HABÁNAME, Chapter 8                                                                     - 3 -
been a suitcase full of makeup or dresses, instead of one stashed full of cash or porn. She jogged down to L Street, finishing her run by standing on top of the short seawall ? a miniature Malecón ? with her hands on her hips as she looked out at the Atlantic, panting softly to recover her breath. Hurricanes travel up here from the Caribbean, right? So Chela and I have this too even when we?re apart. Maybe L Street?s not such a bad beach after all. There were two youths standing a scant ten feet away from her, also recovering from a sprint to the shoreline. They wiped the sweat from their faces and chests as they chatted, imbuing an aura of toughness into their speech. ?Don?t look now, Mick, but there?s one hot yuppie on your right.? ?Don?t need to look. She?s probably half plastic. Friggin? Southie wanna-be.? Barbara chuckled and turned slightly in the direction of the boys, whose attention immediately focused on the tattoo plainly visible at the edges of the sports bra. ?Fuck! I?m sorry! No disrespect meant. You?re Barbara Murphy, aren?t you?? ?Really! No disrespect. Fuck! Black tears, too! You gotta understand, miss, this place has been going to hell in a hand basket since the yuppies decided they could fix up the old houses.? ?That?s right! And we know this is the best place to live in the world, isn?t it?? The youth questioned her through a crooked tentative grin, clearly eager for her approval. Barbara took in a deep breath of sea air and smiled broadly at the boys. ?Yeah, it is. It?s our hometown. And you know who makes it the best place on earth?? They chuckled and elbowed each other, giddy in the knowledge that they were in the presence of a South Boston legend. ?Who?? The shorter of the two young men, an orange-haired youth sporting the shamrock on his chest, indulged her by answering the rhetorical question. Barbara carefully walked the narrow wall until she was close enough to boldly jab him in the tattoo with her index finger as she spoke. ?Every person who made this more than a poor excuse for bullying people and ripping them off. Every person that managed not to get these filled in with black ink, and give the friggin? state the right to control their lives. Trust me, I know. I?m a friggin? doctor now and I?ve had the honor of putting toe tags on guys from Southie that thought they?d be chumps if they backed down. They?re still chumps, but they?re worm food to boot.? She stepped away and quieted when she recognized the look of practiced boredom that had covered the two young faces like an eclipse. Crap! I?ve become a friggin? lecturing adult! How did Irene always manage to do this without turning people off? She filed it away as a question to ask her old friend that afternoon. ?I?ve got a feeling twenty-one is going to be a good year. Especially if you and me see it in together?? Barbara sang with particular vigor on the drive out to Roslindale ? the breeze coming in through the open windows lifting up her thick hair - and ran the fingers of her right hand lovingly across the plush seat. Yeah, old girl. The time has come to trade you in for a new model. My new woman is so much more lovely than classic chrome and white leather. Riding Chela. Oh, yeah. Time to friggin? sublimate. Crap, I can?t walk into a nursing home wet and horny. Tomorrow. I get to touch her tomorrow. After a brief meeting with the Roslindale Home for the Aged bookkeeper, Barbara started making her way to Room 17. She was intercepted in the main hallway by the director of the nursing staff. ?You?re Irene O? Hara?s daughter, right? I haven?t seen you here in ages or seen your name in the visitor?s log.? ?I?ve been out of the country,? explained Barbara to the woman. Not gonna bother correcting her. It never takes. Now, who has Alzheimer?s in this place? The woman eyed her with benevolent concern. ?You know, Irene had a stroke about a month ago. She never fully regained consciousness and she?s really deteriorated physically.? Barbara reeled as if struck smartly on the chin, reaching out to steady herself by leaning against the wall. ?I?m so sorry that I had no way of letting you know. Your number was disconnected.? ?So her status is stable right now?? asked Barbara dryly, shaking her head as if to ward off the bad news. ?Not really, miss. She?s had two serious systemic infections since the stroke. I just don?t think she has the physical resources to keep fighting her way back for much longer.? ?And does she recognize people?? The nurse sighed. ?I don?t know what to tell you. Families always ask me this question when our residents slip into these non-responsive states. Some families choose to believe that the person has already died and that just a shell is lying in the bed. Others go to the opposite extreme, expecting the person to snap out of it at any minute and thinking they can chat them into activity. I do believe that it?s best to proceed as if they can hear and understand simple statements.? Barbara started to cry silently and was immediately ashamed. Crap. The waterworks are getting to be a regular thing these last weeks. It?s like Chela opened up the floodgates. Heh. She hiccupped and a slight smile broke through the anguish. Kinda like the opposite of what?s supposed to happen when you stick a finger in the dyke. OK. Cowboy up. She wiped away the tears and met the other woman?s eyes. ?Thanks for warning me? And it sounds like you?re really on top of her medical care. Listen, it?s very possible that I?m not going to be coming back to New England for a long time. I know that you don?t know me at all, but it would mean a lot to me if you could? look out for my mother. If it comes to the end, I?ve already made arrangements with the administration for her to be buried in the spot reserved for me at Forest Hills, but I want you to do everything possible to insure that she doesn?t die alone. And please don?t call in a priest or give her the