The Birth (The Black Wing Book 1) (4 page)

F
or 50 years, Gilia has become the # 1 retirement home for exclusive members of society. Only one with an abundance of wealth can afford large suite rooms, personal caretakers, nurses on call, trips to exotic lands, and exquisite meals. The privilege for living here, grants an opportunity to stay busy, and maintaining a social life among their wealthy neighbors.

I represented Gilia for two years, my job title was that of a lowly server with no experience to move up the latter. The pay is decent, but the labor is slave driving.

Servers
, assist the head chef and cooks by setting up the dining rooms and cleaning after every meal. We work among the employees in the laundry room, where we do the washing, ironing, and transporting of bedsheets. We are also the gofers for the nurses, we run errands, bring in the wheelchairs, and stock their basic supplies. Servers are the lowest of all positions, we even follow instructions from the sanitary department—the custodians.

Without the many servers in Gilia, trouble would arise, but the staff still think of us as replaceable help. No matter the hard work, nobody will complain about the aching body after of a full shift. If only the story would end there, but even servers can’t stand one another. Every shift is filled with backstabbing workers, they argue, gossip, and harass one another. I try to hide behind enemy lines by making no complaints, and pleasing everyone I work with. Servers should have its own department, in fact, a reality show will suffice.

To the public, Gilia is known for being a luxuriously happy place, but anyone who’s worked at any elderly home will say otherwise. We have all felt the cold shoulder of the government’s handle on the dependent, even society will tuck the old from the sight of the young, and the working class. I have always felt that their inability to be physically independent, made them victims to prejudice. Although a majority of our residents live a healthy lifestyle, the rest are restless, grumpy, and worn. Few are on the edge of Alzheimer’s, others are depressed, and some are terminally ill.

I find it somewhat, discriminating, that Servers aren’t allowed to regularly speak to the residents. This honor is given to personal caregivers called
attendants
. This is a position every server, cook, and janitor aims to achieve. Attendants don’t just get higher wages, but they have access to restricted facility rooms. In order to provide the best attendants, the company pampers them with a free meal card, gym membership, and a high bonus for Christmas. Becoming an Attendant is an ideal dream for everyone in Gilia, however, this claim isn’t
exactly
true.

One resident stands out like a weed, and she has a name.

In the lunch room, attendants will gossip to us
commoners
about the recent news of a particular resident. Every school has a bully, every corporation has a thief, and every elderly home has a difficult resident. Gilia has the worst resident of all, she lives on suite 97, and her name is Clarisse Elliot Mable. On my first day in Gilia, I was told to always refer Clarisse Elliot Mable as Ms. Clarisse, and if I ever mispronounce her name, I’ll either be reprimanded or leave without a job.

After my first year in Gilia, I only listened to the awful stories pertaining to a cranky old lady who can get you fired with the snap of her finger. Each Attendant a permanent role to assist one resident, but no one can last long with Ms. Clarisse and keep their job. Room 97 has even been nicknamed the witches’ gingerbread house. The current record-holder who lasted the shortest with Ms. Clarisse is Maya. On her first day, she didn’t last five minutes and she left the suite crying. The next day, she was fired for refusing to work for Ms. Clarisse. I have yet to meet a co-worker who hasn’t regarded her as the worst resident in Gilia. Many attendants who lost their jobs tried suing Gilia and Ms. Clarisse, but no one has won a case against them. All of it may have a lot to do with Ms. Clarisse’s status and influence. Out of all the big pocket residents, she is above the restricted privileges. If she wanted to go out for a vacation she can make it happen, with or without the manager’s approval.

I always thought she would spend her time running around Gilia, bossing, and harassing the staff, but she never leaves her room. All of her meals are taken at her suite. The staff aren’t the only ones who despise her, even the residents keep their distance. Everyone in Gilia is completely repelled by her sour personality.

I made it a mission to avoid Ms. Clarisse, until one day, we crossed paths. A chauffeur was gently escorting her out of the lobby. Together, they walked towards the sliding doors, chatting and laughing. I remember Ms. Clarisse’s posture was chest high, with her nose proudly in the air. It’s hard to visualize a pale, pink-cheeked old lady with short curly hair be as scary as they say. Then again, looks can be deceiving, attendants have been attacked, the nurses are scratched—even plates of food have been thrown at them!

Everyone grew accustom to see attendants in charge of her care, quit or refuse to care for her. Gilia upholds the reputation to assist the seniors of the upper class with five commercialized stars, anyone who can’t work up to their expectations, isn’t needed. For that reason, I appreciated my overnight shift, I rarely made contact with seniors—especially Ms. Clarisse.

At home, I received enough mistreatment from my husband. Therefore, my duty at work has been focused on avoiding her and her poisonous words. Then, a turn of events failed my plan. The night we met, changed my life. From that moment, I was forced to be her personal attendant “forever” or so she said.

In the middle of my graveyard shift, I went on my way to the laundry room, rolling a cart of clean bed sheets. When the elevator doors opened to the fourth floor, five attendants gathered in the hallway, grumbling among each other. When I approached them, I lowered my head to them. Attendants have a demanding job, and they’re known for scrutinizing anyone they think holds an easy position.

Four attendants are arguing and snickering among each other, their behavior is very uncommon. When I passed them, a wild scream detonated from a nearby suite. The attendants didn’t flinch, no one lifted an ear. They’re all too absorbed in their conversation, to respond.

“A resident is crying out.” I announced. “Excuse me?”

The bunch looked at me like I’m stupid for thinking they were deaf. They said I’m better off to ignore it, but the resident’s voice is still weeping in agony. The polished door to the suite is almost vibrating from the haunting cry. To see the attendants make no response to a resident who may be in danger, is a break in company policy. This is negligence.

I left my cart and quickly pressed the emergency passcode to unlock the suite. I’m clearly breaking in, but every staff reserves the right to enter any unit they is putting to risk the life of a resident. I rushed into to the room, not once reading the gold plate on the wall. We are required to know whose suite we are entering, and always address them by their name. If had I known the room number is 97, and the gold plate read Ms. Clarisse, I wouldn’t think twice to enter.

Each suite looks more expensive than the other, but this one is wins by a landslide. The space is wider, the view from the city is breathtaking, and the lavish décor should belong in a museum. I ran through the narrow hall, pass the heavy furniture in the living room, and to the source—the bedroom.

A dim night-light by the bedside, allowed me find an old lady fighting in her sleep. Her arms continuously lurched around, her lips are mumbling gibberish. She looks like a harmless child, suffering through a nightmare. I sat on the bed-side, and gently shook her shoulder. My touch caused her eyes flicker open. The tears that rolled onto her white silk pillow, have stopped.

“It’s okay.” I gently spoke to her “It was only a bad dream, you’re going to be fine—”

A cold slap, smacked the side of my cheek. The shock made me grow a bag of tears, but I kept them from streaming down my face. The disturbed maiden in distress, scowled at me, and pushed me off her bed. Her strength stunned me, I’m starting to think she’s about to beat me up.

“Do you know who I am?” she yelled. “Do you!”

As I started accept the possibility that this room might belong to Ms. Clarisse, she screamed and demanded I leave. I ran like my life depended on it. I slid across the living room and dashed through the hallway. As soon as I swept myself out of the door, the attendants promptly shut the door. I didn’t have to explain the red mold on my cheek, the attendants heard the slap from the hallway.

I asked them why nobody warned me or did anything to help her. Before I eavesdrop, they were in the process of choosing the winner, out of a drawing of straws. While I tried catch my breath, I watched them finally dig out the winner, everyone cheered. The loser sighed like he was on death row, and slowly entered the suite.

The blow of Ms. Clarisse’s bony fingers molded the side of my face. When I returned to work, I became antsy and less talkative. I’m paralyzed by the repeating flash-back of Ms. Clarisse’s powerful slap. Just recalling her blaring words, make me feel like I’m the one who caused her harm. Now I’m left with a new problem, she will complain, and my employment with Gilia will be over.

I think I’m about to beat Maya’s record, in one visit, I will be dismissed like the rest.

When I got home that morning, I was called in for work immediately. I sat in the office sleep-deprived, and too fatigued to care about losing my job.

Bradley, the manager of Gilia, watched me with an empty stare. His office is so warm, I’m tempted to roll into a ball and sleep right here—right now. Bradley shook his head and handed a piece of paper to me, he then, rubbed his temple. Somehow, the resignation paper he handed over took a lot of strain from him. I teased him over his exaggeration, it’s not like I’m about to be employee of the month. The whole world knows that Bradley is out to look for himself that is why he makes no objection whenever Ms. Clarisse, and some seniors wants us booted from our jobs.

“Read it.” he said, relaxed and somehow—tense.

I read the content, I jolted like I took a shot of espresso. I straightened my back, ready to leap out of my seat. Bradley is promoting me to be a facility caregiver, a personal attendant! I lower my eyes down to the fine print that states which resident I will be caring for.

It’s Ms. Clarisse.

“Is this a form of punishment?” I asked.

“That’s awfully rude.” he said “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.”

“Who requested this?”

I rather lose my job like the rest. Why should I be assigned to care for the woman who slapped me? Bradley shrugged his shoulder, he confessed that Ms. Clarisse made the request—I immediately refuse the offer.

“This is because of last night, isn’t it?” I said, feeling the warm slap mark, return to my cheek.

“Did you do something?” asked Bradley. “Because I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

I sealed my lips, and let Bradley continue.

“Today is my day off, and on my day off, I don’t answer any calls from work. And guess what happened? Ms. Clarisse calls my wife at 5 a.m. insisting that I allow you to work for her. Don’t even ask how she got my wife’s number, I was too afraid to ask. I don’t need to be here any longer than I should, do you want this promotion or not?”

A promotion to attendant is a dream everyone strives to achieve. But Bradley is only promoting me because Ms. Clarisse demanded it, not because I gained recognition from my hard work. It’s obvious that this old lady wants revenge for breaking into her home. My silence made Bradley hint my alternative, if I deny the offer, I will be asked to resign.