By that next morning, which was a Saturday, I knew the whole damn story by heart. Since no one had to go to the sheltered workshop, Kate Anderson-Malloy had written me a note in the log that said they all could sleep in till 8. I made a big breakfast, to let them know I was an okay chick. I mean, the works. Now that I'm a full-time shift supervisor, lead direct care in fact, I just put out the boxes of cereal and gallons of milk and they go at it. But that first morning, I made waffles and heated up the syrup in the microwave, had some sausage patties that I also nuked. Full glasses of juice and paper napkins, picnic-type dinette table set, like the Waltons were about to come down and eat. It was ready around 7:45 that morning and no one was up, so I got antsy and went down the hall again, like the warden who makes breakfast.
When I woke up Tom A., he looked at me like the way I'm sorry, this sounds pretty awful like the way my cat does. Lonesome inside, without the capability to explain, and yet also relieved that he was off the hook from having to tell me anything. In fact he smiled at me, and I said, "Why, aren't you chipper!"
I almost added, as a joke, "Looks like you got some last night."
But I didn't.
He sat up. His belly hung down quite a bit. He had a boyish face though. I noticed on his back all those cigar scars. He walked over to me and put his hand out, like a gentleman in a silent movie.
I shook it. He let out this huge scream that about killed my ears.
"Thanks," I said.
I went and got Sally, this little woman with Down's Syndrome who may have had Alzheimer's too. She was in her canopy bed in her pink bedroom that's the way her sister painted it for her. She had on a pink flannel nightgown and looked like a melted doll in a playhouse.
I got Damon, a black guy with a big head that had water inside it. He had a pump installed in his skull that kept the water from drowning out his brain. I knew all this stuff from Kate Anderson-Malloy and from the files. I knew Damon used to live with his prostitute mother and she used to sell him out to freaks. He was very quiet and could only say, "Mona Lisa."
Got Larry up. He talked too much. Soon as he was up, he started gabbing.
"Hello. You're new here. You're name is what? May I ask what?"
His eyes were open great big. He was sitting on a rocking chair in his room with posters of big-breasted women hung on the walls with black electrical tape. Tall and bony with a big bald head and very red lips.
"Anita," I said.
"We ain't going out anywhere today," he said, looking out the window. You could totally tell he hated going outside.
"Okay," I said. "I made breakfast for you."
He turned his head toward me and clapped his hands in an exaggerated, almost sarcastic way, but his voice seemed for real. "How nice," he said. "Don't smoke around me. I have asthma."
I said okay.
Tom B. was the last one, as his room was at the end. There was Michael Jordan staring at me. His door opened as soon as I got there, and he was in a pair of dress pants and a wrinkled mint green dress shirt, feet in brown vinyl slippers. He looked uptight and yet really wanting to please. His eyes still had sleep in them. I saw him from last night, naked, going down on Tom A.
"Breakfast is ready," I said.
"Tanks," he said. Speech impediment.
"You're welcome."
His smile was unnerving, shaky around the edges, and it almost made me angry at him.
"Tanks berry much," he said, and then started walking toward the kitchen.
I followed behind him. All of the retarded people were seated at the picnic table now, and the shock on all their faces almost made me burst out crying. It was like Thanksgiving with breakfast food. I know I'm sounding like some sentimental idiot, so I won't go on, but they really loved what I'd done, and it had been a while since I got that kind of reaction from anybody.
"Look at dis Tommy," Tom B. said to Tom A. "Look what she did fow us."
Tom A. smiled bigger. He grabbed his fork in one hand and his knife in the other, like any minute, any minute.
"Mona Lisa," Damon said, his voice very low. "Mona. Lisa."
having to tell me anything. In fact he smiled at me, and I said, "Why, aren't you chipper!"
