Lady of the Chicken

Let's set the scene: It's my second year at art school, and the flesh is falling off my bones due to a disease called curriculum. Every Wednesday? Thursday? night I spend a couple hours at the drop-in tutor session, helping miscellaneous apathetic students with grammar, thesises, and dreaded MLA citations. For the last few weeks I've helped out this old Chinese lady in her late 50's, called Eran. She's a painting major, and has absolutely zero idea about how the concept of a formal writing style is supposed to work. Those sessions with her are a bit tedious; whereas most of the other international students benefit from having an elastic, young mind, this older lady was, well, old. There's a certain saying about dogs and tricks that applies here.

After a few weeks, she brings me some candy. Next time it's some fries. The time after that, some potato wedges and chicken strips. Then two cartons of pineapple juice, because I had mentioned it was my favourite fruit. I was a physically and socially malnourished art student, so the gesture was absolutely appreciated.

We'd been in the middle of working on a hefty art history paper that was creeping up on its due date. The next time I lock eyes on this asian lady at the drop in session, she's CARRYING AN ENTIRE ROAST CHICKEN. You know, the kind you get from a grocery store in a plastic container that you keep because you think it'll be handy, despite never actually reusing it. She hands me the chicken: no buns, napkins, forks, drinks, nuttin'. Just one. Roast. Chicken. She knew I'd be staying late on campus, as I usually do, without any benefits of cutlery. But, goddamn it, she wanted to show me her appreciation.

And thus began a 8 year relationship with who I'd affectionately refer to my friends as The Chicken Lady. Over the course of our schooling, she'd come to me for help her with her essays. She'd call me every once in a while to bemoan the behaviour of her 'godson' (who was clearly taking advantage of her for the money), and I'd on occasion run over to her house to help set up a wifi router or new printer. Sometimes she paid me, sometimes not (I never really asked to be), but she'd always take me for lunch after.

It went like this: we'd show up at a very Chinese restaurant. You know the ones that have actual Chinese writing on the menu, with wonky English captions in some bizarre font. Tables were set with chopsticks (no forks/knives unless you asked for it), there was a huge clear plastic slab over the table cloth to make for easy cleaning, and it was assumed you wanted a green tea to start the meal. We'd sit down at the table, look at a menu, and she'd ask what I like. Then she'd bark at the waiter in Mandarin and place an order. For both of us. In Mandarin. I had no idea what was about to happen. Eventually, though, a massive plate of sweet and sour pork or beef with broccoli would appear (as I indicated was my favourite). Sometimes there'd be an extra soup or dumplings or egg rolls, if that's what Eran decided I'd enjoy. Over the years she'd stop asking me what I wanted and just order, all in Mandarin. She knew my tastes, and I just had to trust her. I think she was quite chuffed that I, a mere white boy, would enjoy Chinese food so much.

And things would roll on, just like that. Sometimes I wouldn't hear from her for months and then she'd call every couple days when something was on her mind. She'd ask for advice about her relationship with her godson, which I'd give and she'd promptly ignore. She had her own way of doing things, you see. Very self-oriented and driven. Most conversations are a two-way street, but Eran was on a one-lane divided highway, going wherever she wanted. You had to be ready to pounce if her road ever intersected with yours.

While I was away in New York she called me a couple times. I mentioned how stressed I was and how expensive things were. She ended up sending me a bit of money online to help out - she said I could consider it a graduation gift. I hadn't even asked her for help or even done anything for her over the course of the year. But she had a one-track mind and insisted. It was a heartwarming surprise.

At one point she began developing heart problems. I didn't have many specifics, but it may have included an actual heart attack (or two). Around the same time, she started having a dispute with the condo board of a property she owned. They were suing her because she refused to pay for repairs they had conducted on her behalf, when they hadn't been able to prove that it was actually her fault. I told her to get a lawyer to help take care of it, but she wasn't interested. Lawyers are expensive and scumbags, apparently. So she went to court and represented herself. She even filed a counter-suit. The condo's lawyer filed for a delay, but Eran refused. They tried to settle out of court. Eran refused. She stood her ground, they went to court, and the judge found in her favour. I had kept telling her to get a lawyer, but she kept refusing. She stayed on course like a freaking freight train in face of a (cardiac) derailment, and triumphed. It still blows my mind today.

Then things really started spiraling downward. She wouldn't commit to treatment for her heart, so her physical condition deteriorated. She bounced in and out of a few different hospitals. During this time I'd show up with my trusty laptop to help her deposit some e-transfers for her various rental properties. Then I helped pay some bills and pick up things she needed. Then she made me her emergency contact at the hospital.

She is/was an absolute pain in the ass. She'd call me every day at all hours of the day, 10-15 times a day were not uncommon. She'd leave me messages accusing me of abandoning her. She'd tell me there was an emergency, and when I called, she just said that I needed to inquire about paying a particular bill. She wanted everything now, now, now. Anything else was a personal betrayal.

One day she told me that she was flying to Hong Kong the very next day to get some medical treatment, and she told me to manage her affairs while she was gone. She'd pay me once she got back, she said. So being a good Samaritan and friend and general chump for helping people in need, I agreed. It was a busy eight months.

She called one cold February day and said she was at the Hong Kong airport and wanted to fly back to Calgary right away. I was actually elbows-deep in my uncle's old Honda, trying to pull out a transmission, when she instructed me to drop what I was doing and get her a plane ticket home. So I did.

The next day I picked up a thin, wrinkled, wheelchair-bound impressionistic sketch of the Eran I knew. I spent the next few days helping her get around - doing some banking, getting a phone, going to ER for medications, etc etc. She was definitely having a rough time, and I was the only one in the city willing (and stupid enough) to help out. And from there it all just... fell apart. A trip to the ER turned into an inpatient stay. An inpatient stay turned into a code and visit to the ICU.

So here we are. Organ failure and an expected handful of hours to live. She's semi-conscious at best, but otherwise just seems to be sleeping. I don't know when it'll happen, but it should be soon. She's burned every bridge between her and her family, who's in Hong Kong. I have a handful of her tenants who are trusting me to keep their electricity and heat on. I don't have a single blood or legal connection to this woman, but I'm sitting here watching her die. Just seems like the decent thing to do.

When I arrived this morning, seeing her in this state, I finally told her that I call her the Chicken Lady. I just kinda unloaded my anxieties and guilt about our relationship. And I also told her how I admired her spunk and determination. Yesterday morning I visited with her for three hours before I left. She begged me to stay longer, but I refused. That's the last thing she said to me, actually. "Chris! Stay..." Kinda sucks. Though earlier that morning I mentioned that I was thinking of applying to teach at the art school where we me. She just looked at me and smiled. I think that's what I'd prefer to remember as our last interaction.

I was typing all of the above to the steady rhythm of her breathing. It had been oscillating between relaxed and raspy all morning, but it was always constant. All of the sudden it abruptly stopped. I paused for a moment and there was a shallow gasp. The pause between these gasps continued to lengthen, so I got up, stood by her side, and held her hand.

I told her that I was there with her and wouldn't leave. She didn't need to struggle or fight any more, and she could finally rest. Everything would be taken care of, she didn't need to worry. Relax. I said her mom, dad, and her darling cat would see her soon. Go to them, Eran, they're waiting for you. It's okay. It's okay. You're okay.

Her eyelids fluttered almost imperceptibly. A single, half-tear collected in the corner, and before it could become a full one, she was gone. That was it.

As stupid and cliche as it sounds, within about thirty seconds of me telling her it was okay to go, she went. Just like those stupid Hollywood movies and second-rate daytime dramas. Those tears worry me, though. Was it fear? Relief? I'm hoping it was joy. In that moment she let go of my hand to cross through the veil.

I went outside, told the nurses, and signed for her belongings. While I was waiting for some paperwork, I leaned against the wall. Two people walked by, one of them laughing about the vacation they were excited to be leaving for later that day.

Life spins on. Beautifully onward.
-Cril

Sun's up, mhmm, looks okay
The world survives into another day
And I'm thinking about eternity
Some kind of ecstasy got a hold on me

I had another dream about lions at the door
They weren't half as frightening as they were before
But I'm thinking about eternity
Some kind of ecstasy got a hold on me

Walls windows trees, waves coming through
You be in me and I'll be in you
Together in eternity
Some kind of ecstasy got a hold on me

Up among the furs where it smells so sweet
Or down in the valley where the river used to be
I got my mind on eternity
Some kind of ecstasy got a hold on me
And I'm wondering where the lions are
I'm wondering where the lions are

Bruce Cockburn - Wondering Where the Lions Are