this term loosely, but she is a floozy,” says Ralph.  “She waltzes in here flashin’ her animal prints around!  We don’t need that kind of attention around here! This is a respectable home, this ain’t some w***e house.”

“She is definitely here to cause trouble,” replies Fita.  “I lock my door every night because of her.  Nobody who looks like that can be trusted.  She is a trollop!”

Lila approaches the table and puts her hand on Fita’s shoulder.  Fita reflexively fingers her butter knife, ready to strike.  

“Don’t assume everyone is as bad of hearing as Betsy,” says Lila.  Her words shoot from her mouth with a sharp intensity, sending chills down Betsy’s back.  “This home is full of old farts like you.  I’m going to outlive you fuckers.  Fern made room for me and one of you is going to make room for my friend Sheri.  You will be dropping like flies, just you wait.”  With that Lila S Shole whips around and stomps away.  A silky zebra print scarf flutters behind her as she walks.  Ralph, Fita, and Betsy exchange looks across their table.  

That night Betsy sits in her faded green chair and watches Wheel of Fortune.  She can’t remember why she played bingo.  The usual array of old-timers turn up their hearing aids as the action unfolds onscreen.  The category is songs.  _NOT_E_   ONE   _ _TES   T_E   _ _ ST slowly gets filled in.  Betsy searches her memory but cannot remember anything but Lila S Shole.  Her name written on her boxes.  Her garlic breath breaching her nostrils.  Her real teeth.  ANOTHER ONE BITES THE DUST fills the screen before anyone could guess the answer.

Betsy retreats to her room when the show is over.  She doesn’t brush her hair.  She doesn’t look at her wedding photo.  That night Fita hides a butter knife under her pillow, expecting Lila to break in.  Ralph lays awake worrying about the integrity of the Sands of Time Retirement Home.  Betsy doesn’t cry herself to sleep.