Nursing Wounds
Through the habit of listening to wisdom from koffee klatches all those long winters ago, Greta learned she could manipulate her sleep routine for a dream state unlike any she’d experienced before.
In these colorful dreams she could go or talk to anyone she wanted.
Decades later she learned the proper name for this type of sleep was called lucid dreaming.
Cumbersome at first, with awkward movements and misfires, over time, Greta’s skills grew.
“One of these days I should write down the directions so others can know how fun it is to while away again in youthful silliness each time you fall asleep,” she said to Carol, her home healthcare aide who was fully mute and deaf.
Carol was the safest person to entrust such secrets.
Carol motioned her hands to say ‘goodnight,’ and Greta said, “To dreamland I go, and it may be so wonderful that I won’t return.”
The light turned off, and so did Greta’s consciousness.
****
A familiar creak on the second step was as comforting to Greta as the cool earthen floor that awaited her below.
A singular bulb dangled from the center room, but it was enough.
With each descending step, years shed away from Greta. If you could ask her what age she became in these lucid dreams, she wouldn’t be able to tell you because in her mind, she remained always the same age regardless of years alive.
“Do you know where the dahlia bulbs are?” said Oma from the top of the stairs.
Greta jumped at the sound of this familiar voice. It pained her heart to see her Oma again, smiling, but unable or unwilling to hug her.
Showing love and affection for her grandmother, Greta quickly ran back up the stairs to speak with Oma face to face.
“Yes, we brought them to the root cellar last fall together,” said Greta, feeling a pain in her arm.
“You are a good girl.
Would you be able to bring them upstairs?” said Oma and reached out to hold Greta’s hand.
“Together we have good memories, don’t we?”
“Can we talk?”
“Not yet.
I’m going to run errands, but I’ll see you soon.”
“Oma, no, don’t go,” Greta said, but in her dream, Oma still turned around and walked away.
To get to the root cellar, Greta needed to walk past favorite mementoes.
“Very lovely,” said Greta, trailing her fingers over the curved veneer Victrola, and cranked the handle until scratchy tunes started playing.
Greta sighed and held a hand over her heart, promising herself she would find the dahlias and wait on the front porch until Oma returned.
Finding the dahlias, she carried them up the basement stairway with slower steps, breathing heavy.
Once at the top, she saw movement out of the corner of her eye and looked over her shoulder to see a younger Carol standing at the base of the stairs looking up at her.
Greta sharply inhaled and took a step backwards.
“You’re not Carol.”
Carol’s nursing white cap with velvet black stripes fit her crisp linen shirt dress, white nylons, and muddy earth shoes.
As a home healthcare aide, her Carol wore sweatsuits.
This Carol had a malevolent smile and looked at Greta with deep hatred.
Seething, Carol said, “Can I help you find anything?”
Greta looked away from the evil glare and wondered if she had been followed during the entire lucid dream.
It felt possible.
Didn’t she feel like she was watched when she bent over to pick the records?
When Greta turned around again, Carol threw a syringe directly into Greta’s heart.
Shocked, Greta looked down at the seeping red stain on her cotton nightdress as the Victrola’s music slowly came to a stop.
Daylight the next day didn’t bring the fresh optimism when Carol texted for 911 services.
EMT’s declared it seemed Greta died from a massive heart attack and loaded her body into the ambulance.
Carol said she felt exhausted from her night’s work.
She clocked out early and slept soundly.
