The Old Lady in Green

“She’ll be here,” AJ said.

“The money?”

“She’ll have the money.” AJ shifted and looked at the rearview mirror. The driver had sunglasses on, but AJ was sure the driver was looking at him. AJ quickly looked away.

“You know what happens if there’s no money?” the driver said.

“Every Thursday at two, the front desk books her a ride to the farmer’s market. She’ll be out in a minute. I swear.”

“Could she have already been picked up?” the driver said. The sunglasses made his gaze seem unblinking.

AJ shook his head. “No. I called and canceled the ride.” The clock in the car’s center console said the time was 2:02 PM. AJ was bouncing his knee causing his wallet chain to jingle like handcuffs. “She’ll be here.”

The driver was silent for a moment. No tapping the wheel. No humming. Nothing. Then he said: “You need the money. You get that?” He waved at the sliding doors they were parked beside. “If this is some sort of joke—”

“I swear it’s—”

“If,” the driver said, making it clear he strongly preferred to not be interrupted. “If this is a joke, it would be really bad for you.”

“She’s coming. And she’ll have money.” AJ rubbed his wet hands together, silently praying the senior home’s doors would open soon.

“And she’ll give it to you?”

“The money? Yeah.” Feeling like he needed to prove the point, AJ added: “She’s done it before.”

“Your mother must be a good woman to keep bailing out her junkie son.”

“It’s the dementia,” AJ said. He could smell his own armpit sweat. “Could I get some AC? Crack a window or something?”

“Dementia?”

“She gives me money. She forgets. I ask for more. I get more.” The double doors opened and an old man walked out holding a young girl’s hand. AJ’s knees were nearly vibrating. 2:04 PM. “It’s hot in here, man.”

“That isn’t right,” the driver said, “doing that to your own mother.”

AJ sucked at his gums instead of calling the driver a hypocrite. Selling people drugs, getting them addicted—that’s what wasn’t right. And it also wasn’t right making threats just because AJ was a little behind on a little money.

But the money was all that mattered now. AJ’s mom would be here soon. She would have money. AJ would pay off his debts and have enough left over for an eighth if he was lucky. Then things would be good again. Then his damn knee would stop shaking.

AJ had only gone inside the senior home once. Or as he liked to call it: ‘God’s Half Way Home.’ The half-way being right between life and whatever came next. AJ had gone inside to help his mom move in after her sister passed. At the time, AJ was living on a friend’s couch and could not do anything to help his mom but pack and unpack.

The staff at the home had given him odd looks. Not the looks he got on the bus when mothers sat their children on the farthest seat from AJ. But deeply kind, empathetic looks. Looks that felt like the lookers were really looking. Seeing even. Like they were trying to love him without having ever met him. That type of looking was something his mom did. AJ hated it.

Since then, AJ had lost that friend—the one with the couch—and managed to find another sofa. He avoided God’s Half Way home like the plague.

Sure, he visited. He loved his mother in an inevitable, biological way. But her forgetfulness made it impossible to spend any real time with her. How much could you really love someone when their mind was turning to mush? However, a forgetful mother was a giving mother. So AJ visited a lot. The way he saw it, that money would be his anyway, when Mom finally kicked the can and all that.

“Man,” AJ said, “I hope I never end up in one of these places.”

The driver snorted. “Guys like you don’t get that old.”

“It’s borderline purgatory. You’re just waiting to see if you go to heaven or hell. You got nothing left at that point. It’s not like she has these big achievements to be proud of either. She never got around to much.”

The driver said nothing.

The automatic double doors slid open and there she was. Mom sort of waddled when she walked, but she still moved with determination. She was wearing her green dress; the market was the only time she could dress up because everyone in the home was dead set on wearing pajamas to the in house church services every Sunday. She had a hat that was also green but not quite a matching shade.

“That’s her,” AJ said.

“In the neon?”

“She has a thing for green. Pull up.”

“You’re not getting out of the car.”

“You want the money? Let me go get her.” AJ tried the handle. The handle moved but the door stayed shut. “Did you childlock my fucking door?”

The driver shook his head in the mirror. “You’re not getting out until I get the money.”

“I’m trying to get you the money!”

The driver shrugged.

Cursing, AJ rolled down the window.

“Mom,” he said. AJ waved. “Hey, Mom!”

Mom was in the process of donning sunglasses way too big for her little old head. She looked startled at first, but she always looked that way when she saw AJ. He guessed it was a symptom of the dementia.

“Don’t mention the whole me taking money before,” AJ whispered to the driver.

The old woman approached the passenger window instead of AJ’s, and the driver rolled it down.

AJ cursed again. She must not have heard him call. And her sunglasses did not do her poor vision any favors. Getting money from her was just going to get harder and harder if her senses were going. The sooner she was gone, the sooner the money would be his. And he would not have to go through this whole procedure every time he needed something.

She leaned her head in the window. She frowned. “Where’s Paul? He’s supposed to be taking me to the market.”

“Hey, Mom,” AJ said, leaning forward. “Mom? Hey. I was thinking we could go to the market together. I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.”

She nodded slowly and looked at the driver.

“But before that,” AJ said. “I’m kinda in a bind. Not serious, just a little thing. I, uh, lost a bet with my friend here and owe him a little cash.” He rubbed his fingers together to indicate the money. The action felt forced, so he laughed. That felt worse. “It’s not a lot. And you know I hate to ask. But I won’t be able to go with you until I get him the… you know.” Again with the fingers rubbing. “And I’ll pay you back. Obviously. I’ll have a paycheck hitting the checking in—what’s today? Tuesday—three more days.” AJ had not received a paycheck in three years. But he had said something similar last time, and the old lady had paid up.

His mom smiled, and AJ felt a growing sense of relief. She was always there for him whether she knew it or not. In fact, AJ was certain she would be okay with him taking advantage of her dementia if she knew what was happening.

AJ said: “Not sure if you have the cash on you or….”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Do I know you?”

AJ felt cold. He forced that laugh again. “Mom? It’s me. AJ.”

“No, I’m sorry. Little AJ is with his aunt right now.”

“Mom, no, wait. It’s me.”

The driver laughed. “Ma’am, I am very sorry. You know what? I bet Paul will be here any minute to take you to the market.”

“Well, thank you very much.” She looked nervously back at AJ.

“Don’t worry about him,” the driver said. “He won’t bother you anymore.”

Smiling politely, she stepped away.

“Mom! Wait. It’s AJ!”

She ignored him, and the driver rolled up the window. The driver waved as he pulled the car away from the curb. AJ pounded on the window then tried the handle, shouting the whole time. The driver moved the car around to the back of the building. He leaned back over his seat and shot AJ twice in the chest.