Notes from The Shrine: The Return of Bob (1.8.25)

Everyone would like some popcorn.
—Bob

Bob walked into the main Dammert lunch room today. He hasn’t been eating in this dining room for a couple of months. It’s me, Bob, Lester, and Dad all at one table. Old times and new.

The snow brightens the room. They don’t seem to be offering Bob any coffee. He was sitting in here before we were. They said he just wandered in and sat down.

Brad got me some coffee. Bob is singing. LaDosha comes in, asks about Bob, goes out.

I have a feeling Bob wandered in because of how bright it is in this room. He can’t see very well but he might have been attracted to the light.

Dirk comes in, goes out. Bob mumbles clearly about coffee. He is missing it.

“How about a couple of coffee cups?” he says. “Isn’t there a week….”

Brad is taking the drinks cart around. A wheel squeaks.

“Coffee,” Bob says. “Please bring some coffee.”

There’s a new lady. She says to the not-so-new woman next to her, “I’m a wreck.” The other lady says, “No you’re not.”

“That’s cold,” says Bob. “For the kids.”

Bob starts singing. Lester coughs. Bob coughs, then burps. My dad has ulcers on his bottom. There was a boil earlier, months back, maybe it never went away. He has at least a few hot spots now. It’s not anyone’s fault. He can’t so much as turn on his side. That’s why he’s been uncomfortable in his wheelchair, why he doesn’t want to stay outside for long. He wants to be put back into, onto his bed.

But what a treat to see Bob. Glad I drove over! My dad is eating the minestrone.

Bob gets a glass of tea, crushes it.

“I said I’m 92,” he says. “She don’t believe me.”

Someone said Bob is acting up since his wife visited. Maybe she’s not over here as often.

Lester insists on giving me his plate, minus a few fries. Bob gets a double patty on his chicken sandwich. My dad has not picked his sandwich up.

This week has felt like a month. The snow, the cold. I am slowly eating Lester’s fries. My dad gave me his sandwich, with that motion of his hand that says something like Scat! Scatter! Scram, the scram motion. A second piece of silverware falls.

Blushing pears for dessert. The cogent woman at Helen Dooley’s table says, “They’re called blushing pears.” She’s a former Sister, or a retired Sister. You are always a Sister, unless you don’t want to be, or they excommunicate you. My dad eats his blushing pears.

Then lunch hits its quiet hour, the lull. Sounds of chewing. My dad going “ahhhh” after a sip of coffee.

Lester says to me, “My mind’s not worth a shit.”

Lester knows his mind isn’t working the way it’s supposed to. He knows he’s forgetting, somehow remembers he’s forgetting. He can still have a conversation. He asked me what I do, where I live, how far I drove.

“I worked for the City,” Bob said.

“Doin’ what?” I asked.

“Oh, anything that needed to be done outside,” he said.