True Empathy

A New Journey

Who was this woman? Who was placed beside the receptionist`s window like a decoration, and a haunting one at that. As I asked for an application, I avoided looking at her directly. This woman`s face was defined by the outline of her skull. Her mouth gaped open, and sharp piercing eyes peered through sunken holes. These eyes seemed to see into my subconscious. They made me feel uncomfortable. She was tied to a chair with a vest which had straps. Perhaps the vest was a weak attempt to cover the harshness of the restraint. She was wearing a yellow plaid dress of multiple colors. Beneath her chair lay a muted yellow puddle of urine. White bobby socks hung loosely on her spindly legs contrasted by worn black loafers. I wondered, “Why did they tie her?” It was clear to me, even in my youth that she could not walk. Perhaps the restraints provided some kind of false security for the nursing staff, or the office staff whom I observed running to and fro, hardly noticing her.

“Are they all like this?” I asked myself as I handed my application to the receptionist.

“Call soon.” She said. “We may have work for you.”

I felt a lump in my stomach as I attempted to appear enthusiastic. All the time avoiding those piercing eyes from the woman tied to the chair by the receptionist window. This woman, who seemed to be doing nothing, was stirring something deep inside me. I wanted to run away. I left the building, but the image of the woman still haunted me.

“Come on Tuesday.” The nursing director told me when I called the next day, “You will need uniform and white nursing shoes”

I was hired as a nurse’s aide. I did not even want to be a nurse’s aide, much less work in that environment. Yet, even stronger inside me, I knew I did not want to return home to Ohio. Fear like a dense, dark cloud hung in the wings of my consciousness, creating chaos in any peaceful moment.

“How did I get here?” I wondered.

Only a few weeks ago I was sitting in a motel room with my mom and my brother Matthew. The room smelled damp and musty. Matthew and I sat on one of the twin beds while mom sat on the other writing me a check. Mom slowly and carefully tore the check from the checkbook. She looked good for a woman who had just finished a long drive from Ohio to Vermont. Mom always looked nice. She wore a gray blazer, white blouse, with black dress pants. She possessed a natural sense on how to present herself, always just the right amount of jewelry, and makeup applied so subtly it looked natural. Her features were soft and her smile was welcoming. Not today, though, her face was set, with no hint of warmth.

“This is it” she said as she handed me the check “you will have to find a job or come home.”

I said, “Thanks.” As I studied the $50 check “hell of a graduation present.” I thought
“Your dad and I have your graduation present at home. We will give it to you there.” Mom said as if she had read my mind.