When Harry Met Sally--SCRATCH..When Betty Remet Larry

It's late Thursday afternoon. Right after I woke up, it came to me. I needed some action. I'm talkin' some mighty wrist action. (Mind out of the gutter here, people). Wrist action = overly excessive waving and greeting by me, betty, yours truly. What do you think of when you think 5:30 p.m.? Time to start fixin some grub, catch the daily news, lil nappy nap nap..or something of the sorts??? You know what I think? I get all tingly inside and gooey feeling with a fist pumped scream, "IT's GERI TIME." Time to get to the street. Time to embrace my sweet street geris.

Now there are all kinds of geris out there...hospital geris, rehab geri babies, my singing dementia geris at the home, yoga geris, AND the infamous street geris. Best part about living in Fayetteville is that I can run to the top of the mountain from my apt, watch the sunset on the gorge overlooking the New River, AND bypass the 1950s and 40s housing on my way there. MEANING...who's outside relaxing in rocking chairs after a sweet homestyle meal of baked beans and cornbread fixins' and lawd knows, a pot roast at about 5:30 p.m.? And Lord, you'd think there was some sort of silent bell ringer, or internal clock, the way everyone congregates out of their houses at 5:30 p.m. It's the inherent "in" social programming still taking place after 70 years of ringing I suppose. (If it's 5:35 p.m, get back in your house!) We rock it on time, here, ladiesss.

So, one night on my run and delight of saying and waving howdy to the regulars... I noticed down the street a bit a new neighbor I had not previously encountered before. The screen door was partially opened with a wil lil being making his way out on the wheelchair. Cute, petite, a hawtie for sure, without a doubt. A strange, impartial hair line that was a cause for observing. Then, a shaking of his left hand to re- position the big fat chunky watch and I just about fell over. It was Larry. "LARRRRRRRRY!" I screamed. Oh my goodness, it was Larry, and he was wheeling himself out!

Now let me explain a little background about Larry: Larry and I go way back. Like 4th floor way back. In the dead honking middle of winter. (Name has been changed for HIPPAA regulations). Larry had been admitted to the hospital with severe SOB due to a collapsed lung, had a chest tube inserted to maintain oxygenation, and also had a bad case of severe crankiness (via my diagnosis), and acute renal failure. He was very, very sick...his body was taking a turn to either compensate at the cellular level or wipe out completely and not recover. Larry was in his mid-80s, had been a coal miner for over 55 years, and apparently, reigned as a King Rufio in the nursing home as he had his gang of misfits regularly surround him. Now as a nurse and depending on your level of stress during a particular shift, sometimes you can only handle so much crankiness. Larry was a raspy little thing and a wild man. He was king of raspy whining, "Nurrrrse. Water, water." Even when I was in the room, he'd yell, "nuurrrrrse!!!!!! nurrrrrse!!!!!!" He droned out the rrrrr for dramatic effects, he'd squint one eye open like a hidden pirate to see if I noticed him and when I saw him, he'd close his eye quickly and pretend as if he never tried to open it. Every five minutes, "Nurrrrrrrrse!!!!! I'm'a hurtin' nurse," he'd say. "Well Harry I gave you your large dose of pain medication already and am giving it to you every hour." Right back in my face, he'd scream, "MORPHINE NURRRRRRRRRRRSE." I thought I was developing a twitch, I wasn't gonna make it. Nerves were being shot. He was a master knot tie-r, contorting and tying his foley into odd shapes that you'd think he was trying to be one of those balloon animal shaper people. "Larry, please stop throwing your legs into the air and flashing those walking by." His reply, "NURRRRRRRRRSE." One day after I had had him for 3 days as a patient, and my nerves were tied shut after being in his room incessantly hearing nurrrrrrse more than I could mentally and physically handle, he said as I was about to go, "NUrrrrrrrrrrrrrse. I gotcha nurse. I GOTCHA." He squinted his little eye and half smirked in a delightful amused state of mind, loving this moment in all that it contained. He had won. And so, I replied, "High five, Larry. You just kicked my tail these past few days." A deep, fierce chuckle rang loud from that bed, shaking the grounds into the nurses' station. Larry had made me his bitch, and he had won.

So there he was again. Seeing him from a distance, watching him look out and still not see me was mind-blowing. Finally I ran right up to the porch to greet him in both secrecy and excitement.

"LArrrrry!!!!!!" I shouted.

He was silent for a moment, as I thought he wouldn't know me or forgot who I was. The man across from me grinned without his dentures, gums beety and red, eyes both open, squinty and gleaming.

"NUrrrrrrrrrrrrrrse."

For as much as I hated that sound, there was a special ring in his tone. A sound of remembrance, a sound of friendship, a sound of another chance to embrace life. And a sound that he had still owned me, and he still loved every ounce of it.

Ahhl Hail.

STEVE EARLE: KING OF THE WEST, the only real west according to downright West Virginians. Really, though, a classic as such should not be bypassed by any means. Forget your oldies, forget the kiddie soul train you thought was slammin', grab a damn beer, and rock it home to EARLE, baby.