Bonita was small in stature with unique and extraordinary facial features. Her short, light brown hair was held back on one side with a copper colored bobby pin and her eyes were deep blue and often expressionless.
On this particular day, she shuffled toward the ornate, padded bench just outside of the activities room door, placing her black canvas tote carefully down on the dark cedar floor. She found it necessary to boost herself up on the high bench, twisting herself into just the correct position.
She wore a brown “house” dress, black corrective oxfords, and white ankle socks. Her feet, barely grazing the floor, swung back and forth as she reached beneath the cuff of her white sweater and pushed the button on her talking watch for the seventh time since entering the building. A computerized, tinny male voice announced, “The time is ten-twelve a.m..”
Bonita shook her head in disappointment and leaned her head against the back of the bench. The group was running late again. Didn’t the activities director realize that Bonita’s time was important? She had to arrange transportation, practice her repertoire, and pack her tote bag.
Bonita folded her arms in front of her chest and was just about to check the time again when the sound of footsteps and voices rushed toward her. She slid to the floor and picked up her tote bag. “About time,” she whispered.
Her eyes downcast, she followed the group into the activities room and went to the piano. Running her hand over the newly polished ivory keys, she checked to make sure her special piano bench was in place, and it was. With no hesitation or introduction, she positioned herself in front of the piano and closed her eyes.
Bonita struggled with the written word and she could barely write her name, but when her stout fingers began to caress the keys of that activity room piano, it was nothing short of divine.
Many of the nursing home residents were familiar with Bonita and the music she created, but as always, there were a few experiencing her performance for the first time. The copper bobby pin in her hair threatened to break loose as Bonita tilted her head in perfect sync with the music, and her hands once again breathed life into the old piano.
Within forty-five rapid minutes, Bonita had finished her repertoire. The audience broke into applause and from the back of the room, a gentleman clad in a dark green sweater stood to his feet and shrilly whistled his approval into the crowd. Bonita turned on the piano bench, her sapphire eyes wide open. She stood to her feet and curtsied; her fingers clutching the brown material of her simple dress as her left leg crossed behind her right. She made her exit then, the black tote bag at her side.
As the door closed soundlessly behind her, she once again touched the button on her talking watch. The synthetic voice, her dependable and constant companion, announced the time: “Eleven o’Clock a.m.” And for the first time, in a long time, Bonita smiled.
Belinda Wilcox Ouellette lives in Connor with her husband, Dale, and their Goldendoodle, Barney Rubble. You may contact Belinda online at dbwouellette@ maine.rr.com.
