Good Days

I clutched at the peeling, faux leather purse strap that draped across my chest as I traipsed down the familiar, pristine hallway of Pureheart Wellness Center. I hastened my steps, attempting to keep pace with the stout, fast moving silhouette of Nurse Jackie as she led me toward my intended destination. After about five minutes of walking, we came to a halt in front of a white door with “15” in golden numbers. Nurse Jackie turned to me with a tender expression etched in her face.

“Now before you go in, I just want you to know that she’s still not herself. So, she may not know who you are.”

“That’s alright,” I said through a strained smile. The truth is, I had heard this so many times before that I had become desensitized to it. Nurse Jackie looked me over one last time before she opened the door and walked inside the room with me in tow.

“Mrs. Parker, you have a visitor,” Nurse Jackie said sweetly before turning to me again. “I’ll just leave you to it then.” She gave me a reassuring shoulder squeeze before swiftly exiting, leaving me alone. The room was a bright cerulean hue with pearly white trim. On its walls hung a picture of a lighthouse, as well as a small mirror. The 10 a.m. sun shone brightly through the open drapes, casting a divine-like light onto a rocking chair that was stowed in the corner. In it sat the familiar figure of my mother, Kathleen Parker. She was rocking and quietly humming to herself as she looked absentmindedly out the window, the sunlight casting a golden veil against her chocolate skin.

“Hey, Mrs. Parker,” I said as I made my way toward her and sat on the edge of the bed next to the rocking chair. She turned to me and gave a small smile.

“And who might you be?” She asked as she continued to rock.

“I’m Jasmine. I come here from time to time and I visit you.”

“And what do we do when you visit?”

“We usually go for a walk and we talk. Sometimes we’ll sit here and talk while I comb your hair. Other times I’d just read to you.”

“Well maybe we’ll just sit here and you can comb my hair and tell me more about yourself,” she said in a light, yet weary voice. I grabbed the yellow comb that sat on the nightstand and began to comb her hair as she went back to humming absentmindedly.

We continued to sit and talk to one another, but soon it was time for me to go to work. I said goodbye to her as I quietly stepped out of the room into the hallway and made my way back toward the entrance. I was almost to the door when I heard someone call out to me.

“Ms. Parker, can I have a moment please?”

I turned to see the overfamiliar, bespectacled face of the head of Pureheart’s billing department, Mr. Blight. By the firm expression on his face, I already knew where this conversation was headed.

“Ms. Parker, I just wanted to inform you--” he started.

“--I know. I know I haven’t paid the balance. I just need a little more time. I promise I’ll have it to you by next week,” I interrupted. His firm expression softened a little before he sighed impatiently and spoke again.

“Okay. I’ll give you until next week to settle the balance, but I can’t extend it anymore after that.”

“You won’t have to. Thank you,” I said as I stepped out of the building into the warm Friday afternoon. I got in my car, looked at myself in the mirror, and took a deep breath. Then, I reached into my purse and pulled out a small black notebook. It was a journal of sorts that used to keep track of my mom’s good days when she’s lucid. Today wasn’t one of those days, and it’s been about three months since she’s last remembered me. I took out my pen and began to write.

April 10, 2020

Mama wasn’t herself again today. No change.

I wiped a tear from my eye as I finished writing, started my car, and set off to work. Twenty minutes later, I was looking at the shoddy facade of The Quickster Gazette, the town’s local newspaper. It was where I found work writing after I moved back home to care for my mom. When I walked in, the atmosphere was as mundane as any other day. People were sitting in their cubicles either drinking coffee, sleeping, or had their faces buried in their computer screens. I quickly clocked in and found my way to my cubicle, but before I could start my work, my boss’ voice called out to me.

“Ms. Parker, join me in my office please!”

I internally rolled my eyes as I got up and walked about five feet to a door that read Irving Goode- Editor. I entered to see the pudgy face of my boss sitting at his desk reading paperwork.

“You’re late again, Ms. Parker,” he said, not breaking eye contact with the paper in his hands.

“I know and I apologize for that. It’s just that things with my moth--”

“I don’t need to hear your excuses, I just need you to do better,” he interrupted, still not looking at me.

“I will. As a matter of fact, I was actually hoping I could work some extra hours this week.” It was at this point he raised his head and looked at me with a raised brow.

“You worked extra shifts last week. I can’t allow you to do that this week. Also, with the way you’ve been performing lately, I wouldn’t say you deserved it.” I opened my mouth to protest, but he cut me off again. “That is all, Ms. Parker.”

I walked back to my desk in defeat and let out an exasperated sigh. What was I going to do now? How was I going to pay Pureheart? Heck, how was I going to pay rent? Many questions raced through my head as I ran my fingers through my hair. Before long, I decided it would be best to just distract myself with work, and I immersed myself completely into writing. The hours passed by swiftly and soon, it was the end of the day.

The next few days came and went and before I knew it, it was Thursday afternoon. I still hadn’t even made half of what I owed Pureheart. I was in my room pacing, trying to come up with a solution to my financial problems when my phone began to ring. I looked at the caller ID and my heart dropped. It was Pureheart, undoubtedly calling about the unpaid balance. Dread filled the depths of my body as I answered.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Ms. Parker. This is Dr. Hart,” a warm voice said. The feeling of dread in my stomach seemed to lessen.

“Oh yes, Dr. Hart! How are you? Is my mama okay?”

“I’m fine, thank you. And your mother is fine as well. In fact, she’s lucid. She wants to see you.”

My heart was filled with an indescribable joy. The feeling of dread had completely evaporated. “I’ll be right down! Thank you,” I said, before hanging up and scurrying to find some clothes.

When I arrived at Pureheart, I sprinted to my mom’s room, nearly knocking over a nurse to get there. I opened door and stepped through the threshold to see her sitting in bed knitting.

“Hey, mama,” I said through a wide grin. She looked up and smiled a toothy grin right back at me.

“Hey, baby.” She set aside her needle and thread and gestured for me to come sit with her. I quickly obliged. She pulled me into a hug and looked me over. “You look tired.”

“I’m alright,” I lied.

“Jasmine Parker, I know you’re lying. What’s the matter?”

I looked down and started to wring my hands. I closed my eyes and let out an exasperated sigh before telling her everything that’s been going on for the past three months. Tears were streaming down my face. When I finished, my mother wrapped her arms around me, her weathered hand stroking my hair.

“Listen to me baby. You don’t have to be strong all the time. You are worth more than what you can give to others. You hear me? You’ve taken good care of me, but now I want you to take care of yourself. I’ll be alright. And I’ll always be your mama. Whether I remember you or not.” She gave me a kiss on the forehead before reaching onto the nightstand and grabbing a slip of paper. “Here.”

“What’s this?” I asked, unfolding the paper to reveal an account number.

“Something I should’ve given you a long time ago. Before my mind went bad.”

I tucked the slip of paper into my purse, and Mama and I continued to talk. The day faded into night and soon it was time for me to go home. I took out my little black journal and wrote down everything my mom and I talked about before going to sleep. I awoke early the next day and briskly went down to the bank. I presented the teller with the account number and my I.D. and he quickly verified my information.

“How much would you like to withdraw today?” he asked as his fingers danced across his keyboard.

“How much is in the account?”

“It looks like the full balance is--” He tapped a few more keys. “--twenty thousand dollars.”

“What! Are you sure?” I asked, awestruck.

“Yes. See.” He turned his computer screen toward me. There it was in big, bold numbers. I couldn’t believe it. Here in front of me was the answer to all of my financial troubles. It was a miracle. I would be able to keep my mom at Pureheart and cover my own expenses. I felt the tremendous weight that I had been carrying lift off of me, and I wasted no time writing a check. I walked out of the bank with my head held high and pep in my step. My body was tingling with euphoria as I took out my phone and opened it to see a voicemail from Dr. Hart. I stopped dead in my tracks and pressed play.

“Hello, Ms. Parker. This is Dr. Hart calling about your mother. You should come down to the center immediately. It’s very urgent.” His voice was ominous and foreboding. The rapture that possessed me only moments ago was starting to fade into angst as my mind began to think adverse thoughts. I swiftly got into my car and raced towards the wellness center, hoping and praying that today would still be a good day.