Monday Morning. Ako was due to arrive within an hour. Jules opened the cabinet and found a new variety of coffee. Instead of the Italian Roast or the Sumatran, he’d vaguely remembered enjoying a Costa Rican blend years ago, and bought it last week. The first cup was a success. Jules let the liquid pool on his tongue for a second. Smooth and earthy. The volcanic, mountainous countries were ideal for coffee. He savored for a minute. The mug steamed beside his computer keyboard. Jules opened his email to re-check what Reva had sent.
Subject: Ako, 10-12.
Reva included Ako’s brief biography, work history and a list of her responsibilities, via the agency.
Ako Sali
Ako has been working for IHSS for nine years. Previously, Ako lived in her native Cameroon, where she was a registered nurse, working in several clinics in Yaoundé. In 2014, Ako moved to California with her two daughters. Ako is fluent in French, English and Ewondo. Ako has been described as “highly organized, compassionate and intelligent.”
Jules glanced down at the list. Ako worked with three previous old folks. Due to privacy concerns, they were only given initials. FP, from 2014-2018. DS from 2018-2020. MW from 2020-2023. Jules sipped his coffee and went out on the back deck in the morning light. He’d be Ako’s fourth patient. The previous three must’ve died or were in some full-time care facility, losing their memories by the hour, losing the names of their children and grandchildren, losing their sense of the past and how they’d spent the previous decades. What a way to die: slowly, helplessly and aimlessly. Jules was afraid of becoming one of those who could no longer live at home, calling out to the workers, as loud as their weathered vocal chords would let them, “Help! Where am I? Somebody help!”
But Jules wasn’t there yet. Maybe it wouldn’t happen to him like that. Maybe it would be less torturous, calmer. A slow slipping into the void after a chance to say goodbye on his own terms.
He sipped again, imagining a volcano erupting over a jagged mountainside. A magpie landed on the deck’s railing. It tilted its head toward him. Jules went in and found a bowl of peanuts from last night on the counter. He went back out and placed them on the railing. The magpie hopped over and enjoyed pecking at the peanuts. Jules thought he heard the magpie say, “BREK-fast!”
It was now 9:58 a.m. Jules had worked himself up into a lather while waiting. He saw a silver Hyundai pull into the driveway. Ako was on time. When she rang the doorbell, Jules felt a surge of anxiety in his gut. He took a minute and practiced his deep breathing to calm himself. Then he opened the door. Ako’s smile was radiant and her voice was cheery.
“Helloooo, Jules! I am Ako. Pleased to meet you.”
She extended her hand. Her nails were painted a beautiful turquoise against her rich brown skin. Jules shook her warm hand with his wrinkled tan hand, and welcomed her inside.
When asked if she would like coffee, Ako replied, “Water would be nice. Thank you.” They sat on the couch together. Ako took out her clipboard and her checklist and placed it on the couch beside her. “Jules—thank you for having me in your home. I know it can be strange to have a new person visit. And, if you feel comfortable, to have me coming in and visiting you so often. Let’s get to know each other. I would love to hear about your life,” Ako said.
“Yes, to be honest, it is strange,” Jules replied. “But it’s necessary. My daughter Reva is looking out for me. She’d be here more often, but she lives in Philadelphia. That’s where I lived most of my life,” Jules added, sipping the coffee.
“When did you move here?” Ako asked.
“Well, I retired in 2005. I moved here with Violet, she was my second wife. Reva’s mother and I divorced many years ago. We moved into this home in…” Jules searched his mind for the year. He wanted to get it right, refused to guess.
“After you retired?” Ako asked.
“Yes, I’m forgetting the year. I was retired in 2005. Violet retired the following year and then we moved. Summer of 2006. That’s it. 2006. Becca was only three. Neve was six. Those are my granddaughters. That was the hardest part. Moving away from Reva and the girls. But it was my dream to live out here since my brother Morty moved to Pasadena. He was a screenwriter. The Reva and I would visit Morty and his wife, Lucy. Every July…” Jules felt the familiar ache of longing creep up, but Ako was listening attentively to his story, so he continued.
“First Morty died. His liver was bad after drinking. Then Violet. She was killed by a crazy driver. At least Morty knew he was dying. I miss them both terribly.” Jules felt a lump forming in his throat. He tried to clear it, but it got bigger. He closed his eyes and shook his head. “So many people…”
Ako reached her hand out and put it on Jules’ thigh. He put his hand down and she held it. Ako knew how to exude empathy. Jules felt her there, next to him. “I have also seen so many people go,” Ako said. “It is never easy.”
Jules wiped the tears with a tissue. “No it isn’t. He blew his nose and sniffled. Everyone is gone, but you are here,” Jules said.
“I am here,” Ako said. “Next time I visit, you can tell me about Violet.”
“Maybe,” said Jules. “My heart gets heavy. It was so sudden and awful. Just walking across the street at a red light.”
“Terrible,” Ako said.
Jules led Ako around the three-bedroom, ranch-style house. Ako had her clipboard and checklist. She noted the contained mess in the corners and the somewhat empty refrigerator. There were no obvious safety hazards. Jules still seemed with it. He’d passed the previous test for possible dementia a year ago. Reva had submitted all of the paperwork to the agency.
They discussed medications. Nothing unusual. Lipitor for cholesterol. A mild dose of Zoloft for the depression. Reva and Jules had discussed the dosage and lowered it a few years back. Multi-vitamins. Herbal supplements. The pills were organized in their seven-day container. Jules refilled them every Sunday. He showed her the collection in the bathroom medicine cabinet. Ako typed notes on her laptop, listing all of Jules medications and supplements, and noting refill dates.
“You are very good with details,” Jules observed.
“It is my job,” Ako replied, putting down the bottles.
Around 11:30, Jules asked Ako if she wanted lunch. They made tuna sandwiches together. Jules had tomatoes and pickles. Ako refused the potato chips, instead sharing her trail mix.
As they sat at the table, Jules asked about Cameroon. He only knew a handful of French phrases, including “Where is the toilet?” and “How much does that cost?” She laughed. “How much does the toilet cost?” She asked, chuckling.
After they finished eating, Ako used the restroom and then headed for the door. As she was putting on her coat, Jules asked, “Do you enjoy basketball? I’ve loved the game since I was young. Used to play. My team is the Philadelphia 76ers,” Jules said, pointing to his blue Sixers cap.
Ako explained she follows the Cameroonian national team in international play. “Embiid is my favorite. The best player ever from Cameroon!” Jules and Ako high-fived like kids.
“I really thought they had a shot this year,” Jules says. “Then the knee injury. I was devastated,” Jules stares at the floor, shaking his head. “But they say he might return before the playoffs, so there’s hope,” Jules added.
“There is always hope, my friend Jules!” Ako replied. “But, I believe Embiid may be cursed with bad luck. So many injuries.”
“We’ll watch next time,” Jules said. “I record the games.”
“It is a plan,” Ako said, flashing a toothy smile.
Jules extended his hand. Ako instead gave Jules a hug. “Nice meeting you. See you tomorrow at 10,” Ako said, walking out the door.
Jules went over to the computer to send Reva an email with the good news.