“Have you fed Wyomma?”
-
I was the new girl at the nursing home. No one liked me right off the bat. I had caught one of the CNA’s trying to lift a resident by themselves. There were bruises on the resident’s arms where I could tell that it was a normal occurrence.
I reported the CNA and they were fired.
Apparently, he was everyone’s favorite coworker.
It wasn’t personal to me, but it was personal to everyone else. They made sure I was going to pay for what I did to their friend.
Three days later, I was asked to feed Wyomma.
-
She had a room all to herself at the end of the east hall. It was always kept dimly lit by a lamp in the corner of the room. One of the nurses told me that she had a reaction to sunlight and the overhead fluorescent lighting, although she did not elaborate on what that reaction might be.
She was basically catatonic. The type of resident that we just fed and watered.
-
She was a choker. Even her water had to have a thickening additive so she wouldn’t choke to death as it went down.
I was given a bowl with some kind of mush and a cup of water that was almost the same consistency as her food.
I hadn’t met her yet, her door was always closed. I knocked before I went in, not because she would even know I was there, but out of habit.
Aside from the lighting, the room looked like every other room in the home. Wyomma was a small old woman.
She was propped up, staring at an episode of The Price Is Right with dead eyes.
Her eyes were the largest feature on a face with an upturned nose and a wide thin mouth. Her lips looked like two dried worms, one stacked on the other, with large raw splits along the lengths of them.
They glistened in the light from the television. I was told to make sure to apply some lip balm on them after I was finished feeding her.
Her hair was nothing more than thin gray strands that came to an end on her bony shoulders.
I couldn’t get over her eyes. Even from a distance, they looked like fish eyes.
I closed the door behind me just as I was told, and I sat next to her. I placed the food on the side table and I introduced myself. I had always thought that even the most unresponsive residents deserve the respect of an introduction. I always thought it important because what if they were still in there?
I continued on, briefly telling her about myself. I scanned around the room. There was nothing personal.
No pictures.
No drawings from grandchildren.
No cards.
Nothing.
I pulled the drawer of the nightstand. There was a bible and a strip of heavy black cloth.
-
I gave her a drink before I started feeding her. When the straw hit her lips, they wrapped themselves around it and she began to suck.
Nothing else about her seemed alive. I was only going to give her a sip, but she very quickly sucked down the whole cup. Her eyes, unfocused, still staring in the direction of the television.
I put the cup down and grabbed the bowl. I put a half spoon full of the mush up to her lips, and they moved around the spoon like angry ravenous things.
There was so much life in those greasy, cracked lips that were set in a motionless face, it made me feel uncomfortable. Like she was one of those types of predators that lays completely still on the bottom of the ocean for hours until its prey comes along.
I shook my head, trying to get the thought out of my mind, and looked down to scoop more mush out of the bowl. When I looked back up, Wyomma was staring at me.
It made me jump.
Her body and her face had not moved a centimeter, but her large glassy eyes were on me, and they were moving.
Looking me up and down, taking in every detail.
It took me a second to calm myself, but those eyes stayed on me.
I continued to feed her.
There was life in her eyes, but they were cold. I don’t know how else to describe it.
-
When I was finished, I wiped off her mouth. She watched me the entire time.
When I rubbed the lip balm on her lips, they wriggled under my touch. Even though I was wearing gloves, I still felt queasy as I felt them under my fingers.
-
That night, I kept tossing and turning. I was having nightmares, but when I woke up, I couldn’t remember any of them.
-
The next day, my supervisor had me feed Wyomma again. She had a smirk on her face when she told me.
It was the same as the day before.
She was motionless, until I started feeding her.
Those eyes kept scanning over me.
Those lips kept quivering.
I woke up the next morning in a tangled knot of sweat soaked sheets.
I almost felt like calling in sick because I was so exhausted.
Later that day, when I went into Wyomma’s room, something was different.
Her eyes were following me before I even fed her. I did my best not to look at them.
That’s when I saw something else.
Her upturned nose was flaring. It looked like she was smelling me.
-
I asked several other CNA’s if they’d ever had the same experiences with Wyomma. They all laughed at me. Some told me I was being ridiculous. A couple said I should quit. One of them only answered me with an eyeroll and the word “bitch” as she walked away.
I knew I had to find another job, but I had to keep the one I had until that happened.
-
Weeks went by and I had no leads on a new job. I began to feel sick all the time. I would feel better on my days off, but for some reason, something in my head made me anxious. Something in my head desperately wanted to go back to work.
The nightmares continued, but I could never remember any of them.
It got to the point that when it came time to feed Wyomma, I felt like a copilot in my own brain. I would walk in the room and I could see her nostrils flare and then those eyes would find me.
I started to develop some kind of a rash on my left hand. Red spots and small pustules were forming.
It itched.
When I went to the doctor, he told me it was something called palmoplantar pustulosis. He told me to quit smoking and gave me medication, but nothing helped. It kept getting worse.
The pustules and spots were beginning to make their way up the inside of my forearm.
As the days went on, I kept feeling worse and worse. I kept feeding Wyomma.
Sometimes, I would find myself in her room when I was supposed to be doing something else.
-
Two weeks ago, I had a day off. I was shut up inside of my apartment running a fever. I had an overwhelming urge to go down to the home. I couldn’t shake it. I looked at the clock, and it was almost time for Wyomma’s feeding.
I got in my car and drove to work. I came in the back door to try and avoid being seen.
When I walked to Wyomma’s room, the door was open.
Benny, the new kid, was inside feeding Wyomma. My heart jumped at what I saw.
“Hi Benny.”
“Oh. Hey Alice. I thought it was your day off.”
“It is. I uh… I just came in to get something out of my locker. What is that?” I pointed to the black cloth that was wrapped around Wyomma’s head and over her eyes.
“What?”
“The blindfold?”
“Oh. They told me to never feed her without having that on. I guess it has something to do with her condition? It triggers it somehow. I don’t know, they didn’t really explain it.”
Wyomma’s nostrils were flaring. She could smell me. I could see those large eyes twitching under the black blindfold. She was looking for me.
I wanted to sit next to her.
“Alice? Are you sick? You look awful.”
-
The next day at work, I did my best to stay alert.
It was hard. I felt half awake; feverish. My hand and wrist were itching like crazy. I wanted to go into her room, but I resisted until it was time to feed her.
I had a plan.
When I went inside, I didn’t look at her. I kept my eyes on
the floor. I put down her bowl and cup, grabbed the bible out of the night stand, and walked over to her television. I used the bible to prop up my phone, so I could film myself while I fed her. I know it’s unethical, but I didn’t care.
Then I looked at her, and everything else was a blur.
When I left the room, the cloud lifted somewhat, and I remembered that I left my phone behind.
I went back into the room to get it, I wouldn’t look at her.
I really wanted to.
-
I went home later that night and sat in the shower, trying to wake myself out of the stupor. It was time to look at the feeding.
I turned the video on.
When I turned toward Wyomma, my body went rigid and I sat down next to her.
The video was dark and covered in shadows, but I could see well enough.
My eyes were locked onto hers while she drank and ate her bowl of mush.
Nothing looked strange, other than the fact that my eyes looked dead and my movements were robotic.
When I finished feeding her, I placed the bowl back on the nightstand and stood over her.
I pulled the glove off of my left hand.
I put my index finger towards her face, and those glistening greedy lips wrapped themselves around it.
My face was stone. I was in a trance.
I watched myself stand there, while her lips pulled down and down on my finger while it went down her throat. Her eyes never leaving mine.
Within seconds, her wide thin lips got wider and she had sucked my hand inside of her mouth to my wrist and up to my forearm.
I could see her throat bulging as my hand went further down her gullet.
I stood there for seven minutes while she sucked and her lips puckered around my arm.
Then, her lips started to push my arm out of her mouth. My hand was covered in some kind of brown residue.
In the video, I walked to the bathroom and scrubbed the residue off with soap and water.
I walked like a robot over to the box of gloves by the door and replaced the one I had taken off.
I grabbed the bowl and cup, and then I left the room.
Wyomma’s eyes were on me the whole time.
The video kept going.
After a few moments, I came back into the room and grabbed my phone.
-
I haven’t gone back. Even though it’s starting to fade, I can still feel her in my head, calling me back to the nursing home.