It was my second day on the ward when Beatrice was admitted. Now of all the many characters on the ward she was one of the most colorful. She was this tiny little old lady. Probably in her late eighties and slightly hunched over with a weird sort of skip to her walk. Not a limp, not a shuffle, a distinct thought the fields of wildflowers skip. And the skip was just the tip of the iceberg that was Beatrice.
She tended to drool as some elderly people do, and she constantly carried this ragged handkerchief with her to mop up the spittle. At least that’s what its intended purpose was. But Beatrice found many uses for that spit soaked handkerchief. Primarily it was used to perform exorcisms.
Beatrice was of the firm belief that every single person on the ward, both patient and staff, was demon possessed. And it was her God given duty to purge us all from our evil. She would ask for a cup of water from the nurse, which they of course gave her. She would then dip that handkerchief in the water and whip it through the air so that it sprayed her intended target with water and whatever other liquid was on that cloth.
A member of the staff would eventually realize that Beatrice was spraying rather than drinking her water and take the Styrofoam cup away from her. Telling her, “Now Ms. B, water is for drinking, remember?”
The process would only repeated an hour later when Beatrice once again asked for a cup of water. Ask and ye shall receive. The staff never seemed to catch on that this was always how events would turn.
But Beatrice’s crowing moment, the event that will leave her etched as a mythical figure to all of us on the ward. The story that we will pass on to grandchildren on our knees in rocking chairs, this truly iconic story took place one day during “exercise” time. Exercise consisted of walking back and forth down the wards hallway, a grand distance of about twenty yards. Rigorous physical activity to be sure.
Our exercise of course needed music, that day’s soundtrack was what very well have been a complication of the very worst songs of the 80s. The music played from a small, cheap CD player that had been set on the counter of the nurse’s station. We passed it with each trip down the hall on our endless march.
This CD player became Beatrice’s greatest enemy. The holy grail of evil spirits. Why it may have been Beelzebub himself who dwelt within it’s plastic casing. With each pass by the device Beatrice would eye it with a look of pure calculation. Sizing up her opponent. Perhaps discussing tactics of vanquishing the beast with God. At last a look of sealed nerves came across that saggy wrinkled face. Her resolve was set. As she turned around and headed towards her enemy she began to pull her handkerchief holding hand back in preparation. Perhaps sending up one last prayer for strength and then…
WHAM!!!!!!
The CD player flew across the room with such force that it shattered against the opposite wall, laying in broken pieces on the floor. The echo of “Tainted Love” still ringing in the now silent hall. Pity, I thought, that was the first decent song to be played.
The staff and patients all stared at the carnage in shock. Trying to comprehend what it was that they had just witnesses, and then someone, we never figured out who it was started a slow clap. Which then erupted into cheers from the inmates.
“Now now, everyone please settle down,” the head nurse called over the applause. “Please calm down!”
Beatrice was beaming. Positively glowing. Radiant with holy splendor. She has completed her mission from God. She was our heavenly warrior. Beatrice Slayer of Demons and Power Ballads.
Best last line ever.
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