Snakes hung in the tree, waiting to catch the sparrows. Virginia Jacobs was
certain the birds were in danger.
“Knock, knock, Mrs. Jacobs, your lunch is here.” Rosa sat the tray on the over-
bed table.
“You’re just in time.” Virginia raised a feeble arm towards the window. “The
snakes are back.”
Rosa filled her brows. “The snakes again?”
“Yes, now shoo away the birds, hurry.”
Rosa stood, looking at her. “Please, Rosa.”
“Yes, I must look.”
Rosa placed her delicate hands on the window ledge and lifted her heels off the
floor. “Nada, no creepy things in the tree and we have spoken about those vines.”
“We have?” Virginia rested her head. “You’re the only staff member I trust to
look.”
“And, you say this to all of your helpers,” Rosa said, as she came closer.
“No, Rosa, just to you.”
Her grandson had made her the bird feeder that looked like a red barn. Virginia
turned her head towards the window. “Do the birds have their food?” She asked
in a wavering voice.
“I have never seen them without. Your grandson keeps it full.”
“But won’t you look? Please.”
Rosa sighed and went to the window. “Yes, they have food and so do you.” She
returned to the bedside.
Virginia lifted her head an inch from her pillow. “Rosa, did you notice if there was
a mess on the ground? The gardener will complain again to that administrator,
and he’ll have my bird feeder taken away.”
Rosa placed her hands on her narrow hips. “You know your grandson keeps it
nice.”
“Please, Rosa, it’ll just take a second.”
Rosa returned to the window, “No mess today, Mrs. Jacobs,” then came to her
bedside.
Rosa stroked her head. “You have beautiful hair and your eyes are so blue.”
“Please don’t tell anyone about the snakes. They’ll give me more medication, and
you know how it dries my mouth.”
Rosa leaned close and whispered, “This will be our secret.” She removed the
silver lid, exposing mounds of pureed food, one red, one green, and one white.
“Look, your favorites, lasagna, green beans, and garlic bread.”
“If you have time, will you—“
“Shape them? Yes, Momma. I will just for you.”
Rosa took a butter knife and flattened the red mound, then she squared it and
scalloped the edges. The green glob she also flattened but thinner than the
lasagna. She made individual strips, separated them, and made French cuts on
each of the ends. She created a baguette from the garlic-bread goo.
Taking a warm, damp washcloth, Rosa gently grasped Virginia’s right wrist and
soothed her hand, rubbing softly between her fingers, one at a time.
Tears welled in Virginia’s eyes. She placed her wrinkled hand atop Rosa’s warm
and smooth skin.
“You’re an angel, Rosa.”
Rosa leaned over kissed her on the forehead, then gazed into her eyes. “No,
Momma, you’re the angel.”
The End
Rosa
(2008) (Unpublished)
A Short Story by Russell Traughber
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