Page 35 of Intermission
The dinner conversation continues along other veins, but I tune out. When I put my fork down on my empty plate, I realize I consumed the entire meal without tasting it.
If this is how Mom and Dad behave when Noah ismentioned, how will they act when—I mean,if—we get beyond talking, and he actually comes here to pick me up for a real date?
And how will they act when they find out his age is a lot closer to Gretchen’s than mine?
Noah meets me just inside the nursing home doors, a guitar case in his hand. “Hey there.”
“Hey yourself. I didn’t know you played guitar.”
“Yes, ma’am. You?”
“No.” I shake my head. “A little piano, but no guitar.”
Noah sets the case down, takes my coat, and hangs it on a nearby rack.
In one corner of the nursing home’s large front living room, a group of residents clusters around a television, watchingWheel of Fortune. In another corner, a pair of men gaze at a battered checkerboard while several white-haired women sit at a card table, working yarn through plastic mesh squares.
Noah picks up his guitar case. “Are you ready?”
He leads me through the maze of walkers, wheelchairs, and workers in the front room and down the hall where he pauses, frowning.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Well, maybe nothing. I should probably warn you that there might be a few people who, um, stare at us.”
“Oh, that. No worries. I volunteered here when I was in middle school. It doesn’t bug me.” I start forward again, but Noah stops me with a touch on my arm.
“No, I don’t mean the residents. I mean people from my church.”
“What? Why?”
“Well...” Noah licks his lips. “When I told the music director I was bringing a friend, some of the guys in the band overheard and asked, ‘Bass, baritone, or tenor?’”
“None of the above.” I laugh.
“Right. When I said, ‘alto,’ well...” He shrugs. “I warned the guysto be on their best behavior, but you know how guys are.”
“Gotcha. Thanks for the warning.”
As Noah predicted, the men in the group, especially the older guys, participate in a good bit of elbow-ribbing when we arrive. Even Pastor Jack, the music minister, laughingly accuses Noah of being too cheap to take a girl out on a real date. The guys’ teasing continues off and on throughout the evening, but it’s friendly, and in the end, I feel more flattered than uncomfortable. The older women smile, but while most of the girls near my age seem friendly, there’s a weird vibe coming from a few. It puts a tang of awkward in the air that has nothing—or maybe everything—to do with the guys’ teasing.
We make the rounds, singing through every hall of the nursing home before ending up back in the front living room. After small gifts are handed out to the residents, the carolers find places to sit on the floor while Pastor Jack reads the Christmas story and gives a short message.
“Why don’t you grab the hand of the person next to you, and we’ll pray.”
One of my hands is already clasped in Noah’s, but for the life of me, I can’t recall how or when it got there. From the look on his face, Noah is as surprised as I am to find our fingers entwined. With a half-smile and a little shrug, he takes the hand of the resident on his other side. I reach for the frail, wax-paper-skinned hand of the sweet woman in the wheelchair beside me. A hush moves through the room.
At the conclusion of his prayer, Pastor Jack looks our way. “Noah, would you lead us in ‘Silent Night’?”
With a nod, Noah begins, soon joined by the rest of the carolers, as well as many of the residents.
In the adjoining hall, beyond the circle, a lone woman stretches her legs and pulls her feet against the floor, but the brakes must be set on her wheelchair, because it’s not moving her forward. She stops, leans back in the chair, and sighs. A tear glistens on her cheek.
I look around to see if anyone else has noticed her plight, but all the workers and residents—even the choir members—are watching Noah.
Not that I blame them, but... she looks so alone.
I rise, careful not to disturb anyone more than necessary, and cross the main room into the hall.
