"Change of Life" by KT Wagner

Belinda dragged her walker down a back staircase at Sunset Gardens, cursing the metal contraption with each thump. Back home, she’d gotten around just fine with her twisted oak cane. Carved it herself, but the doctors claimed it wasn’t stable and took it away.

Belinda argued. They’d patted her hand and didn’t listen.

Sunset Gardens—an understaffed, government-run, eldercare institution—featured grounds consisting of a cracked sidewalk and a strip of weedy grass. Not even a bench to sit in the sun.

The nurses advised daily exercise and fresh air, but frowned on residents venturing into the neighbourhood.

Belinda didn’t have family to take her out, nor did she want any. Long ago, her mother and sisters had gone their own ways, as was proper. She’d done just fine on her own. Out of the way in her cabin. Not bothering anyone. Eating what she liked.

Sunset Garden’s kitchen refused her requests for her favourite raw eggs. At the care facility, the craving had grown until she could think of little else.

Back home, she’d kept chickens. For variety, she’d put out bird feeders and collected eggs from the wild nests.

In the weeks since they’d dumped her into this cinderblock anthill, she’d developed alarming symptoms. Swollen joints and patches of crawling, itchy hives. The change was upon her, but it had never been this bad back home.

“Autoimmune disease, common in older women,” the annoying male doctors intoned. What did they know about it?

They kept poking her, so she bit one.

“Dementia,” they’d said and prescribed pills.

Nonsense. She’d been fine before.

She hid the pills under her tongue to spit into the toilet later, but an iron-haired nurse who growled instead of speaking caught her. The nurse threatened to have her sedated. Belinda tried to bite her too, but the nurse was fast.

Belinda knew what she needed. She needed to eat, and no one there was going to help her.

At the bottom of the stairs, the emergency exit door almost foiled her plan. It refused to open.

So much lost strength. Belinda leaned against the door to catch her breath. Her stomach and wrists itched like crazy.

She’d loved sunbathing on the outcrop next to her cabin. No-one ever came out that way. Then a direction-challenged delivery guy glimpsed her soaking up the heat naked.

She’d yelled at him to get off her property, and the busy-body reported her to the authorities.

Two pushy, clipboard-toting women showed up the next week. They’d asked questions, poked around, and returned with an ambulance. Gentle, but not kind, they gave her no choice.

Her hands tightened around the handles of the walker and pain shot through her knuckles. Best to concentrate on something else.

Eggs.

Closing her eyes, Belinda imagined chalky shells and succulent slippery filling. Mmmm. She’d spotted the grocery store sign from the second-floor bedroom she shared with a vacant-eyed woman. A fifteen-minute walk at most.

From her roommate’s purse, she’d helped herself to a few dollars.

Taking a deep breath, she slammed into the exit door and it popped open. A flattened paper cup shoved into the doorjamb should keep it unlatched for her return. Not that she wanted to return, but in her weakened state she couldn’t find her way home.

Belinda shuffled up the street as quickly as she could manage. A young man whipped past on a bike, yelling at her to move over. A car swerved into a puddle and sprayed her with water. She scowled and shook a fist.

Standing in front of the dairy case at the grocery store, she admired the crates of eggs. Saliva pooled in her mouth. For the first time in weeks, she smiled.

A woman with a cart snorted an impatient noise, but Belinda ignored her. She carefully picked out two dozen brown eggs, size extra-large. There was just enough money in her pocket.

Back outside, she settled onto a bus stop bench, opened one carton, popped an egg into her mouth and crunched. Her entire body shivered in response to the wonderful taste.

“Eeww, gross.” Disgusted expressions and grunts.

Belinda glared, but kept chewing.

Popping another in her mouth, she tucked the remaining eggs into the basket of her walker and stumbled woozily toward the residence.

The skin at her neck tightened. Her joints burned; the itch was close to unbearable.

At long last, she slipped into Sunset Gardens through the back door, but the stairs proved too much. Gasping, she sank onto the bottom step and devoured the rest of the eggs. Licking her fingers, she sighed. Finally, some relief.

The skin around her wrists split. It felt good. She stripped off her clothing. Spent skin fell to the ground in puddles. Shuddering, she dropped to the floor and stretched. Her body lengthened.

Finally, the ability to return to her home. First, a snack to fuel the journey.

Belinda wound herself around the railing and slithered up the stairs. She stretched her jaws and went looking for the iron-hair nurse.

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KT Wagner writes speculative fiction in the garden of her home on the west coast of Canada. She’s a collector of strange plants, weird trivia, and obscure tomes. KT graduated from Simon Fraser University’s Writers Studio in 2015 (Southbank 2013). She organizes writer events and works to create literary community. 

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Website (under construction): ktwagner.com
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