Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Last week she encouraged fellow residents to rise up against the administration. Rob got lots of phone calls. His sister got lots of phone calls.
I ignored a lot of messages.
"Ready to go to lunch?" I ask. Betsy is dolled up and I can't help but glance down at my jeans.
"We could go shopping." She say's and laughs when I roll my eyes.
"Wouldn't help," I say, "Do you have the medications you need?"
She rummages in her purse, pulls out a cookie wrapped in kleenex, a half eaten apple and a stale cupcake, then spots her pill box.
"Keys?" I ask.
This time she fishes out a small plastic container and shakes it at me. "This," she whispers, "is where I hide those 'other' pills they try to feed me."
Oh lord, so that's what's happened to the anti-depressants. She rolls a pill into her palm. The tip has been chewed off and Betsy is so smug I bite my lip. "Better not offer anyone a Tic Tac." I say.