SNAPSHOTS: Lauren and Aaron

Dear reader... This was a task in which I took a scene and wrote it from two different POVs. I find it interesting how one's writing takes shape and alters when you re-write the same scene from another’s lens or worldview i.e. the details, the observations, the choices, etc.

A brother and sister visit their elderly mother in a nursing home.

Lauren
A sour smell hung in the air. Though similar to the tell-tale odour of charity shops that I frequented – here, it felt intolerable. More stale somehow. I tasted the mucus rising to my throat. It took every ounce of willpower to stop myself from covering up my nose with my hand. It wouldn’t do. And I didn’t want mother to imagine that I thought it was she that stank. I fidgeted with my handbag, fumbling for a stick of gum while Aaron began to make small-talk. I popped the Spearmint in my mouth and started to chew. It was our first visit to Cedar Lodge Nursing Home, on the leafy-side of Erdington. ‘This all looks very nice, mother. You settled?’ I heard him ask as my mind wandered, taking in the space. It was a simple room. On one side of the window, slightly ajar, was a washbasin; tucked beside, stood Mother’s folded-up wheelchair. Next to it: a desk where the posies we’d bought from M&S now rested; and a chair, that I’d earlier pulled out to sit on. To the far side: a narrow high bed, where mother sat propped up in a C; and an armchair, which Aaron had decided on. Fleeting, I noticed the strawberry hue to his face. I knew he needed a cigarette. Mother was in full flow, chatting animatedly: ‘… the garden is so therapeutic… lovely to see the bluebells in bloom…’ I heard her say. Above her diminutive head, a Van Gough replica of The Olive Trees. I knew the painting well having studied it in great detail at Leeds Art College. Such delicate beauty weaved in its artwork of swirling trunks and branches; a voluptuous epitaph, I’d written in one of my assignments. Beneath the frame, a sharp contrast; mother’s gnarled features. Mother had been handsome, if not a sterling beauty, once. But the good looks had long faded over the course of eighty-nine years. All that was left heaped before us; her leathered frame, her thin smile. Instinctively, I reached across and stroked her hand, caressing her fingers, a mangle of knots. Fingers that had held mine on the first day of nursery, wiped my tears on my wedding day, and cuddled her grandchildren. Fingers, that no longer clung to the tresses of time.

Aaron
A slight irritation crept into my voice during Lauren’s phone call. The appointment had been booked. We were to travel down to visit our mother. It’s not that I didn’t want to see Mother but the time scheduled simply hadn’t suited my timetable, and I’d been forced to take the afternoon off. Lauren and I travelled separately. We met in the lobby of the Cedar Lodge Nursing Home at 2. Visiting hours are between 2 and 4; apparently, the residents – as they call them – need their rest before dinner. As we settled into our hour with mother, I thought she looked rather well. Perhaps, a bit frail, but that was to be expected at her age. I propped her up on the bed using four pillows, and then buttoned up her cardigan. I offered to make her a cup of Tetley just the way she liked it: weak, milky. ‘Water will do me fine,’ she declined. So, I filled up a glass, found a straw, and helped her with the drink. She took several sips before giving up. I placed the cup on her tray, and made myself comfortable in the armchair at the foot of her bed. Since her stroke, conversation with Mother has been a challenge. As usual, Lauren left me to do all the talking. I asked her, if she was settling in well. That set her off. She went into her ramble, which now sounds like a muffled slur, and it’s bloody hard work listening out for the few words or phrases that still make any sense. I nodded and grunted a lot, while Lauren remained quiet. I knew she had a lot on her mind. Marianne’s divorce was taking its toll; she and her three children were lodging with Lauren for the foreseeable future. It was a difficult situation. I understood why she just sat there with a vacant gaze – that is, until she leant over and took mother’s hand. It was at this point, I realised I was gasping for a cigarette.