Page 14 of Captivated

I decided to stop by this morning on my first official day off this week after working my three twelve-hour days, which really became sixteen hours shifts when all was said and done. I needed something to combat the utter boredom that can manifest on my days off.

Sarah smiles at my words and then narrows her eyes at me. “You’re so very right. Our establishment tries really hard to offer entertainment and activities to keep the members busy, but nothing beats conversation and connection.”

“Exactly.”

“We’re actually looking for people to run a few new classes if you have any talents or skills you’d want to share…” she says as she reaches behind her and grabs the papers on the tray of the printer.

“Yes, actually! I used to teach a painting class back at the facility where I’m from. I am also a certified dance instructor in ballroom dancing and salsa, and I can teach water aerobics.”

“You’re just a jack of all trades, aren’t you?” Sarah chuckles as she hands me a pen to fill out the volunteer form.

“Yes, that and I have parents that insisted I was well-rounded in school and in life.”

“What do you do for a living?”

I start to write my name on the paper and then realize I wrote the wrong one—my real name, that is.

“Uh, I’m actually a nurse over at Emerson Memorial. I’m so sorry, but is it possible to get another form? I already made a mistake because I wasn’t paying attention,” I roll my eyes playfully, but inside my heart is racing. It’s instances like these that I worry about all the time—one little slip up and my true identity could get out, not that I think that Sarah the receptionist at Sagewood Retirement Center would let anyone know of my whereabouts.

But the point is to be careful—and I’m already messing up.

“Yup, no problem,” she clicks a button on her mouse again as the printer spits out another paper. I fill out the information correctly this time, deposit my mistake-filled form in my purse, and let Sarah take a copy of my driver’s license that says I’m a citizen of the state of Oregon, a fact I’d never thought would be true in my life.

“Piper Davis, what a beautiful name,” she says as she stands and hands me back my ID.

“Thank you,” I reply, although I can’t wait to be Pfeiffer Winters again one day.

“Alright, well let me give you the tour and then I can lead you to Terrence’s office. He is the activities coordinator here and loves when we get new blood,” she winks.

Sarah sashays as we walk along the wide corridor which leads to several rooms in the main building of the center. As I walk, I see a map of the property and notice the handful of other buildings that look like apartments, where I’m guessing the residents live. The recreation center and lobby where we are currently located is full of rooms that house numerous activities and purposes.

“This is the cafeteria,” Sarah points out to her left, where the sound of metal pans clinging and chatter filter through the double doors. Several members sit across from each other at the formal dining tables adorned with white table cloths eating their breakfasts, gold-plated chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. “Members have a full kitchen in their apartments, but most choose to eat in here where three square meals are prepared each day by a professional chef and her staff. The food is pretty great, if I do say so myself.” I survey the room, taking in the opulence of the space. This place is fancy for a retirement center, reminding me more of a hotel than a sullen place like a convalescent home. These people must pay good money to live here.

“In this space is where the members partake in crafts,” she gestures to the currently empty room further down from the cafeteria, but I can see stacks of clear-drawer organizers lining one wall full of crafting supplies. Long rectangular tables sit in rows with chairs tucked up underneath. The walls are full of projects completed by members, I assume, bringing life and color to the otherwise dull, grey walls.

“And on the right is the game room, which is always hopping. These people may be pushing the brink of existence, but they are some of the most competitive souls I’ve ever met.”

The thought makes me smile because I know just how much I hate to lose at anything at the ripe old age of twenty-six. If Sarah’s observation is any indication, I’d say I’ll be a force to be reckoned with by the time I reach retirement and battle others for the distinction of winning at a board game.

“How do you like them apples?” A gleeful rebuttal pulls my attention into the game room to a table where two African-American members sit across from each other. Just by the way they’re staring each other down, you can tell they’re good friends, but the competitive energy between them is clearly alive and well.

“Christ, woman. How many points did that one earn ya?” The man replies in frustration.

“Seventy-seven, young man! Woo-hoo!” The woman claps her hands high above her head in celebration.

“Is she kickin’ your butt?” Sarah interrupts as I follow her into the room and we arrive next to their table.

“Yeah. She’s getting her revenge today, Sarah,” the man replies.

“I only get better with age, honey,” the woman winks at Sarah before her eyes fixate on me.

“Birdie, Samuel… this is Piper. She’s signing up to be a volunteer and help run a few new classes for the center.” Sarah beams as she introduces me with an upturned palm and I can’t help but catch the surprised reaction that the woman I now know is Birdie shoots my way.

“Piper, huh? What anunusualname?” She cocks an eyebrow and shoots a look over at Samuel as well. Confusion fills my thoughts as I watch them have a silent conversation with their eyes alone.

“Yes, well, my mother was all for originality,” I offer.

“That is definitely a name you don’t hear every day, huh Samuel? Say, Piper… where are you from? No offense, but you look sort of out of place,” Birdie questions as the hairs on my neck stand up.

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