The Mummy

Marsha had lived alone for longer than she could remember. She never had kids and never married, so her existence was profoundly lonely. But it never mattered to her. She traded a family life for traveling and college funds for retirement savings. Her money was what she was most proud of, she grew up poor, so she knew how important it was to live comfortably. Her apartment was beautiful. Adorned with silk curtains, Persian rugs, and chaise lounges. But at her age, truly none of this mattered. Marsha was far past a comfortable expiration date, and her life had turned into a hellish prison. Her mind confined to her immobile body. If she could move, she thought, she would kill herself. But she could not so she did not think of it often. She wanted to die peacefully and alone, but all in all the idea of dying really scared her.

Each morning Marsha would open her eyes and look up to the ceiling. On a good day, she could tilt her head towards the window and watch the street, but most of the time her neck was too stiff. Marsha’s room was fitted with a hospital bed to make her feel agreeable in her rigidity. She laid there from the time Don left to the time Don returned. As soon as she awoke each day, her mind was filled with anxiety.

What if Don forgets to come today, she thinks to herself each day. And then her imagination takes ahold. She sees herself lying there for days, alone and hungry and dirty. Without Don she would have to wet the bed. She would be so bored. And she knew that without Don she would turn into a mummy. She would be preserved in her chilly apartment, and she thought the medications would halt the decay. She feared being a mummy, she believed without Don no one would ever find her. And when they did find her, they would bring out the news teams and sensationalize her passing.

“Old Bat Turns to Mummy” they would all say. And then her body would wind up in a museum.

Every morning she would think of thousands of scenarios in which Don forgets about her, all of which end in her demise. By the time Don arrives, Marsha’s wrinkles are full of tears.

“Goodmorning Ms. Marsha,” Don would say as he walks into her apartment. Each day their conversations started the same way, but each day they ended vastly differently.

“Hello dear, I’m glad you didn’t forget me today!” Marsha would say, smiling.

“Marsha, we’ve been over this I am never going to forget you.”

“Well, I hope one day you forget about me, when you’re grown, and I’m gone.”

“Alright Marsha let’s get you up for the day,” Don said. Don walked over to the bed and began lifting Marsha. He looked at her every day and cringed at her wrinkles, especially the ones on her face. He could not imagine having so many folds and creases around your eyes, your mouth, and your forehead. His least favorite was the extra skin hanging below Marsha’s chin. Turkey neck he had heard it been called. It made him feel revolted, having loose skin hanging about. But his disgust could never make him stop. He knew that helping Marsha was a good thing to do, and it was easy, and the sum she gave him to help her was undeniable.

Don gently set Marsha down into her wheelchair and steered her into the bathroom. He filled the sink with warm water and retrieved wash clothes out of the cabinet. Although Don did not like the way Marsha looked, he did not mind touching her and washing her. He felt as though he was saving a life. He could not fathom what it would be like to be unable to wash yourself. He thought he would rather die.

“How’s work going honey, alright?” Marsha asked as Don began sanitizing her.

“Yeah, I mean it’s going okay. Today I have to drive all the way to Montauk to get a couple of records for the store. That’s why I’m in a bit of a hurry.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it, I’ll see you tonight still, right?” Marsha asked, her anxieties creeping back into her mind.

“Of course, Miss Marsha, someone needs to put you to bed.”

After he finished washing her, he put her in a fresh gown and threw the clothes and her night gown in the washing machine. He gave her the plethora of pills she takes every day, sat her on the toilet, and even brushed what was left of her hair for her. He put her in her wheelchair and pushed her in front of the television. He flicked it on and widened the living room blinds to let the sun in. He brought her morning yogurt and fed it to her slowly. He liked this part; it was relaxing, and he related it to taking care of a child. As Marsha licked up yogurt remains around her mouth Don began to say goodbyes. Most days he would stay and chat as timing did not matter in his managerial position, but today he was in a rush.

As he shut the door and locked it Marsha began to panic. Typically, she could watch three episodes of Family Feud before thinking about Don’s return, but due to their short cut morning Marsha was tightly wound. She began thinking about Don dying on his way to Montauk.

Would she know if Don died? She never watched the news, only game shows, how could she find out. She feared this as well. The feeling of betrayal that would be brought with Don’s failure to return. It might flat out kill her, she thought. Don was truly her only friend and abandoning her would ruin her mentality. She was scared that she would feel this betrayal even if he did not mean it, even he died in a freak accident or was locked away in someone’s basement. Marsha would never know where he went and would just feel ultimately deceived.

As Steve Harvey continued asking questions, Marsha began sweating profusely. Her anxieties became very real to her somedays. She looked out the window onto the city street and could only see ghosts of people she once knew. When you see a person from so far away, you can make them whoever you would like them to be. This is why Marsha sees Alec Baldwin every day, along with some girls she knew in college, and even sometimes Don. She was sure that occasionally Don would walk past her apartment just to taunt her and show her he did not want to help. On that day she saw him twice. He looked so happy down there, free from his duties as a nurse. The idea of this made Marsha shake with both anger and disappointment. She looked away from the window and tried to focus on the television. She was tired of living this life if you could even call it that. Fortunately, her shaking had drained her energy and she fell into a restless slumber.

The site of Marsha sleeping sitting straight up in her chair would convince even a doctor that she was dead. And when she slept, she felt dead. Her medications kept her from having any dreams, and ever feeling truly rested. The medicine created a lot of problems that could have also been due to Marsha’s deterioration, so she kept on taking it. Her skin had fully lost any color, so much so that all the veins in Marsha’s arms were visible. The texture was like crumpled paper, so thin and delicate but also folded and creased. Her body was just skin and bones, nothing else. Food had lost all meaning and appeal to her, especially since she had lost all her teeth. Ten years ago, Marsha had been walking all around the city, eating and shopping. She had never imagined her life turning into this, but then again no one really does. Old age is a curse that is ignored until it is happening and eating its next victim.

Marsha woke up for the second time that day covered in sweat. She hardly sweat anymore unless she was in a full state of panic. As soon as she opened her eyes she was reminded of her dire situation. The impending doom of being mummified. Deep down, Marsha knew that the boredom of her life increased her delusions, but this deeper part of her is fully buried by her prescriptions. She looked out the window and saw the sky turning a dustier blue, and streetlights flickering on. She slept all day, but this was hardly abnormal as staying awake is impossible for her. As she stared into the road below, she heard noises coming from the other room.

“Don?” she shouted. But no one responded. Her fears engulfed her. Had someone broken in? She was the perfect target for a robber as she could not protect herself, much less her belongings.

“Show yourself!” she said. “I know you’re there; I have already called the police.”

No response.

“Please, I do not have anything of value, I am just a poor old woman,” she lied as tears bubbled around her eyes. She looked over to her side table, to her landline phone. She had not used it for months, and she knew that her arm was too stiff to reach that far. She felt completely hopeless. She began to slink down in her chair, pulling her blanket up over her head. In her moments of terror all she could do was hide.

As the minutes, and then hours passed, Marsha stayed frozen. The noises stopped, but her fear persisted. And the darkening of the apartment at dusk did not help. Don had forgotten to turn on the lamp earlier so the only source of light in the apartment was the TV. Marsha knew he forgot on purpose. She knew he did not want to come back and turn it off, so he never turned it on. As she sat there folded over, her back began to cramp wildly. She had accepted her fate at this point and thought that if she were bent at such an angle, she would not make a good mummy in a museum. She was no longer fearful, more so just nervous about her death. She did not like surprises and was not sure where she would end up.

But as happened every day, Marsha heard a key turning in the lock of her front door. Relief rushed through her body like lightning at the familiar sounds of Don’s return. But her joy was tarnished in a moment of rare and honest clarity. A tear fell from her eye and nestled itself among her wrinkles. She knew that today would be tomorrow, and the next day, and the next.

“Hello Miss Marsha,” Don said cheerfully. And her realization disappeared.