CENTRIPETAL won’t get out alive. I may die if she touches me again. I burst, jumping up, grabbing my coat. “Hey, ah… I’ll…ah--back in a second,” I tell Gramp. I flee the common room, careful to avoid Alice’s image on my way out. Outside, my heart rate slows and the air is clean and fresh and welcoming. I light a cigarette and let the rain soak my hair and cool my skin. I spend the next half hour walking in circles in the rain. When I reenter the nursing home almost all the patients have been taken to clean up before bed. I find the relief of Alice’s absence euphoric. I find Gramp in Nana’s room. He’s brushing her teeth. “Open a bit wider, okay good. Here. Spit the tooth paste in here. Drink some water.” I sit in a chair in the corner of the room and watch as Gramp puts Nana’s toothbrush away and returns with a bottle of cream. He elevates Nana’s feet with a small bench and kneels down, pulling her socks off to reveal two swelled, purple feet. He explains how the circulation in Nana’s legs hasn’t been extending down to her feet lately and how the cream helps to counteract the swelling. Gramp rubs the lotion into Nana’s feet. It’s hard for me to imagine being in his position, spending the greater part of every day in this nursing home and never uttering a single complaint. Unlike him, I can’t be here for longer than a few minutes without being overwhelmed with an urge to flee. The only reason Nana is even here is because it had become impossible for Gramp to take care of her on his own. Before finally finding this place, Gramp was spending all his time looking after Nana, and at least once or twice a day--sometimes even three or four times a day--he would have to clean up the mess and
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