Short story: andrea vadnais
Snow Princess
I am exhausted and have been awake for almost 24 hours. My senses are sleepy, but I hear a faint shuffling sound coming from the dimly lit hallway. The scene is dreamlike, hazy; is it my fatigue? Then I see the most beautiful sight that I could imagine at that moment. Her long, wild, silver hair, matted and sticking out, up and forward on both sides of her soft and milky face. Like the snakes of Medusa, or through my lens, like a glowing halo surrounding her head. She's wearing a cream-colored turtleneck with several strands of pearls nestling two strands of clear beads. The clear beads reflect the minimal light and bounce it between the gaps and though the sparse areas of her fine silver hair. Catherine's pale, wrinkled legs emerge from her bulky brief. Those legs have carried her for 80 years; they still have some shape to them, I bet Catherine was a beauty in her day. Her legs are bound at the ankles by her khaki pants, like shackles. I wonder if she feels like her body, muscles, and movement is bound by age, atrophy, and degeneration. She holds a long white piece of absorbent material hanging down about 14 inches between her legs. As if frozen in time, she is bent over, holding it, and curiously states in her gentle voice, "I can't figure out how this works." I put my arm around her shoulder, say "Good morning Catherine, let's go figure this out together" and slowly redirect her back into her room. It's before dawn, the lights are off, and the blinds closed. Several dresser drawers are open, and jewelry is scattered around multiple little cardboard boxes and strewn across the dresser. My dresser looks the same with my jewelry, just like hers. Before I leave home, I spend several minutes, sometimes up to fifteen, searching for the perfect jewelry to wear that day. It's my ritual, which makes me feel complete and safe. My jewelry is like modern-day, socially acceptable armor that protects me as I leave the comfort and safety of my home and enter the big, often scary, outside world.
I tell Catherine that she looks beautiful, and I love her outfit choice. She smiles and digs through the small boxes looking for earrings to wear. I turn on the lamp, pick up one of the boxes, and find an oversized blue star with a silver emblem in the center and a dangling teardrop-shaped pearl. Some may describe it as gaudy, but I think it has magical potential for this snowy winter day, with a forecast of "abundant sunshine." We have eight inches of fluffy white snow on the ground with four more inches expected today. During the long cold winters here in Vermont, I have never seen or heard the words "abundant sunshine" in a winter forecast. I love the thought of it. I long for the light and warmth of the sun.
I hold up the earring and say, "what about these?" She laughs and says, "I have never worn those and never thought I would. Plus, I can't find the other one." I pull the second earring out from the same box; it was lying next to its match. "I found it, Catherine!!" She says, "I never knew what they would go with." I respond, "They go perfectly with your beautiful blue eyes. Let me help you try them on." The hole in her right earlobe is red and looks sore. I warn her that it may hurt, and she says, "don't worry, it's fine. It's because I ripped the last one out." She doesn't even flinch as I gingerly push it through the hole.
Catherine and I step away from the open dresser drawers and lift our heads to look in the mirror. We both smile big, her eyes widen, and she stands up a little straighter. "They are amazing, Catherine! You look like a snow princess with your cream turtleneck, pearls, and gorgeous blue earrings!” They were giant stars; colored a cornflower blue, like a summer sky or worn denim. Blue: the color of peace and tranquility, loyalty, and honesty, as well as loneliness, sadness, and isolation. The silver center, like a glint of light. And lastly, that teardrop-shaped pearl hanging from the star, like a tear running down a cheek. The earrings were large enough to see through her long hair with the lower point of the star nearly touching her shoulder. The beautiful blue hue had grayish undertones, just like her eyes. They probably used to be much brighter, but with age, the color fades, becomes clouded with cataracts, or I prefer to think of it as a softening, a blurring of the edges. Her irises aren't a perfect circle with a bright, crisp ring defining the blue iris from the white sclera. Youthful eyes are full of life and spark, viewing the world through a lens of black and white, good and bad, right and wrong. With age comes wisdom. Perspective is more of a spectrum, less black and white, grayer. Our eyes, our windows to the world, their color, and their view soften.
Catherine and I smile, admiring our work. I hold her soft, warm hand, "Catherine, I wish I could take you home with me; we would have so much fun!" She looks me deep in the eyes and says, "Yes, we would." We savor that thought for a moment and know it's not possible. But I genuinely mean it. I would love to spend a day at home with Catherine, dressing up in fancy clothes, putting on different styles of jewelry, doing each other's hair, baking cookies, and sipping tea while holding our look-alike Shih-Tzu's, Daisy and Lucy. I break the sweet and tender silence and say, "Catherine, what are we going to do with that hair?!? It's cattywampus!!! She looks at me and laughs, "I've never heard that before. What does it mean?" I know it’s a stretch of the use of the word in this context, but it's so fun, and I know it will make her laugh. I told her it means to be in disarray, all over the place. She says, "I love it!!" and she repeats it several times, trying to solidify the word and its meaning in her memory. I suggest she uses it today in conversation with the other residents. She gets so excited. "I will!!" But I know she likely won't remember this interaction once she steps out of her "apartment." It's okay, I've accepted that these priceless memories I make with the residents won't be written in diaries or passed on to others in conversation. Spending time with them is the ultimate practice of living in the moment, a continuous exercise of mindfulness. It is for the joy and connection we share at that moment, and that is all that any of us have anyway.
I start to brush through her soft, fine, unruly, silver-white hair with my fingers, drawing it away from her face. I would love to spend another hour here in Catherine's cozy room, fixing her hair and helping her get dressed. Still, I have many other residents to check on and medications to administer. For now, I will work on that incontinence brief. It looks like a mattress pad sized for a baby doll's bed, that has been twisted and torn. I don my blue plastic gloves and get to work, figuring out the best way to tackle it. She got this far on her own, without knowing how to continue with this complex brief. "Catherine, let's just rip it off!" She emphatically agrees. I tear it down the sides, remove it and hold it up in the air for her to see that it wasn't just her, that thing was an actual puzzle. We both laugh and rejoice in our victory of freeing her. She says, "Let's call the company and tell them they didn't make it right: it ripped, even if we were the ones to rip it!" She says it with an innocent devilish smile like it would be our little secret. The idea was outlandish and definitely out of our comfort zone to lie, a harmless small act of rebellion and liberation! I tell her we should call them!! And then I step into her bathroom, wad up the brief and stuff it into her trash. As much fun as I'm having with Catherine, I must move on. I tell Catherine to stay right there. Her pants are still holding her legs together at her ankles, like a prisoner in shackles. I suppose Catherine sometimes feels like a prisoner in the chains of her own aging body and mind. Her top dresser drawer is open, and the dovetailed wood corner is pressing into her upper thigh as she leans in to admire her look in the mirror. I pause, smile, savor these last minutes we share, then tell her that Ava will help her finish dressing. I ask Ava to help Catherine and hint to take note of her earrings. We return to Catherine's room together, and Ava excitedly compliments Catherine on her earrings and her appearance. There is so much happiness pouring out of Catherine's apartment that Joanne, the seemingly gruff care assistant who has worked the night shift at the Meadows for 30 years, gets up from her chair in the living room and comes to see what the fuss is about. I walk away, smiling, listening to the three women share in the delight and joy radiating from Catherine, the snow princess. My heart is full.
Catherine is 80 years old, nearing the end of her life. From the beautiful furniture, paintings, and accessories that adorn her room here at the Meadows, I assume she is financially comfortable, at least during this period of her life. Joanne is in her early 60's. She is extremely hard working with a tough exterior, but once she trusts you, that outer shell slowly dissolves. Life has not been easy; her tough exterior is there for a reason, protection. I want to share Catherine's and my jewelry with Joanne to protect her from suffering and the harshness of life. I see the beautiful, tender woman inside, a single mom who has traveled throughout Europe and loves to read, knit, paint, and who makes a mean lasagna. Actually, that describes me, minus traveling throughout Europe, but that is number one on my bucket list. And for better or worse, my outer shell is not as thick as Joanne’s. Perhaps this is why I need the protection of my jewelry, my armor, just to get through my day. Finally, there is Ava. She is barely twenty-one and finishing her last year of college.
At three am this morning, she and Joanne were discussing a book Ava recommended on the cultural differences and rituals of death. Then the two women discussed other books they had read. No one would ever expect these two women to have this much in common. I live for these serendipitous moments. Joanne divulged the secret ingredients to her infamous lasagna. Ava asked her to name the four different types of cheese she uses, and I promised to work another night shift if Joanne brings in her lasagne. Tonight, the three of us sit around a table during a few moments of quietness. All twenty-seven residents are sleeping, like children tucked in their beds.
We discussed last year's march at the State Capitol for women's rights and began researching another march happening soon. Joanne was flipping through an old- fashioned newspaper, Ava was googling it on her phone, and me, well, I was just watching them and enjoying the precious moment. Ava's life is just beginning. Her options are wide open. She is figuring out her career path, where she wants to live, and who she is. She is beautiful, youthful, kind, sweet, hardworking, inquisitive, and vulnerable. Her skin is flawless and wrinkle-free. I feel incredibly close to Ava; it's not because we have spent much time together or that she has told me intimate details of her life. It's deeper than that; we have a vibrational connection, an unspoken understanding, and likeness. Although she is young, I imagine she has had her share of struggles as well. Her skin is darker than most of the population here in Vermont; she was adopted, went to a residential boarding school out of state for grades nine thru twelve. Ava is so kind to others that I know she is still learning her self-worth. We have this in common. I am her, and she is me.
Here we are, not by chance. Four beautiful women from four different decades; we have only known each other for a few months, and have known each other for a lifetime; we have different interests, yet the same; we have suffered, and we have felt joy; we are widowed, divorced and single and all seek some form of relationship with men, however big or small: a life partner, a lover, a roommate, a friend, a companion, or a weekly sexual partner; we cried, and we laughed; we are different, and we are the same.
It is Catherine who has unknowingly brought us all together on this frigid, dark, snowy night. We are here for the residents, to care for them, to support them, to be their family, and above all, to love them. Some will remember us, some every day, some for the duration of our shift, some for an hour, and some will forget us the moment they look away. It is all okay; we are here to make their final days and nights as pleasant as possible. The four of us, united as one to make the present as beautiful as it can be. We are here to love…love the moment and love one another.
about the writer: andrea vadnais
Andrea is focusing on exploring her creative passions. She has always considered herself an aspiring artist and expresses her creativity whenever and however she can. It manifests in the form of knitting, interior design and decorating, re-purposing vintage furniture, fashion, dancing, practicing Feng Shui, writing and she recently began painting with oils and acrylics. This is her first time submitting a writing piece anywhere. Andrea is ready to be seen and heard in this world. She works as a registered nurse and is currently fulfilling her lifelong dream of entrepreneurship. Her new business Art of Environment LLC will be launched this spring.
Instagram: @andrea_vadnais
Coming soon: www.artofenvironment.com
You can see one of her greatest loves, her Goldendoodle Henry, on Instagram @henrythebigdoggie
