More Divine Divas stories – we recommend you start with #1.
I wake to the music of the birds. It must be morning and I am still in the land of the living. Slowly my eyes flutter open. Isn’t flutter a delightful-sounding word? It reminds me of those fragile beautiful, colourful, flying thingies. Oh, what are they called? Hmm yes, butterflies. The sunlight caresses my eyelids and its warmth bathes my body. I am warm, cozy, and safe.
It is going to be a good day.
Looking around, I ask myself, “Where am I? What is this place? How long have I been here? Why here?”
It’s also strange here. Panic envelopes me. My heart races. Its pounding deafens me. As I gulp air, I tell myself to breathe and relax! Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. It’s hard work, but my overwhelming fear diminishes. “Ah yes, yes, I remember now. I’m in the in-between place, betwixt and between my old home and the next.”
Oh my God!! Who are those people staring at me from the pictures on the wall?
I do not like being watched. The photo of a man terrifies me. I remove the pictures and put them away in drawers, all except the picture of the man. I tear it t up. It makes me feel so good, lighter somehow.
There is a knock at the door. It opens, and a woman just walks in without my inviting her. Who is she and why is she here?
“Good morning, Queenie,” she says.
Queenie, that is not my name, but they all seem to call me that. It ticks me right off.
Aurora is a nicer name, and that’s the name I choose to be called.
I tell this person that my name is not Queenie.
“The Divine Divas always called me Rory, short for Aurora. That’s my name, and that’s what she is to call me,” I say in emphatically. I’m surprised I remember the word emphatically. I rather like it.
I ask the visitor her name.
“You know me. I am Sue, your mid-week caregiver.”
Well, the fact is, if I knew her I would not have asked.
“Sorry, I didn’t remember you at first, but I do now,” I lie with as much charm as I can muster.
Her face is kind, so I decide that I must be nice to her.
She takes my arm and leads me to the bathroom door and opens it. She tells me we will wash our face and we will brush our teeth, then even turns the water on for me!
“Stop. I can do that on my own. And it is not our teeth. It is my teeth! I am not an invalid! I can wash my own face and brush my own teeth by myself, if you please!” I am seething. The caregiver woman insists that she help regardless of how I feel.
When done with my morning ablutions, we go back into the big room. Sue, yes, that’s her name, opens another door where clothes are hanging at attention. I remember it’s called a closet. Remembering makes me happy.
Sue says, ”Let’s choose what we are going to wear today.”
“You do not seem to understand that I am not an invalid, for fuck’s sake!” I silently scream at her. I hear my mother gasp and sternly say, “Watch your language!”
I remind Sue that I can pick out what I want to wear all by myself. She completely ignores me. I decide what the heck and will play along with her and give her a sense of purpose and earn her keep.
“Aren’t I kind-hearted?”
