Assisted Living

Read by Benjamin Ellis Fine

At half past three, Dan pushed open the door to the Pioneer Assisted Living community room. Agnes and Leon were already there, unlocking the wheels on the folding tables and ushering them against pale yellow walls. He saluted a hello and moseyed over to the kitchen—which was really just what they called the long Formica counter that had been outfitted with a sink and a small refrigerator—and plugged the Mr. Coffee maker into the outlet. He sighed and shook his head at the large sign reminding patrons in big bold letters to UNPLUG EVERYTHING. CHECK. THEN CHECK AGAIN.

Though Dan’s hand had a slight shake as he measured out the Folger’s Columbian roast into the filter basket, he took comfort knowing that his mind was still sound as it had been thirty years ago. He didn’t have to move into the Pioneer, like many of his neighbors who relied on the help of therapists of all sorts—physical, cognitive, emotional and what have you. He chose this place for one simple reason—he wanted to be the one helping. His wife Angela had passed a decade ago, leaving him to thrive, retired and self-sufficient, on their sprawling, rural abode. But he missed having a purpose, doing something for others, even something as small as making the coffee before the Tuesday and Thursday 4 o’clock square dancing group. It kept him on the winning side of the battle, one which he swore to Angela he’d fight as long as his body was willing.

The dozen dancers, each in various states of decline, came over one by one to fix their cup the way they liked: whole milk, half and half, honey, Sweet’N Low—each left its own distinct film on the counter, which Dan would grumble about as he cleaned up after class. But he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Agnes cued up the record and they coupled off. How they had managed to stay six of each sex for this many months seemed like a miracle. Dan let his boot heel click the linoleum tile in time with the calls, sashaying and switching partners like an old pro. It’s a shame, he thought, as he do si do-ed around Betty, that none of his neighbors here could have seen him and Angela on the floor in their prime. He imagined his late wife smiling down on him, proud that he had become a sort of unspoken leader amongst the Pioneer’s residents.

The following Tuesday, Dan checked his watch and then held the strings of his bolo tie while he slid the silver arrowhead pendant up to his neckline. He’d been looking forward to dancing all day, and was relieved it was finally time to head down and make the pot of coffee. As he walk down the fluorescent-lit hall, his nostrils began to flare. He took in a few strong inhales.

“No. That can’t be.” He said to himself. He checked his watch once more. He had the right date and time. He held the watch to his ear. It hadn’t stopped. Dan quickened his pace. Leading with both hands he thrust himself into the community room.

“Hiya, Dan.” Leon was at the counter, ripping several Domino sugar packets into a coffee mug. Next to him, the Mr. Coffee sat, chugging away. “Everything okay, Dan? You look a little lost.”

Dan felt the heat rise above his collar. “Coffee?” Was all he could get out.

“Oh! Yeah, I got down here a little early, thought I’d put the pot on. Almost ready!” Leon dusted sugar granules away with his hand.

“But…I…” Dan stuttered, but couldn’t bring his feet to move. “Well, did you measure it out right?” His voice was louder than Leon, or anyone at the Pioneer, had ever heard it.

“Of course, partner. It’s just coffee,  I been making it my whole life!”

Leon’s chuckle sent Dan’s heart racing. His fingers fidgeted, opening and closing into fists. He turned and faced the wall, then shook his head. This was silly. He knew this was silly. What would Angela say? She always said anger was the path to the grave. Why get so worked up over something so stupid? So Leon made the pot of coffee today. Dan could make it Thursday.

Soon the others began filing in. He watched them one by one fill their cups, looking to see if they had any notion of the chasm that had nearly swallowed him. But everything happened just as it always did. Small spills, milk left out on the counter, someone complaining it was too hot to drink. Even Dan couldn’t tell the difference, though he wanted to.

The familiar voice of the caller on the record player beckoned everyone to partner up. Dan took his usual spot, nodded to his left and right. But as the dance began, he found his feet did the opposite thing he asked them to do. His torso locked up like a tin man. He bumped into one body after another.

“Gee Dan, maybe you need another cup of coffee today.” Leon whispered as they passed each other promenading.

That was it.

Dan dropped his partner’s hand. The others turned and stared. The dancing ceased. They watched him walked up to the counter and rip out the plug of the coffeemaker. He picked up the machine and held it under one arm. Then he spun around and cleared his throat.

“I MAKE THE COFFEE. IT’S MY JOB.” 

He walked out of the community room, leaving an uneven number of square dancers unable to perform.