The White’s of Flo’s Eyes

by Suzanne Nielsen

Last night I thought of Flo Meister. I don’t know what inspired me to think of her, or why she lingered in my thoughts. Then I remember. I never saw the white’s of Flo’s eyes in all the time I knew her. Only the wild look through her hair, her curled up fists and her stiff limbs that never released her from a fetal position.

Thirty-three years ago come December. West wing, room 39. That was the last time I saw her. I was across the hall helping Dolly Nuesbaum off the toilet. Dolly’s cerebral palsy transformed every event into slow motion. The dinner cart arrived and Kathy Finley rolled it down to the end of the wing. Clara was behind her, shuffling and patting Kathy on the back, reminding her she wanted cherry Jell-O. Kathy Finley and I were the west wing nurses aides for the evening shift. For months I fed Flo every evening I worked, but this evening Kathy removed Flo’s tray while I was still with Dolly.

Dolly wanted to wear earrings, located in the bottom drawer of her nightstand, wrapped in Kleenex. As I clipped them on her lobs she jerked to the sensitivity of feeling. “Do you have your lipstick in your pocket?” she asked. I pulled it out and applied a coat to her dry lips. Her head bobbed as I did so and the lipstick went on a jagged mess. As I was ready to leave her room Dolly wanted her leopard coat thrown over her deformed legs; I accommodated her request. “Anything else?” I asked, before departing. Dolly started to cry and I told her she’d destroy her image. She smiled through her tears and reminded me that she was trying to destroy her image for 57 years. I asked Dolly if she wanted help with her evening meal, but she said she was going to go out she’d hoped.

Meanwhile across the hall Flo’s door was closed. I knocked three times. When I opened the door Flo was still in bed and Kathy was seated in Flo’s gurney chair eating off the dinner tray. Kathy handed me Flo’s applesauce. I wanted to rest it on her head like an ill-fitting yarmulke, watch the applesauce drip down the sides of Kathy’s face like weeping Earlocks destroying her image of the clean, hospitable aide. Instead I struggled to get Flo up, told Kathy to move and sat Flo in her chair. I put a towel under Flo’s chin and started to feed her the applesauce. It came back at me spraying me in my face. We repeated this four times before Kathy said, “You’re a glutton for punishment,” and left the room. The fifth spoonful made it down her throat into her stomach. As well as the sixth, and the last of what was left to scrape the bowl clean.

As I cleaned Flo and myself up I could hear Dolly across the hall crying. She wanted to keep her earrings on. She was waiting for company. I saw the leopard coat out of the corner of my eye lying on the floor. Clara was shuffling aback and fourth outside the door rubbing her eyes. “Miss Kathy, I want cherry Jell-O.” Dolly’s cries became louder. I picked Flo up and placed her back in bed. I combed her wild hair flat to her skull, applied lotion to her tiny fists and covered her fetal body with the blue blanket that had her initials written in permanent marker. She never looked me in the eye. That’s what I remember most.

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Suzanne Nielsen, a native of St. Paul, Minnesota, teaches writing at Metropolitan State University. Her poetry, fiction and essays appear in literary journals nationally and internationally; some of these include The Comstock Review, The Copperfield Review, Mid-America Poetry Review, Foliate Oak, Identity Theory, The Pedestal, Word Riot and 580 Split. So’ham Books released her first collection of poetry titled “East of the River,” in December 2005, a collection of short fiction titled “The Moon Behind the 8-Ball & Other Stories,” in 2007, and will release her new collection of poetry titled “I Thought You Should Know,” in 2008. Nielsen holds a doctorate in Education from Hamline University.