The Picture Frame (short story)

shows an inner monolouge of a nurse working as they observe and interact with a special patient at a nursing home.

Her eyes seemed almost mute unmoving and still. Wet and exposed against the soft morning sunlight. They were small and Grey like the curly locks of tangled hair nestled on her head. The woman wore an expression not altogether unhappy but also not altogether indifferent. Sitting small in her armchair she appeared almost like a small doll, head bowed, dwarfed by the room around her.  Her demeanour was a strange sight, almost unsettling. People’s eyes act as gateways to their world, to see someone so totally and utterly unengaged in their surroundings is such a rare occasion that it would rattle anyone.

The eyes I had just seen were those belonging to a 74 year old patron called Miss Wilson, I had been working as her nurse for close to 3 months. If you had ever been afforded a casual glance at her on the street, she would almost certainly appear as she always does bubbly and sweet, small and plump. These images however did not describe the true Miss Wilson as I saw her. People in their most private moments, supposedly alone or with people they care, can become very different. Mrs Wilson’s eyes were a reflection of this, a phenomenon only I was allowed to see, grey and still staring at the lime green carpet beneath her.

Of course Miss Winston never knew that I was observing her like this, if I had entered the room or ever made a large amount of noise, her eyes would lighten and her casual demeanour would return, desperately hiding any trace of her previous self. This was the Miss Wilson everyone regarded as a real her, it was the picture her visiting family were presented with, the image the other patrons of the nursing home saw and the face she no doubt even tried to present to herself. Something however must have been stopping her from realizing this fully. She always left her door open in the mornings and wore the same expression every morning. Head bowed and still.

“What could she be thinking about all this time” I muttered to myself.

The tray resting in my hand began to rattle as I began stepping tenderly toward her room, a smile plastered across my face.

“Good morning miss” I said cheerfully, placing her breakfast on a nearby table.

 She said nothing, her gaze continuing, bearing into the fluffy green carpet below unmoving, unchanged…

Slightly taken aback I attempted to make small talk, placing the tray near her and drawing back the curtains. The morning light streamed in our shadows overlapped against the light. As I stood in front of the window my shadow completely engulfed hers. Even with the light coming in her expression stayed constant her eyes unmoving silent and small.

“it really is a fine morning we have here isn’t it miss…..”

She stirred from her position raising her tiny arms up from her lap to settle them firmly on the rests of the armchair attempting to up the chair as she moved. Her shadow growing gradually bigger as she rose from her position. Finally up and seemingly oblivious to my presence she trudged over to her dresser. Hands shaking as she tenderly placed a framed photo on the top. Satisfied she left the dresser and returned to her chair, promptly sitting down to resume sitting to eat the breakfast I had provided her. 

Curious I found myself looking over towards the picture, it was an old picture. Brown and crinkled with jagged fold marks littered across its surface. Squinting I was able to make out two figures present in the centre of the photograph, a man and a woman tenderly holding each other surrounded by a great mass of dirty looking children, smiling and clinging to the two figures in the centre. This was a picture I had never seen before despite my numerous visits to her room in the morning. Miss Wilson actively avoided any pictures in her room especially if they were of her. Looking at the figures standing there, cheeks round and soft I was presented with an image of Miss Wilson untouched by age, smiling eyes, bright and gleaming.

“Thank you for the breakfast dear” Miss Wilson muttered, “I’m a little surprised actually, this has got to be the first time you managed not to burn my toast…” Her face gently contoured into a smile as her gaze lifted up towards the window. Her voice had adopted a joking, comfortable tone. Often times when I would talk with her prior to this meeting her words would often be carefully constructed and polite never progressing further than simple small talk.

I knew these words were not meant for me, the nursing home had a policy to not allow nurses like myself to dispel any delusions patients had.

But… the way she carried herself now was unlike anything I had seen before. As she was she seemed confident and content, mirroring the figure I saw in the picture. I looked up.

Her voice began to crack, without turning back or facing me she said

“Its been so very hard my, all this time…” seemingly remembering something she suddenly rose her head and vainly attempted to get out of her. “HA!.. ohhh damn my back, I’m terribly sorry you came all this way to celebrate your birthday and I cant do anything, all I can do is sit here, like nothing ever happened... 

The air had begun to adopt a sense of heaviness around me, I was intruding on something deeply private for Miss Wilson. The person I was pretending to be and the one talking to me were completely foreign from the reality I was always presented it. I felt completely counterfeit.

Miss Wilson finally stood up her eyes wet and running, Her voice adopted a pleading tone, she looked at me and softly whispered “Can I stop pretending?” 

Reviews

[Paige]

I very much enjoyed reading this, the description was amazing and I could really picture it as if I were the nurse.

[purple_engima]

Thank you for your kind words and for taking the time to read :)