This Life

A new beginning, same end

A new patient for you Matron,

Mister Eve, Trevor Eve, said John, the ambulance attendant, handing a file to Matron. You will like the place Trevor, said the ambulance driver Mick.

Matron Dunning will look after you real good, won’t you Matron, he said matterofactly. Sure I will, she said, brisk as you like. It’s nice to meet you, Trevor, she said as she extended her hand out to mine, but mine was welded to the frame. Won’t you wheel him through to the reception area boys and I will get some details now and then the leave the rest till tomorrow. Now come along Trevor, this will only take a minute.

He never moved, just sat silently in his wheelchair. Neither, looking right or left, up or down, or looking from one person to the other as they pushed him through

to the reception area. I think, the cat bit his tongue lads, Trevor doesn’t have a lot to say for himself, but I believe he is a great talker. Aren’t you Trevor, she said, as if, what she said, made everything fine? To him, it was another move, another smelly hole, another shower of oldies, who were all in the tender years, some doolally, some feeble, some Alzheimer’s, everybody lost. It was the last chance saloon, before a trip to the cemetery. Some played the game, some did not, some tried to be the teachers pet, some were not about to get in the game. It was the way you were treated, who put you there, why you were there, who could afford to pay, and for how long, then it was move along the line, next home, cheaper lodgings, lower class, anything, that made the money stretch a little longer. What could you say? Did you have a say, would anybody listen, or for how long. Could you make friends, did you want to make friends, would they remember your name five seconds, before they dribbled from a mouth unto a shirt, or trousers? Maybe you pissed youself, shit yourself, didn’t take your medicine, or spit it out while nobody was looking. Did anybody know, did anybody care?

Who listened, who listened at all. Everybody in authority, just done what they wanted, not what you wanted, you were just a number. No, you were not even a number, you were a bed, filled from night to night, Some nights, some died, some slept and lived another day, some went to hospital. Most only went one way. A box from the mortuary to the funeral home or directly to the cemetery