Always by My Side
by Nicholas Panetta
“How much for a litre of milk?” said Theresa, placing it on the counter.
“Three dollars-fifty cents,” replied the cashier.
“Three dollars and fifty cents! For a litre?” said Theresa, handing the cashier a five-dollar bill.
“That’s the price,” said the cashier, giving her change. “It’s the inflation.”
“How unfortunate…worse than the eighties.”
“If you say so.”
Theresa walked out of the shop with the milk in a paper bag, beginning the trek home. The winter winds blew her headscarf off her head onto her shoulders, and her pale skin turned bright red. Theresa, now into her seventies, still made the unusual trip to the store. She walked along the main road, slowly, to not slip on the ice. She turned up a side street and walked another block towards her house.
As she approached her porch, she immediately thought, Denis must put up the Christmas lights soon… We’re the only people on the street without them. Her disappointment was short-lived. She had forgotten all about the lights, and instead focused on finding her keys.
Theresa climbed the six steps leading to the front entry, following the same snow-cleared footprints she had left behind only twenty minutes earlier. She unlocked the door and stepped inside. After taking off her coat, she put the milk in the refrigerator. She washed her hands, drying them with an old dish towel and sat down at the kitchen table glancing around the room.
The kitchen hadn’t changed much in the forty-five years she’d lived in the house. The blue cabinets, with gold drawer pulls, added a touch of luxury. The large wooden table covered in a wrinkled plaid tablecloth frustrated Theresa. She walked over to the corner and smoothed out the edges, leaving a pristine, clean, cover over the old oak.
Her daughter walked in, hunched inward, dragging a trail of Christmas lights behind her, heading straight to the refrigerator.
“Hi Mum, I’m watching that movie you like about--” She opened the refrigerator and noticed the litre of milk. “You aren’t supposed to go out without someone.”
“We needed a litre of milk,” replied Theresa, softly.
“But— ”
“The prices went up, so high, it’s going to be another recession.”
“Well… umm…it’s unfortunate. Do you want something to eat?”
“No dear, I’m quite alright,” replied Theresa rising from her chair. “Look at you all hunched over.”
“Mom, stop!”
“And you’ve decided to put the lights up, too? How many times have I told you—”
“You didn’t finish lunch or breakfast?” interrupted Carol, noticing the full bowl of cereal on the counter.
“I’m going to wait a few moments,” said Theresa, looking down at her lap twiddling her thumbs.
“For—”
The phone rang, interrupting the conversation. Theresa’s daughter walked out of the kitchen to the phone. Theresa sat alone, once again.
The lock on the front door turned, and a man appeared covered in snow.
“Denis!” said an elated Theresa, rising from her chair to greet him.
“Darling, good to be home, I see you’ve been waiting up,” replied Denis
“I didn’t want to spoil my appetite; it is Friday night after all.”
“It’s quite bad out, if you still want to go to Idina’s for dinner—”
“Say no more. I’ll get my coat.”
Theresa brushed past Denis and walked into the hallway, putting on her boots, headscarf, and coat. Denis followed suit.
The couple left the house and strolled down the street, arms linked, keeping balance on the icy sidewalk all the way to the bus stop. They waited a few minutes before the bus came to a halt and let the couple on. They approached a double seat; Denis went in first, Theresa followed.
A few stops had gone by and a young passenger desperate for a seat approached Theresa.
“Do you mind if I sit next to you?” asked the passenger.
“Denis—” said Theresa.
“It’s alright dear,” Denis chimed in. “Why don’t you take my seat.”
“If you still want to sit, he doesn't mind.”
“Umm… well… thank you,” said the passenger, proceeding to sit.
Denis stood holding onto the bar. The drive was not smooth and the seventy-seven-year-old man struggled to keep his balance.
The couple rode a few more stops before reaching the restaurant. Idina’s was their favourite for a Friday night meal. The waiter approached them.
“Welcome to Idina’s. What can I get for you?” asked the waiter.
“Two waters, and two portions of oxtail soup and scotch pies,” answered Theresa
“Two?”
“Yes… one for me and one for my husband.”
The owner approached, greeting Theresa.
“Hello, Theresa. Nice of you to join us again… two oxtail and scotch pies, right?”
“Thank you, Jerry.”
“Always.”
The waiter and owner walked away from the table, whispering to each other.
“Jerry, what are we doing? She’s clearly not been here for some time. We don’t even have those items on the menu anymore,” said the waiter.
“It’s a special order…,” replied Jerry.
“But— ”
“Pack up the extras and add a slice… No! A slab of tiramisu. She’ll need it.”
“Whatever you say…”
The receiver was starting to leave a mark on Carol's face as she cradled it with her head leaned against her shoulder. The pharmacist finally finished relaying to Carol the details of every one of her mother’s medications, adding they’d be available for pick-up tomorrow. Carol hung up the phone, relieving her face from the tension, and took a deep breath. She put down the notepad with the list of the prescriptions she’d just listened to the pharmacist drone on about.
The bills on the coffee table had begun to pile up. She stared for a moment before pretending they weren’t there and noticed a little dust on the television stand. She walked to the cupboard, pulled out a duster and began to clean the dust. Her mother wouldn’t stop to rest until her house was in what she would say was, “tip-top shape.” Carol pulled out the vacuum, ensuring her ageing mother “needn't do any housework.” [1] [2]
Denis and Theresa chatted on and on about their daughter Carol.
“She’s really spent a lot of time at home, hasn’t she?” said Theresa.
“I know, but it’s nice having company… eh?” replied Denis.
Theresa took a sip of her water and looked outside at the heightening winter storm.
“She’s tried to put up the lights,” said Theresa with concern, “She hasn’t done a very good job of it. Had them strung to her feet, trailing them around like a piece of toilet paper… Why couldn’t you have come home just a little bit earlier?”
“But we have bills to pay,” replied Denis, who grabbed a piece of bread from the complimentary basket.
The waiter stifled the conversation, bringing out two waters, replacing the old ones, alongside two scotch pies, and oxtail soup.
“Why, thank you,” said Theresa.
“You’re welcome, dear. Enjoy your meal,” replied the waiter with a smile.
The waiter walked away from the table. Denis took a bite of the scotch pie.
“How’s the mince?” asked Theresa.
“Quite nice,” replied Denis.
Theresa began to stir the oxtail soup, gathering a spoonful with just the right proportions of meat and broth.
“Have you tried the oxtail yet, darling?” asked Theresa, “It’s quite lovely. Really good flavour.”
“I’m sure,” Denis took a spoonful of the soup, “Ah… quite a developed flavour.”
“Always hits the spot.”
After Carol finished cleaning, she walked into the kitchen, ready to let her mom know she’d go to the pharmacy to pick up the prescriptions... And not to leave the house!
“Mom, the pharmacist called and your—”
Carol looked around the empty kitchen, her heart sank into her chest. She stopped for a moment wondering what had happened. Where did she go?
Carol turned towards the hallway; her body wouldn’t move. Carol stood glued in place, wondering why she felt so empty inside…hollow, unable to move. She thought of everywhere her mother could be. Maybe she went to bed? Please have gone to bed… She eventually zoomed towards the hallway, noticing her mother’s missing coat from the rack…
A short time later, the waiter cleared their empty plates and brought out two butter tarts, on request of the owner.
“Thank you,” said Theresa to the waiter.
“You’re welcome. Enjoy your dessert,” replied the waiter, who walked away towards the kitchen.
“Looks quite nice, the pastry,” said Theresa.
“Always is,” Denis replied.
The couple finished their tarts fairly quickly, settled the bill, and said their goodnights to Jerry, who handed them a bag of food, while leaving the restaurant.
Carol looked through her mother’s rolodex, trying to stop her internal panic. Why does she still use this thing! She looked up at the calendar on the wall, noticing it was Friday…
She picked up the phone and dialled her mother’s favourite restaurant, Idina’s, and screamed into the phone.
“Jerry! Get me Jerry?”
“Woah, yes, it’s me. Is everything al—”
“No, my mother left the house and—”
“Carol… is that you?”
“Yes… and she’s—”
“Just left…”
Carol fell silent, holding the phone close to her heart, trying to stop the budding tears from falling down her face. Her heart was beating faster and louder, distracting her from the conversation.
“Carol, listen, I packed up her extra plates… I also threw in some tiramisu, because I know how much you like it. Now please calm down… I’m sure she’ll be home soon. She’s done it before; she’s always made it back.”
“She has Alzheimer's!”
Carol fell to the floor, dropping the phone, beginning to sob uncontrollably. All she could think of was how much she sacrificed to keep her mother safe, and how she’d failed twice in one day. She’d taken unpaid leave from her job, and now the bills were piling up…her mother’s pension wasn’t enough. Will I be able to afford the new medication? Carol picked up the receiver and whispered, “Sorry, Jerry,” replacing the phone on the hook.
She tried to wipe her tears away, like a broken tap, unable to stop. She walked towards the hallway to get her coat, stubbing her toe on the side table, her vision blurred by tears. She leaned on the wall, slowly sliding till she reached the floor, paralyzed.
Theresa and Denis stood in the cold, waiting for the bus.
“Is it ever going to come?” asked Denis.
“Do you reckon we have time to walk through the park?” asked Theresa.
“I reckon,” replied Dennis. “It might be nice.”
“Settled. We’ll walk.”
The couple walked through the snowy park, through the trees and along the frozen river.
“It’s a lot nicer when it’s thawed, when the salmon can jump,” mentioned Theresa.
“I enjoyed taking Carol to fish here. It’s always been a nice little outing. The ice cream afterward made up for the lack of fish we caught.”
The couple chuckled. Each breath could be seen in the air. The night was only getting colder and darker. The couple made it across the park and walked up the street to their townhouse. They walked up the six steps to the front door, unlocking it and entering the house.
Carol stood dishevelled at the door.
“Mother! Where have you been!?” exclaimed Carol.
“I went to Idina’s. Had the oxtail soup and—”
“Scotch pie.”
“As always,” replied Theresa, placing the bag on the bench.
Carol took a deep breath.
“Do you still want your warm milk before bed? I know you went out of your way to get it from the shop,” asked Carol.
“Could you make one for your father, too?” asked Theresa. “Denis, do you want one?”
“Mum… you know Dad’s been gone for a few years now.”
Theresa stood silently, grasping for Denis’s hand. Carol walked over to her mother, grabbing her flailing hand, squeezing tightly.
“Let’s get you your milk,” said Carol.
Theresa smiled. She turned her head to the hallway and said, “Goodnight, Denis.”
After finishing her glass of warm milk, she hugged Carol and thanked her profusely, before placing her mug in the sink. Carol began to wash the mug vigorously.
Theresa walked into the living room, and sat on the sofa, staring directly at the television. Carol had been watching a film. Carol walked into the living room with intent and smiled at her mother.
“Time to go to sleep, Mum,” she said gently.
“Alright,” Theresa replied, standing up from her seat and walking towards the staircase.
Carol helped her mother climb each step, holding her hand along the way. She helped Theresa change into pyjamas and tucked her into bed.
Theresa looked into Carol's eyes and softly said, “Goodnight, Denis. Have a wonderful day at work tomorrow.”
Carol smiled at her mother, leaned down to give her a kiss on the forehead, turned on the baby monitor, turned off the lights and softly closed the door as she exited the room. She held the baby monitor close to her heart as her body slid down the closed bedroom door. Carol burst into a silent sob, tears streaming down her face. The tears would not stop, no matter how hard Carol tried to stop them. The sobbing became louder, wailing. How was she going to deal with this pain? How was she going to deal with the decline of her mother? The door opened behind her, almost causing her to lose her balance.
“Is everything alright sweetheart?” asked Theresa.
“Y--yes, M--mother…,” Carol replied, sobbing.
Theresa stepped out of the room and closed the door behind her. She slid down the door next to Carol, and put her arm around her, consoling her.
“Everything’s going to be alright, sweetheart,” Theresa said. “There isn’t a problem your father and I can’t solve… except maybe world hunger.”
Carol let out a slight giggle before placing her head on her mother’s shoulder, still sobbing.
Carol finally collected herself, stood up, and wiped her eyes. She helped her mother up, and settled her back into bed. They exchanged “good nights.”
Carol made her way back to the living room, and before unpausing the television, she looked at the picture of her parents on the wall. She smiled before returning to a sob, crying herself to sleep.
A few hours later, Theresa walked down the stairs. She saw Carol passed out on the sofa; she walked over to her daughter with a folded blanket to gently place over her. She picked up the remote, turned off the television, and walked to the doorway. Denis was putting on his overcoat, ready for work.
“Looking forward to next Friday night,” said Denis, blowing a kiss to Theresa.
Theresea returned the sentiment, blowing him a kiss before turning to the staircase. She turned out the lights and slowly walked up the stairs to her bed and tucked herself in, drifting off to sleep.