THE THING ABOUT INGRID

The thing about Ingrid, well that happened forty some years ago, was that it was in his past. Where it belonged. The thing about Ingrid today, well that was that she was here in the present, where she didn’t belong, front and center, and coming straight down the hallway right at him. He didn’t want to see her. He looked for an escape route but there was no hallway for him to duck down and get away. In other words there was No Exit from that hell of a choice he had made years ago concerning that woman. But he couldn’t turn back now because he was here to see his wife and being the ever so good husband he wasn’t going home until he had done his marital duty. So he marched on, ever so nonchalantly, best he could anyway, with his head down, and as he passed by her he just nodded, mumbled a barely audible hello, and kept on moving. She likewise acknowledged him with a head nod and a soft hello but unlike him she kept her head up and looked directly at him. When he had gotten a few steps past her he blew out the sigh of relief he had been painstakingly holding in and that’s when he was shot in the back. She called out his name.

“Martin? Martin? Is that really you Martin?”

He had no choice now but to turn around, go back literally and figuratively, face the music, and get this two step dance over with. So with feigned ignorance he confronted her and said, “Yes Ma’am I’m Martin and who might you be Ma’am?”

“Martin, it's me, Ingrid. Don’t you remember. Me Ingrid.”

“Oh Ingrid I’m so sorry. I didn’t recognize you. After all, it's been forty some years now hasn’t it?”

He didn’t want to relive his past with her so he hurriedly blurted out, “So what are you doing here anyway? One of your parents here?”

“No, they both passed away years ago. I’m here to see my husband. He’s got Alzheimer's. What about you? One of you folks here?”

“No, they passed years ago too. My wife is here. She’s got Alzheimers too.”

“How old is she?”

“Seventy five.”

“That’s awfully young to have Alzheimer's."

“Yes I know. How old is your husband?”

“My Paul is eighty six.”

That threw Martin for a loop. He knew that Ingrid was a year younger than him. He was seventy six. He didn't know what to say next. He had expected her to elaborate on the wonderfulness of her husband as women tend to do but she wasn’t looking at him. Instead she was kind of staring off into space as if she was thinking about something. There was a choking silence for the longest time and finally Martin sputtered out, “Well I best be looking in on my wife now. Nice seeing you again Ingrid.”

“Nice seeing you too Martin.”

They parted company and as they went their separate ways Martin couldn’t help but notice a slight grin on Ingrid’s face and he was nonplussed by that.

“Well that wasn’t that so bad after all, was it now,” thought Martin as he continued on his way. At least she didn’t lay into me. Thank God we’re here in a nursing home with people all around. Yet somehow despite it all he had been pleasantly surprised by her appearance. He had to admit that she did look pretty good for a seventy five year old woman that is. She still had her slim and trim figure. She was stylishly smartly dressed, and wore, he guessed, a real silver necklace of real pearls with a matching likewise real silver bracelet on her wrist, but no wedding ring. Her ever so silver, again with the silver, hair was done up in the latest old lady fashionable look of the day whereas his wife’s hair had gone white on her years ago and was tied up in a bun to keep it out of her face. Yet the most stunning thing about Ingrid was her face. Her face was more chiseled than wrinkled but that was okay because it gave her a rather svelte elegant oh so dignified look not that of a shriveled up little old lady like his wife.

He went into his wife’s room that she shared with a woman who looked to be in her eighties and who also had Alzheimer’s. They were both asleep as usual. No one ever came to see that woman and Martin felt sorry for her because she was about to die all alone in the world all by herself with no one to comfort her before she passed to the other side. He went over to his wife, pulled up the chair next to her bed, and sat down beside her.

“It’s just me Kathy you're loving husband of forty three years,” he said in a joking sort of way, that being his pathetically weak attempt at trying to brush aside the seriousness of all of this.

Never once had his wife been awake when he came to see her in the last month or so. Months before when she was still conscious she had quit talking. And long before that, when she did talk, it was just gobbledygook and made no sense at all. So he always responded in kind which seemed to satisfy her and ended the conversation. Nevertheless despite all that, he still continued to make his one sided conversations with her and tell her how their daughter was doing in Arizona, though he hadn’t spoken to their daughter in months, and he kept her up to date about the neighbors, aunts, uncles, other relatives, friends, anyone just to avoid the ominous deadly silence that pervaded this downhearted, oh so glum, House of Pre-Death. He knew it was an exercise in futility but he ritualistically did it anyway out of love and devotion to this woman who had loved, and cared for him all these years. And besides that this was his way of passing the time rather than sit there in silence and feel sorry for her because she had been robbed of the last few years of her life. He took her hand and held it ever so gently in his as he always did. Her hand was always limp and cold but this time it seemed limper and colder than yesterday. Its coldness rekindled a chill down his spine. He shook it off. He knew that there were only days left now and then what would he do? He would be all alone in the world then just like the woman next to his wife. Like her no one would come visit him when it was his turn to lie and die here. He too would be all alone in the world. His siblings all were deceased. Their kids didn't live around here anymore. He knew his daughter would never come see him. She never did. She always had some excuse. The real reason being that she didn’t want to come all the way back to the frozen tundra of Minnesota from the desert heat of Arizona. She always told him, “Well Dad you know how the real estate business is and especially so here in Arizona where the market is hot. You got to mine it for all its worth while it's hot. You taught me that when I worked for you, remember.”

That was the stab in back that always killed the conversation and he had given her the knife.

Martin squeezed his wife’s hand a little harder. Then quickly loosened it for fear that he might be hurting her. He bent over and kissed her on her forehead. He missed her so terribly much and especially at night sleeping alone with no one to cuddle with. No one to keep him warm. No one to nudge and say to in the middle of the night, “Wake up Dear. You’re snoring again. Roll over.”

Well, his time was up. He wiped his tears away, got up, and went out into the hallway. He didn’t fear running into Ingrid again because she obviously had been leaving when he ran into her before. But that meant her husband was here somewhere. So in order to hopefully avoid any future contact with her he began looking at the name tags on the doors up and down the hallway and finally found her husband Paul Telleen. He was the only Paul there, just six doors down from his wife on the opposite side of the hall. Another Swede like herself. Another Swede just like me thought Martin.

Years ago in his twenties he had dated Ingrid a few times. But that came to an abrupt end when she rejected his advances and maybe, perhaps, he had to admit that he had overdone it a bit. But after all he was a young man then and his hormones were raging and rising among other things. Anyway they were watching TV at his place then and they had had a couple of beers. He got his courage up and made his move. She evidently was not in the mood for the move and got up and left his apartment without a word. Well be that way then he thought as she slammed the door shut. I’ll just take somebody else to the concert. He had bought two rather expensive tickets to a rock concert which he planned to take her to, a concert that she had strongly hinted at that they should go to. So out of spite he never ever called her again and though he tried to get someone else to take to the concert, he never got anyone because whoever he asked thought he was two-timing Ingrid. Oh well these things happen he said to himself back then. Forget it and move on with your life. Que sera, sera. After all, you only go around once. You only got one life to live. Might as well live it to the fullest.

He made a note of the time and decided not to come at ten a.m. any more, his regular visiting hour, because that’s when Ingrid would be here.

The next day he came closer to noon and as he walked by Ingrid’s husband’s room the door was shut. He didn’t know whether that meant she was in there with him or the door was kept closed as per nursing home policy when no one was visiting. So he went on to his wife’s room and closed his door. He followed his routine, held her hand, kissed her on her forehead, talked to her a little, and then he broke down and started silently sobbing. Finally he pulled himself together, got up, turned around to leave, and that’s when he noticed she wasn’t there. His wife’s roommate wasn’t there and it bothered him that he hadn’t noticed that when he first came in. But what bothered him even more was that he couldn't, for the life of him, remember the woman’s name. Oh God, now I’m getting Alzheimer’s too, he thought, and I’ve got no one to take care of me just like her. Whoever she was. It was past noon now. He heard and felt his stomach rumble and grumble his clue that he was supposed to be hungry. He had forgotten how late it was. So rather than go home as usual and fix himself a tasteless, God knows what type of meat, bologna sandwich, he decided that he’d go to Maria's, the Mexican restaurant just around the corner. He had eaten there a few times before when he ran late and he liked the place. He’d stop and treat himself to some spicy Mexican food first, have a beer, and then go home. So he kissed his wife goodbye and promised her he’d be back tomorrow to see her as usual and as usual, he got no response.

He opened the door and furtively peered down the hallway. The door to Paul Telleen’s room was still closed. Time to make his move. He closed the door behind him, started down the hallway, and when he was just a few steps from Mr. Telleen’s room, the door suddenly burst open and there stood Ingrid right smack dab in the middle of it. She saw him and hollered out, “Well hello Martin. How nice to see you again.”

Again it was too late now. Again the die had been cast. Again there was no turning back. So again he plodded on again hoping to get this over with again as soon as possible. But as he got to within ten feet of Ingrid, he still hadn’t said anything to her, she suddenly grabbed both sides of the doorway and started to slump as if she was fainting. Ever always the hero Martin rushed to her aid, put his arms around her and caught her before she fell. Little did Martin know that she wasn’t fainting. She was feinting.

“Thank you kind sir,” gasped Ingrid. “I haven’t eaten since noon yesterday. I’ve been so dressed out and all that I forget to eat sometimes. I guess I’m a little weak.”

Martin didn’t know what to say next other than the customary, “Your welcome.”
“If you could just help me to my car I think I can make it home to get something to eat.”

She slumped again. He caught her again.

In this little play of hers it was Martin’s turn to speak next. But he didn’t know his line though he did sense that he was caught up in something. So Ingrid went directly to hers.

“Maybe instead you could help me get to that Mexican restaurant around the corner. I think I should have something to eat before I drive home.”

Martin’s stomach rumbled.
“I think you should too, Martin. You forget to eat too. What do you say? I’ll buy.”

Well thought Martin she stuck me for those tickets years ago. She owes me. Might as well get a free meal out of this. So he made his free, free in the sense that it cost him no money, choice.

“Okay,” he said.

“Thank you. That’s oh so kind of you. You’re always the gentleman now aren’t you Martin?”

“Huh what's with that,” he thought. “I wasn’t a gentleman years ago now was I?”

He walked beside her, his right hand on her left elbow, just to make sure she didn’t fall he rationalized, all the way to Maria’s, and being ever so the gentlemen he held the door open for her as they entered the restaurant. He guided her over to a table and pulled the chair out for her. She sat down and scrunched it forward. He took the chair directly across from her. They picked up their menus.

Rachel, Maria’s twenty something daughter and mother of one, due to a failed relationship, came over to them, pencil and pad in hand.

“Hello Mr. Persson. So nice to see you again.”

“Nice to see you too Rachel.”

Rachel then turned her attention to Ingrid.

“Hello Ma'am,” she said, greeting Ingrid and then looked back at Martin with a look that said what is all this about anyway. I know you’re married. Who is this woman? This ever so attractive, for an old person that is, woman who you're doing lunch with.

He ignored her and pretended to be reading the menu.

She looked back at Ingrid again and in a silent woman to woman eye to eye communication way said to her that she knew what was really going on here.

“What will it be Ma’am?

Ingrid looked at the menu.

“I don’t know,” she said. “It all looks so good. I take it that you've eaten here before Martin. So you order for me. I'm sure you know what’s good here.”

“Okay then,” answered Martin, pushing this whatever she was up to along, wanting to get it over with as soon as possible and go home.

“Two number fours please.”

“And to drink?” asked Rachel.

That’s when Ingrid spoke up and answered for him.

“I’ll have a beer please. You know one of them Mexican beers. You can’t have Mexican food without Mexican beer can you now?”

“Modelo okay?” asked Rachel.

“She’ll have a Modelo and and I’ll have one too,” said Martin anxious to eat and run.

“You got it,” said Rachel and she walked back to her mother in the kitchen and gave her the order.

“God what was I thinking,” thought Martin. “I shouldn't have ordered alcohol for that woman. She’ll probably take it as a sign I’m trying to get her drunk again.”

But it was too late. In two shakes of the proverbial lamb’s tail Rachel brought them the two beers and left after giving Ingrid another woman to woman I know what you’re up to smile.

They both took a sip and said nothing for what seemed like the longest time. So just to make conversation and break the embarrassing silence Martin asked her, “Ingrid don’t you want to know what a number four is?”

“Oh I don’t care,” she said. “All this Mexican food tastes the same to me.”

“But what I do want to know Martin is what you’ve been doing with yourself all these years. I know you married Kathy Anderson. That you two have a daughter Sarah. That she’s not married, has no children, and that she has quite a large, thirty or so agents, real estate agency in Arizona. And that you had your own Persson’s Personal Properties real estate agency with a couple of agents here in St. Paul.”

She had found all this out in the last twenty four hours.

“Well that about sums it all up,” said Martin. Yet he felt obligated to ask the obvious. So out of politeness and for no other reason he forced out, “Tell me all about yourself please. How long have you and Paul been married?”

“Fifteen years. Of course he’s had Alzheimer’s for about two years now.”

A puzzled look came across Martin’s face.

“Oh I know what you’re thinking,” volunteered Ingrid. “Paul’s my third husband. My first husband was a bum. He was cheating on me. The marriage didn’t even last two years. I threw him out with the trash. Then I was single again for a number of years before I married Kyle Hansen. He was an ironworker and we had a hard time making it. He’d work long hours in the summer but he’d be off and draw unemployment during the winter when the construction projects were shut down. We had a daughter, Marianne. She lives here in St. Paul and is an elementary school teacher like I was.”

Martin’s ears perked up on hearing that. She was a teacher. When he had dated her she was working for an accounting firm. He had dated a couple of teachers back in the day and they both had one thing in common. Teachers had to be in control of everything. This was a red flag blowing in the wind.

“She and my two grandkids stop by regularly to check on me now that Paul’s here at The Happy Endings Nursing Home.”

She stopped, her signal for Martin to ask more. He knew it and therefore with no other choice before him said, “May I ask what happened to Kyle.”

“He had a heart attack and died at fifty nine. That’s how I met Paul. He did Kyle’s estate work for me. He’s a partner in Telleen, Telleen, and Swedberg. It’s a big legal firm here in town with over thirty attorneys. Perhaps you’ve heard of them?”

“Yes I have,” answered Martin, knowing she had to drive that point home. Impress him that she had done quite well in choosing her third husband.

“Anyway after Paul’s wife died we got married.”

Though he was dying to know all the details of that relationship, Martin thought it best not to touch it with the proverbial ten foot pole.

Rachel brought them their number fours. Ingrid held up her empty beer bottle signaling for Rachel to bring her another beer. Rachel looked at Martin. He shook his head no. He had more than half a bottle left.

“You sure you don’t want another one Martin?” asked Ingrid.

“No, I don't want another one, Ingrid,” he said forcefully firmly.

“She’s the one trying to get me drunk now," he thought. “Help people and they try to take advantage of you.”

They pretty much ate their meals in silence exchanging just the mundanest and smallest of small talk and when they were finished Ingrid said to him, “Well that was pretty good whatever it was. Good choice Martin. It certainly wasn’t lutefisk. That's for sure.” She forced a giggle and flashed a pearly white teeth coquettish smile at him.

She has all her original teeth thought Martin. His wife had gotten false teeth years ago.

“So you feeling better now that you’ve eaten,” he asked hopefully now finally driving this encounter of the weird kind to a conclusion.

“Yes, much better. Thank you for your help.”

Martin was spared from saying, “You’re welcome,” when Rachel suddenly appeared with the check. Ingrid snatched it and looked for her purse. It wasn't there.

“Oh dear I forgot my purse. I must have left it back at the home. You wait here Martin while I go get it.”

Martin said nothing. After all she said she would buy.

She pushed back her chair and got up. But then she became tipsy and sat herself back down.

“Oh dear. I guess I drank a little too much. I haven’t had anything to drink since I married Paul. He was, I mean he is, a teetotaler. I guess I better sit down for a minute or two.”

Martin wasn’t buying it. Two beers, get drunk, get real.

“Martin,” she said as she reached across the table and put her right hand on his left forearm, “I don’t think I should drive. Would you take me home please? I’ll have my daughter and one of my grandkids get my car for me later.”

She left her hand in place. Martin stared down at it. He didn’t know what to make of this. His wife, and his mother too, were one of those people that had to touch you when they talked to you. He even had a real estate agent, a man, who worked for him who always grabbed him by the elbow and held him in place when he talked to him and another man who always put his hand on your shoulder when he talked to you. So he knew it wasn’t just a woman thing and it didn’t necessarily mean anything. That’s just the way some people are programmed. Maybe Ingrid was just one of those people who had to touch you when she talked to you. But on the other hand she hadn’t touched him until now. So therefore it had to be a come on. But then again, get real, a come on by a seventy five year old woman.

Ingrid blathered on.

“And if maybe you could spend the night. I get so lonely at night that I can hardly take it without breaking down. I so desperately need the touch of a man.”

Martin was appalled. She was after him. He would be Paul’s replacement.

“I can’t Ingrid. I can’t.”

“Oh that’s okay. I just want to cuddle anyway. Besides, they got pills for that.”

“Ingrid what I meant is that I won’t. I won't, not that I can’t.”

In fact he couldn’t. But being a man he wasn't going to admit that and especially to her of all people. But on the other hand he too also missed cuddling. Cuddling at his age was the equivalent of sex.

“For God sakes Ingrid we’re both married. Remember.”

“We’re married in name only Martin. Married only on paper not in fact anymore. Both of our spouses have no idea they’re married or even what it means to be married.”

“But I do Ingrid. I won’t do it. It’s wrong. It’s immoral. Kathy and I have been married for forty three years and before that we were together for two years. I’ve been with that woman for forty five years, forty five years for God sakes. I will not forsake her.”

“Life belongs to the living Martin. We’ve got such little time left. We need to live it. Live it to the fullest. Our spouses would understand.”

“Mine wouldn’t and neither do I.”

“But what about until death do we part? Maybe then?”

Martin got up, took a twenty and a ten out of his billfold, and dropped them on the table.

“There that’ll more than cover it and the tip.”

She had stuck him again. This time for the meal but he was more than glad to pay for it in order to get the hell out of there.

He left and as he walked back to his car he thought to himself, “That’s the thing about Ingrid. Her timing is always off.”

And as Ingrid sat at the table waiting for the change she thought to herself, “That’s the thing about Martin. His timing is always off.”