Helen: Part II

Remember Helen? The downstairs neighbor at my apartment...
Well, I have been spending my Saturday's with her of late, talking about the "good old days" which according to her are my present days, painting the nails of her gnarled fingers, combating the stink of what I think is halitosis, or dead skin, or time. That's a funny thing about chillin' with the old folks, if they're YOUR old person, then it's just their smell. But if they're not yours, they're just stinky.
So, despite the smell thing. I was beginning to settle in to our routine: Sat. in the a.m., I bring coffee and nail polish, she talks, and talks for hours.
I think we were developing a bit of a friendship, though I think we were also just kind of lonely. This bond, whatever it was, was making me anxious about telling her that Quack and I were moving(which we just did, but more on that later).
Quack and I decided we would tell her together, about a week before the big move.
But before we had the chance to wallow in our guilt ridden abandonment of the Dutch sage, she moved on us.
And not in the "BIG move to the sky" kind of way, but in the "I don't think I'm digging this place and I want to go somewhere else," kind of way. Truthfully, the same reasons we wanted to move.
The circumstances that led up to this move included some back surgery on her part, and then a realization that the assisted living digs were a lot more fun than the empty apartment.
Who needs a neighbor to come and paint your nails when there is an on-site nail tech who specializes in gently manicuring curled fingers, right?
So I really got off the hook, because as it stood, I was locked into a routine of polishing and removing, polishing and removing. I was also going to be bringing the parents down to beet Helen during their Thanksgiving trip to PA.
But as it stands now, I imagine her feeding the fish and singing with the birds in the pet section of the new place all the while playing cards with her friends between group outings to the Wal-Mart.
This is certainly a lot more to look forward to than a visit from a semi stranger/ neighbor who offered little but some nail polish to pick at through the rest of the week.
When her family came to pack up her belongings, they asked if their was anything we wanted, because it was all going to the Goodwill.
We picked out a set of dishes that she must've gotten 50 years ago but can be purchased at Pier One today for hundreds of bucks. They are so heavy and probably can't be used in the microwave (who knows what they're made of?)
But they are a wonderful daily memory of her. Helen, my first friend in PA.