Image credit – pxfuel.com

It was a chilly day during the Thanksgiving holidays.

I moved my car towards the gate slowly and then rang the intercom buzzer to open the gate.

"Hi Steve, this is Hari..."

“Roll tide - come on in, Harry” - Steve cheered me with a heavy Alabama accent and opened the gate. I certainly knew the slang - roll tide – thanks to Bill for his repeated habitude.

I reciprocated and moved in slowly; I noticed Steve in the driveway.

He greeted me again with a firm handshake and a warm hug once I stepped out of the car.  Steve looked like actor Spielberg in old age and maybe around 80 years of age. He had evident wrinkles on his face but appeared to be very strong. He was an ex-military person, Bill told me earlier.

Bill and I were colleagues at Dell Computers, and he was my manager. Both of us were in Atlanta on a business trip to close a vast sales deal with a big company. The final agreement got postponed to Tuesday next week due to Thanksgiving Holidays. I was not in a mood to go back to San Francisco and travel here again in three days. I preferred to stay back instead. Bill opted to go to Chicago to visit his in-laws when his wife insisted on coming as she was already there.

As per our initial plan, Bill was supposed to stay in Atlanta, and I had to go back to SFO. Instead, our plans changed due to this business deal. Bill requested me to stay back to close the deal and visit his parents if I could drive down to Alabama. I said yes, as I preferred driving down the countryside instead of watching movies at the hotel.

I ended up with this unexpected visit to Montgomery thus.

I noticed a nameplate engraved with - Steve McKenna and Christy McKenna - near the main door. Steve took me towards the main hall sofa to relax and asked me to take juice or water. I said no in reply, waving my hand.

He went inside and came out few minutes later, with Christy in a wheelchair.

After my introductory chat with Christy, Steve said - "I am glad you are here, man! Bill explained to me the whole story. We are delighted to have you here, man!"

Christy looked like Meryl Streep to me, except with old-age wrinkles. Her voice was a little bit shaky while speaking, I noticed.

Steve offered me a coke or sprite, but I opted for water - and he brought me the same.

I spilled water on my clothes while opening the cap, and unexpectedly Christy tried to get up from her wheelchair and was about to fall. Steve reacted quickly and held her yelling - "honey, why did you get up? I am here to help." I could see the frustration in his face.

The other day, Christy was so excited about me visiting them and slipped on the floor while cleaning in the kitchen - Steve told me. Steve was non-stop asking me questions.  "How was your drive? Did you take highway 85? Is this your first visit to Alabama?”

All my replies were short in return.

“May I bring you some Wine..." – said Steve changing the topic.

I said I would prefer to have our wine session in the evening. Steve took me on a tour of the house. It was huge with seven bedrooms. Coming from the San Francisco Bay area, this house was a mansion to me.

He showed me Bill's study room and bedroom during his high school days. The room was clean, and it seemed as if someone was using that room now.

I could see Bill's pictures, certificates on the walls. And one wall decorated full of Elvis Presley memorabilia.  "Bill plays the guitar very well...he is a monster. That’s it! " Steve said. I had been to Bill's guitar shows quite a few times.

That’s it – was Steve’s catchphrase, undoubtedly with a penchant for Alabama slang. Often, I noticed a similar slang with Bill too.

Steve was walking towards a room near the staircase, and about to open the door, he turned his head back when Christy stopped him, saying no. We walked towards the living room and sat there on a couch.

Steve asked me about my family and later shifted the topic to India and its culture.

I was the only male child in the family; I had a sister who lives in Australia, and my parents were in Kakinada, a big town in South India. Thus, I briefed my details.

Steve was surprised when I explained him each state speaks different languages with some common words and unique expressions. He was not up-to-date with India and hardly knew any big cities other than Delhi and Mumbai. When I said - even the state I come from, and there are three different dialects people speak - Steve raised his eyebrows, pulling his tongue out. “We do have many slangs too: you bet, betcha, and yada yada yada,” Steve said, laughing aloud.

I could see a different slang in Steve's English: An utterly different one from California.

Steve took me to their backyard, and it was huge. I couldn't imagine how Steve and Christy maintained this home at their age. I spell out my mind.

"How do you folks manage such a big mansion?"

Steve smiled in reply.

"We have housekeeping folks, and they clean it...that’s it."

Steve said he would do any small jobs himself and mentioned that some jobs they can't assign to maids either.

He further continued - "Bill and I were born in this house, and we had many memories embedded with this place. Bill always wants us to stay with him in Cal."

I, too, echoed Bill's point. Steve laughed aloud.

"We all assume and firmly believe that we love humans: mostly our kinfolk. You know what? But in reality, we all love our mansions and neighborhood more. We are halla materialistic. That's it!"  He added further - "Detachment is a hard pill to swallow. Moving out of your home is a psychological tantrum.  That’s it! We doubt ourselves that we may lose our prerogative powers at a new place." "How could you say so...? Bill is not an alien, but your son." I argued.

"He is not. But his place is. Again, there are many egoistic issues with freedom as well. Just unexplainable. That's it..."

I hesitated to extend conversation - in fact, the supportive arguments from Bill's side - and knowingly diverted the topic. Eating turkey on a Thanksgiving dinner time is a custom, I knew after I moved to America.  Steve wanted to collect the turkey from his friend's place. I accompanied him. Steve drove a huge over-the-top truck. I never had a ride on this type of truck; nor seen either.

Steve’s friend greeted us - “Hey y’all!”.

Steve introduced me to his friend. Despite me being in America for many years, I was unable to catch up with his Alabama accent.

His name was William, but Steve addressed him as Willy.

Willy's home was another mansion. They were talking about the football game and other stuff.

I became a mute spectator, not uttering a single word.

Steve’s phone rang when they were in a deep conversation.

“We gotta go home. Christy fell from the wheelchair. Hurry up!” Steve's face turned red, and he looked worried.

Willy quickly rushed inside to get the turkey. Within few minutes, we were in the truck.

"Christy wasn't doing well for many months. We didn't plan to make Thanksgiving dinner.  We decided to do it last minute when Bill said he would show up here."  - on the way back home, Steve said.

I felt uncomfortable. Christy was on the floor when we entered the home. I noticed the wheelchair turned upside down a few feet away.

Steve and I put her into the wheelchair comfortably.

"I told you hell-a-time not to go around. What's the fuck y’all doing…?"

I could quickly notice his worry. I turned down my head as if I didn't find it.

She wanted to prepare an appetizer for dinner and fell when opening the refrigerator. Christy tried to explain, but an upset Steve was not paying any attention to what she was trying to say.

After a few minutes, Steve was his self again. I lend my hand in preparing for the Thanksgiving preparations, mostly arranging the dinner table.

We had a fantastic Thanksgiving dinner. I tasted Turkey for the first time, though I eat chicken and fish. Steve and Christy were delighted to have me on this occasion.

I gifted Steve a bottle of Screaming Eagle wine and a cashmere sweater to Christy.  Both were very happy, and I could see a glow on their faces. "It's hella an expensive wine, man! Thank you," said Steve ecstatically.

"This is from Bill, and I - for you folks!"

I observed Christy wiping her eyes, turning sideways.

Embarrassed to hear thanking words a few times - slowly, I diverted the topic towards sports. I was interested in Basketball, but Steve was all into Baseball.  I never tried to watch Baseball despite my fanatic love for Cricket - being an Indian.  Noticing Christy was about to doze off during our conversation, Steve assisted her towards the bedroom. Christy was always early to bed, whereas Steve would love to burn the midnight oil – coming out of the room, Steve said to me.

"Shit…forgot to give her medicines" - Steve rushed to the bedroom again.

Settling down, we had a heated debate about American Elections who would win. Steve was a Republican, whereas I opted to support the Democratic party, being from California. Our arguments were not in consensus but never-ending loops.

Steve was in Army for many years and fought during World War II at a young age. The topic later was shifted to Bill's childhood and his marriage with Christy.

"Bill always wanted us to move to California. All my friends are here, and it is like being caged in four walls there. Here, I go to a friend's place to play pool. Or watch a baseball game during the season. Of late, I was not going that often - after Christy's health took a downslide."  - Steve's voice choked a bit at the end. "Bill always talks about and loves you, folks. He sincerely wanted to come here. But our plans entirely fell off. He felt terrible - insisted me to visit you folks, on his behalf. Here is why I am, troubling you." - I tried to soothe him with the explanation smilingly.

“Not at all, man! Christy was hell-a-happy you’re coming in. You know what – she wants everything organized. She slipped on the floor and sprained her ankle a bit. I yelled and put her in the wheelchair. More to it, she has amnesia and blah-blah-blah. I hardly go out. You know what – a few days ago, she was cleaning the kitchen after making some cookies. I was deep into a baseball game. Suddenly, I smelled the smoke, and rushed to the kitchen to find out some charred stuff.  Hella, lucky - the fire didn't break out. The stove was on – and she forgot. Sorry man, I am boring you with all our shit…” nodding his head, he looked at me. I said not-at-all and repeated my suggestion for them to be with Bill.

“Na. Moving out? Easier said than done. Being with Bill helps, I agree. You know what – my dad used to worry hell about me.

I was always out and never bothered about anything. I got married to Christy very late. Bill was born when I was forty-two.

My parents were gone later. Anyways, a career is important for Bill. Getting big bucks here in Montgomery is no way. He was very much into computer stuff at a very young age. Yeah – Jenny, his wife, was also a techie. You know what – I don’t want to mess up his life. We all can come over there and be with Bill. But, ya, we can’t,” - Steve’s voice choked at the end.

I was embarrassed to bring it up again.  Steve quietly got out of the sofa and walked towards the hall. He signaled me to follow him. He stood in front of a room. It was the same room he warned Christy not to open earlier.

“You made my day, gentleman!” – he gave me a big hug. I could imagine his feelings. He opened the door and turned on the lights.

It was a big room, brightened with colorful lights. And at one end of the room, a giant decorated Christmas tree was there with so many unopened gift boxes around it.

“You know what! Christmas - hella big festival for us. When my dad was alive, all my cousins with families were visiting us. Most of them are gone now. Bill was always here during the holidays. Of late, he was busy – stopped coming over here. But we always keep gifts for him here. We do send by mail, but we want to see him opening these wraps. His last visit was ten years ago. We are enclosed by an opaque shell.”

Steve paused for a sec and said; an invisible opaque shell encloses human relations; we can’t request, nor demand, but expect the other side to reach – from both sides.

Not continuing further, Steve shrugged his shoulders, spreading his hands wide.

“One day he would certainly come. We hope so. I want you to carry some gifts for him – will you please?”

Asserting my voice, I said yes.

“I don’t want to reveal this to Christy. She gets too emotional. Crazy! Even if I tell her, she can’t remember anything. I am not sure how long she will suffer this. This bloody shit – Alzemhers – is killing her. Not just her. I feel it too. Her health has gone to dogs. At times – I think aloud – is this necessary to live like a shit?” His voice got choked again. I noticed tears flowing down on his cheeks.

Calming down with a big hug, I sobered him up.

Suddenly there was a screeching noise near the door, and both of us turned around.

It was Christy in her wheelchair.

0000000000

I packed my stuff to leave early the next day. They presented me some more gifts. Though uncomfortable, I didn't want to make them feel bad but accepted the gifts happily.   “It was fun meeting you Gentleman! You really made our day. I saw a happy glow in Christy’s face: After a long time.”

Both of them gave me big hugs. I had a good time too.

I was about to start my car; Steve walked toward it. I slid the car window quickly.

“I need something from you, man. A promise,” he said.

“Is it about the Christmas tree?” I asserted, knitting my eyebrows.

I thought he suspected I would tell – especially Bill - about the presents near the Christmas tree stacked over the years.

He nodded his head conveying, a big no.

“Bill doesn’t know about Christy’s condition. Promise me you don’t reveal to him. All these years, I managed well during our video calls. We don’t want to disturb him. Period.”

“Steve – it is not a small thing to ignore. It is Alzheimers!”

“We are in a senile state, hella shit.” - Steve said, shaking his head.

I didn’t get it. I asked him what?

“Invisible opaque shell - old age,” he turned back, murmuring to himself. Steering the car - with heavy grief - I waved my hand.

I felt sorry for Steve and Christy. I was thinking aloud to convey their feelings to Bill or not.

Suddenly, my thoughts drifted towards my parents during this long drive. I made an international phone call to India on my way back to Atlanta.

My dad didn’t pick up the phone.  He had a weird habit of switching off the phone before going to bed every night.

I dialed a different number and got connected.

“Hello. This is Bandhu Oldage Home…Sorry, sir – we don’t disturb our patrons after 11 p.m. We can’t connect….”

I heard a voice with a heavy Indian accent from the other end, followed by a disconnected tone.