“Boyfriends?” I ask.
“Tiny kid in a wheelchair. Tall funky-lookin’ white kid. Cute black kid with a beard.”
“They’re not my boyfriends.”
DWL sips her hot chocolate and then smiles at me sorta weird.
“Strange times, DWL. Strange times.”
“What’s this show you putting on all about, anyway?”
“It’s a variety show.”
“To honor your mother’s passing?”
“No, it’s for Bobby Big Boy here. He just had surgery. See his scar?” I hold up BBB’s belly. “It cost me almost three grand, so I have to raise money.”
“Well, you let me know if you need any help, Sister Amber.”
I nod once, smile at DWL’s calling me Sister Amber for the first time, which makes me feel pretty cool, and then BBB and I walk into the old people’s home—through the depressing hallways with the dusty fake plants.
When we get to the common room, I can’t believe what I see.
All of the old people are seated in two long rows.
Old Man Linder is singing a song with Old Man Thompson.
Both are wearing red sports coats.
They’re singing some ancient song about makin’ whoopee, and as I listen to the lyrics, I think they are actually singing about sex!
The old people are smiling and laughing and singing along so happily as Old Man Thompson sings his heart out and Old Man Linder echoes the verses in spoken word—and suddenly I realize that Old Man Linder has taken me up on my challenge.
He’s gotten up in front of his peers.
He’s entertaining the people.
He’s giving them something to look forward to—something to break up the boring days and weeks.
He’s keeping hope alive!
BBB and I watch the performance from the back of the room and laugh every time one of the old men punch the air in front of them, or try to move their ancient hips to the beat.
The performance is not all that lively.
My boys don’t sing that well.
But as I look at how much fun the old people are having—many of them singing along with the two old men in front of them—I realize that this is enough, that these old people are getting a little fuel from my manager, and I feel something warm heat up my chest.
When they finish the old-time sex song about makin’ whoopee, Old Man Linder sees me standing at the back of the common room. “Amber?” he says.
Fifty blue-haired heads turn around slowly, and then everyone is staring at me and BBB.
I walk toward my elders and say, “Hey.”
When no one says anything, I give Old Man Linder a hug, whisper, “I’m sorry,” into his big hairy ear, and then—to the crowd—I say, “Who knew these old guys could sing so well?”
No one says anything, and Old Man Linder looks a little nervous.
“Listen,” I say. “I’m okay.”
“We were really worried about you,” Old Man Thompson says.
“We didn’t think you’d ever visit us again,” Big Booty Bernice says.
“I hope they fry that horrible man who killed your poor mother,” Agnes the Plant Talker says.
“Are you really okay?” Old Man Linder says.
“Where’s Joan of Old?” I ask.
“She had a heart attack,” Old Man Thompson says.
“What?” I say.
“It wasn’t fatal,” Old Man Linder says. “She’s in the hospital wing. I hear she goes in and out of consciousness—but when she’s awake, they say she’s still with it.”
“Well, I’ll have to visit her after the show,” I say, and then sit down, allowing B Thrice to curl up on my lap. “I want to see what else you two got up there.”
Old Man Linder smiles proudly, snaps back into character, and—in an old-time radio voice—says, “How many of you remember this gem from 1927?”
Old Man Thompson and Old Man Linder start snapping their fingers and tapping their toes, and when they sing the next song all of the old people get really excited and start to sing along in rousing unison—everyone is waving index fingers in the air, nodding out the beat, and singing their dusty old lungs out.
Because they repeat the chorus so many times I sorta figure out the song’s called “Side By Side,” and it’s about two people with no money who don’t know what’s going to happen, but at least they have each other to travel through life together. The old people love this corny old song, and I have to say—seeing them sing it so passionately makes me feel something good. True.
My old men are moving people this afternoon.