An Adventure for Dentures Read online

  An Adventure for Dentures

  By Zoë Burton

  Text copyright © 2015 Zoë D Burton

  All Rights Reserved

  “Good morning,” said the nurse. She walked over to the window and opened the blinds, letting the fresh light of the sun glow inside. Drake’s music video, “Worst Behavior,” was blaring from the television.

  “Mr. Clark, I know you’re tired, but you have to take your medication at 8:00 sharp.” She filled up a cup with water from the sink in the corner, turned off the television, and set the cup on the table next to his bed. A low buzz took over the room as the nurse stood patiently waiting for Mr. Clark to get up. She shook his shoulder thinking that he hadn’t heard her since his eyes were still closed and unresponsive.

  “Mr. Clark, I have your meds,” she said growing concerned. His dark skin gleamed in the sunlight looking healthy and moisturized. She walked to the other side of his bed and grabbed his wrist feeling around for a pulse. It wasn’t unusual to find one of the residents in the nursing home deceased, but it didn’t happen often. The nurse checked his other wrist and still had no sign of life. After finally realizing Mr. Clark wasn’t asleep, she frantically picked up her pager.

  Code Blue on floor two. Code Blue, blared all over the home.

  She moved aside anything that might be in the way of a crash cart, but one didn't come in. Confused and nervous, she picked up her pager again to call for Code Blue but no one showed up. Mr. Clark wasn’t even on the DNR (Do Not Resuscitate) list, as far as she knew.

  "Hey, I need a crash cart in here, guys!" she yelled as she ran to the door. She saw that other doctors and staff were casually walking in the hall completing their morning runs. It didn't make any sense, though; a man was dying and they weren't following protocol. The nurse abruptly grabbed the shoulder of a doctor cruising by.

  "Are you deaf?" she asked. "Do you not hear the alert that all of y'all have failed to respond to?"

  The doctor looked at her and looked past her, holding back a smile.

  "I'm sorry. I just. . . I can't." The doctor burst into laughter and stumbled away, barely containing himself.

  "I don't see what's funny about a man dying," she called after him.

  "Another one bites the dust," a voice behind the nurse said.

  A jolt of fear made her jump as she turned around to see who it was.

  "I'll have you-- holy ship wreck, Mr. Clark!" she said putting her hand over her heart as if that would slow down the beating. A clatter of laughter broke out from a group of young staff that was watching the scene in the hall. Mr. Clark strolled up to them receiving high fives, pats on the back, and fist bumps.

  “Not bad pops!” one of them said.

  “Hey, just trying to keep up with this new generation,” Mr. Clark chuckled.

  Meanwhile, the nurse was still standing in the doorway frozen with confusion. It was unclear if she was turning red because of frustration, or embarrassment. Mr. Clark turned back to face the nurse.

  “Oh, relax Liza,” he said. “I’m getting everyone lunch later, go ahead and add your order to forget about today.”

  Liza stared at him in utter amazement and Mr. Clark stared back wondering what the problem was.

  “What?” he asked.

  “And y’all were in on this. . . this mess?” she asked pointing her finger at the group of staff standing behind Mr. Clark. They gave each other looks of discomfort and unease as smiles slowly started to fade away. It was just a little prank, and Liza was taking the whole thing out of proportion.

  “Liza, come on. . .” someone said, but she just shook her head, turned around, and went back into Mr. Clark’s room to finish her routine.

  “We’re still on for later,” Mr. Clark said to the staff as he promptly followed Liza into the room. When he got in there the bed was made, some Polident was dissolving in a glass of water, and Liza was filling out a chart.

  “You couldn’t possibly be resentful about this?” he asked cheekily. She finished filling out her chart and started walking out the room, but Mr. Clark stopped her.

  “Hey, lighten up kiddo -”

  Liza cut him off, “Do you remember what happened to the boy who cried wolf?”

  “It’s not tha-”

  “Do you remember what happened to the boy?” she asked again. Mr. Clark could see the mix of anger and agitation in her eyes.

  “I didn’t mean to offend you, jeopardize your job, or anything like that,” he chuckled. “I’m sorry for having a little fun.”

  Liza gave Mr. Clark a discerning look. “I don’t have a problem with you having fun, it’s just I. . .” she took a moment to process what she was trying to say. “I don’t need my father figure fake dying as if death is frivolous and fine. This is a nursing home and you are 83 years old, not 23! People, old people, die here every day,” she shook her head at him and exhaled. “All I’m saying is don’t take advantage of things that are important to you and, it is 8:23; you need to take your meds.”

  Mr. Clark grabbed the pills sitting on the table while Liza poured him a glass of water. Silence filled the room and they could hear the murmur of everything else around them. A sprinkler watering plants outside was gently splashing up against the only window in the room, there was a monitor periodically beeping in the room across the hall, and an employee down in the commons was calling bingo numbers for the early bird group.

  “I’ll be back later to check up on you. Enjoy your day,” Liza said dryly.

  After she left, Mr. Clark picked up his favorite book, Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, and headed outside. Every chance he got, Mr. Clark went outdoors for hours on end. Indiana Jones and the sunshine were the only two things keeping his sense of adventure alive and going. Before he was thrown into a nursing home by all three of his children two years ago, every month, he and his wife, would go on a cruise somewhere different. They had visited over 35 countries before she passed away from cardiovascular disease. Mr. Clark kept the necklace she wore all the time to use as a bookmark. It had her name on it: Mabel Evelyn Clark.

  From day one at the nursing home, Liza had been Mr. Clark's nurse. She reminded him of a younger version of Mabel and his only daughter who sends him cards with money every other holiday. It made Mr. Clark lonely when she distanced herself from him like Liza was doing that whole week after the tomfoolery he pulled on her. Typically Liza would find some activity to participate in with Mr. Clark, whether it was a game of chess, badminton, or researching for fun, but none of that was happening now, and Mr. Clark thought that he had really messed up, big time.

  Each day Liza came in, did what she had to do, and left. She only had to say his name one time and he was awake, just like old times.

  Early Friday morning, Liza walked into Mr. Clark's room, per usual, but he was already awake and moving about. His movements were frantic and repetitive. For whatever reason he kept putting his hand up to his mouth, and then he'd point at something and move towards it.

  "Good morning Mr. Clark," Liza said with hesitation. Mr. Clark reeled around as soon as he heard her voice.

  "Okay, I'm porwie. I know pwha I did pwas pwrong, but pwhis isn't pwunny!" he said.

  Liza looked at his mouth and started bugging up. She barely understood a word and just could not compose herself.

  "Poh come pon! Giveph pme ma pwteeh!" he slurred.

  Tears were coming out of Liza's eyes from laughing so hard; she had never seen Mr. Clark without his teeth in and now she knew why.

  "Okay, okay," she said between laughs. "I forgive you. Just put your teeth back in, I can't handle this! Aha."

  "I pwill pwhen you giveph pwthem bawk!" he said.

  Liza continued cracking up for another solid m
inute before snapping back to reality.

  "Hate to break it to you, but I don't have your teeth," she said. "Usually they're in your mouth by the time I get in here." She looked around a bit in the medicine cabinets and extra drawers where things are kept, but didn't find anything. Even his glass of Polident was missing.

  "I'll call the custodian crew to see if they find any-"

  "No!" said Mr. Clark. "I phant phave people peeing me phike pwthis."

  "Well I don't know how else you're going to find them," she said and went right back to laughing.

  “Psomeone pole ma pwteeth!” he yelled.

  “And I thought you were being senile,” she said.

  "Fokay, four done. Phit outh," he said.

  “Don’t forget to take your pills, it’s 8:00.” Liza left the room laughing all the way down the hall. Mr. Clark had no clue how to start or where to go. All morning he had been backtracking to try to get an idea as to what could have happened. Someone stole his most prized possession, and he had to get it back. He sat down on the corner of his bed and contemplated all his options. The sky was grey, rain was trampling down, and not as many people were roaming the halls as usual. Mr. Clark looked at his dresser and then his little table next to his bed where he kept his glass of Polident, a blue case for his dentures, and his favorite book.

  “Phat’s fit!” he said out loud.

  He picked up his favorite book, Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. It no longer was an easy read, but a symbol of what he would be fighting for. Some Nazi took one of the most important things to him and he had to get it back. Mr. Clark scampered over to his closet, changed into something wearable, and grabbed his brown hat. He was going to search every inch of this nursing home until he found his teeth.

  “Good morning, Mr. Clark” and “hello’s” followed him all the way down the hallway. Mr. Clark decided to go where he knew he would find other residents at this time in the morning: the commons.

  As soon as he walked in, a waft of bacon and maple syrup hit his nose. The early bird group was setting up for bingo, and the chef was loading up the buffet table. Mr. Clark looked around the room, noticing one gray-haired, wrinkly man sitting at a table in the back by himself. He had a newspaper, a plate of food, and a little container sticking out of his pocket. When he saw Mr. Clark staring at him, they exchanged looks for what seemed like an hour. All Mr. Clark did was take one step towards him and that wrinkly man was gone.

  “Hey!” Mr. Clark shouted after him. Immediately he focused in on that man and went after him hobbling as fast as his brittle legs could carry him. They weaved in and out of tables until they were out of the commons, and in the courtyard. The man knocked down two old ladies and messed up a shuffleboard game trying to escape. Mr. Clark stopped for a hot second to make sure the ladies were okay.

  “Why thank you handsome,” one of them said and Mr. Clark gave a toothless smile in return, but he didn’t have time for such flirtatious distractions. For a moment he thought he lost the wrinkly fiend, as he opened the door that led him to a hall with elevators.

  Ding. One of the elevator doors opened and he saw a wrinkly man dressed in a doctor’s coat. Together they both stepped onto the elevator, acting casual.

  “What floor?” the man asked.

  “You phirst,” Mr. Clark replied. He could hear the man’s breathing start to pick up over the soft elevator music. From the corner of his eye he saw the man fidgeting with something in his pocket and it was the container he saw earlier. When the elevator doors opened, the old man whipped out a cane and swung it at Mr. Clark’s head. Luckily, anyone could’ve dodged a swing that slow and it missed. Before the wrinkly man could escape, Mr. Clark tackled him down. The man punched Mr. Clark in the face, but that only created more frustration. Some nurses and staff ran over once they heard the scuffle. It took five of them to pull Mr. Clark off of the old, gray-haired, wrinkly man.

  “Phat pastard’s phot ma pwteeth!” he said, “Ma pwteeth!”

  Mr. Clark escaped the grasp of the nurses holding him back and nailed the old man in the side.

  “Ahhh, my hip!” the wrinkled man screamed.

  “Alright that’s enough,” one of the nurse’s said. “What is going on here?”

  “Pee’s phot, oh Jesus.” Mr. Clark put his hand on his chest. “Pee’s phot ma, ma pwteeth and pee knows pit. Phew,” he wiped some sweat off of his forehead.

  The wrinkly man threw the container at Mr. Clark; it was blue just like he guessed.

  “I ain’t ever doing nothing for no young woman ever again,” the wrinkly man said while rubbing his face.

  “Pwhat young pwoman?” Mr Clark asked.

  “She gave me that container and told me to run when I saw you. . . I didn’t think you’d try to kill me; plus, there was free fruitcake involved.”

  As soon as the man said that, Mr. Clark got back on the elevator and stormed up to his room with his container in hand. On the ride up, he opened his blue container, but there were no teeth inside, just a note that had the word ‘Polident’ on it.

  When he got back to his room, Mr. Clark opened the medicine cabinet and pulled out the last box of Polident that was in there. Inside the box was another note.

  Missing something?

  "Pizzzaaa! Piza! Pizza!" Mr. Clark yelled. He did that for about a minute before he waltzed out into the hall and stopped the first person he saw.

  "'Cuse me, proctor, phave you spleen Piza?" He asked.

  "I'm sorry, what?" the doctor said confused.

  "Phave. You. Spleen. Piza?" Mr. Clark steadily asked again.

  "I'm sure you can check with the chef, but I don't think today's pizza day."

  Mr. Clark walked away no longer interested in what the doctor had to say. He needed to find Liza and he needed to do it fast. No one could understand him, people were pulling his leg, and, quite frankly, he was getting tired of all the running around. Liza was a traitor and now she’s being cowardly, hiding from him, but Mr. Clark wasn’t anywhere near giving up. Hope was still alive and he was going to find her. Mr. Clark stopped at the water fountain before getting back on the move. Sweat was trickling down his face and his breathing had become strenuous.

  Once again, Mr. Clark was back at the elevator headed to floor two, the staff lounge. Since there were so many residents in the nursing home, they felt the need to dedicate a whole wing to the staff. Residents were allowed in the wing because that’s also where the rooftop garden is kept. Even if Mr. Clark didn’t find Liza, he would be able to ask around and get legitimate answers. As Mr. Clark exited the elevator, he was immediately greeted and was asked if he needed any assistance. Since he was trying to avoid talking, he just shook his head no. Finding Liza wasn’t going to be easy, though. Just about every female nurse who was on the floor had pink and floral scrubs, their hair pulled back, and brown eyes. When he saw a nurse headed for the garden with a pencil in her ear, Mr. Clark knew that had to be Liza. He followed her down the dimly lit corridor to the garden. Mist covered his face as he entered the area. It was like an organized jungle filled with exotic plants, grasses, and even some trees. Mr. Clark had only been in there two other times and wasn’t an expert with the navigation when he got in there. Even though his footsteps were the only ones echoing throughout the space, he knew he wasn’t the only one in there. Nurses always wore tennis shoes or clogs; silent, comfy, and deadly.

  “Mr. Clark,” a voice behind him said. He took a step forward in surprise, causing him to trip over a hose that was lying on the ground. Mr. Clark stuck his hand out to brace for impact, but hit his head on the way down. He could feel little drops of blood trickling down the back of his neck.

  “Poh great,” he huffed. When he looked up he saw Liza standing in front of him with her arms crossed, but slowly she started to fade away until he blacked out.

  “Mr. Clark, hey,” she slapped his cheek lightly to get him to open his eyes, but they didn’t open. “Mr. Clark!” Liza pulled out her pager and called for the emergency
medical team.

  “Can I get a medical team in the garden,” she said. “It’s Mr. Clark and I’m for real this time.”

  A medical team arrived shortly after her call and took Mr. Clark away on a stretcher. Once he got stitched up and bandaged, they sent him back to his room to rest. Hours went by before he woke up, and Liza was constantly pacing around. Every 30 minutes she would check on him. When the pacing became too much, Liza checked out in a chair right by Mr. Clark’s bedside. It wasn’t until the morning sun blaring through the window that Mr. Clark finally woke up. As soon as he saw Liza’s face he was filled with rage.

  “Liza!” he yelled.

  Liza snapped up and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes before realizing who was talking to her.

  “Hey, you’re finally up,” she said. “I should’ve known you’d wake up at the crack of dawn.”

  “You got some nerve being all butterflies and beavers pullin’ a stunt on me like that,” he said. “You know good and well that I’m sensitive when it comes to my tee-” Mr. Clark stopped and put his hand up to his mouth to feel inside. “Hey, my teeth are back!”

  “Yeah, I know…” Liza muttered.

  “What’s this rough stuff on them? Why do they feel a little rough?” he pounded.

  “First of all,” she said, “about a month ago, you requested a grill be added to your dentures because you wanted to be, how did you put it, ‘more hip.’”

  Mr. Clark just looked at her and sat there speechless. He was expecting a more sympathetic answer, but this was an unexpected curveball.

  To avoid making any further conversation, he turned on the TV to some music videos. Drake's “Worst Behavior” began to blare from the television screen. Liza looked at Mr. Clark then she looked at the television.

  "Seriously?" she asked with an eyebrow raised. Liza shook her head then walked out of the room.

  For the next few hours, Mr. Clark laid in bed resting, but after a while he couldn't take the containment anymore and decided to take his favorite book with him outside. On his way through the commons, he saw the older lady he had helped out the day before and made sure to flash a smile at her with his new teeth. A few of her lady friends giggled when he did.