Free Crush. Candy. Corpse. by Sylvia McNicoll Page A

Lining up behind the old folks as they stuttered forward on their canes or walkers, watching runny eyes trying to read the fine print on a coupon or shaky fingers groping for change in a clutch purse, or hearing clerks call the seniors “Dear” as they returned the change.
    “Just shoot me,” Donovan would agree as a scooter driven by an old guy on oxygen rolled along beside us.
    But I’ve changed! Now, every time I see one of those elderly people struggling with their shopping, I want to call out “Good for you! Good you can still do it. You’re a hundred times better off than those old people back in Paradise Manor.”
    “Donovan, in front of you is a record of crimes you have committed. Do you acknowledge these?”
    “Yes sir.”
    “You agree this a true representation of your crimes.”
    “Yeah, but Sunny had nothing to do with these.”
    Don’t do me any favours, Donny.
    “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, you have before you Donovan Petrocelli’s criminal record, which shows several convictions for shoplifting. No further questions.”
    Donovan meant well, but he did harm. I can tell by the way the guy with the yellow shirt folds his arms. “Show me your friends . . .” my mother had said. That guy thought he knew who I was from the boyfriend I used to have. What that whole jury didn’t understand was that I grew out of Donovan and a lot of the feelings I used to have. And I really put a lot of myself into my work at Paradise Manor. They just had to check my journal.
    The Ninth Visit — twenty-two hours left
    Mrs. Johnson may tell you I broke the rules again, Mr. Brooks, but I have to tell you I feel really good about my volunteer work today. I spent some time alone with Johann Schwartz and I was able to feed him his entire meal after he’d had a very rough morning.

    For the first snowfall of the season, I sure didn’t ride my bike to Paradise Manor. From my seat by the window of the bus I spotted Cole, though, riding his. He wore a blue toque under his red helmet. I shook my head. What his hair would look like after that!
    I’d actually borrowed some of Donovan’s hair glue, permanently, and kept it in my purse especially for Cole. When we walked into the home together, after sterilizing our hands, I gelled down his hair. I could smell his breath as I used my own comb to place the strands of his hair just so. Wintergreen, much nicer than mint.
    He drew closer but then pulled away. “You have a boyfriend, don’t you, Sunny.”
    It was a statement and a discouraged one at that. I smiled at him. “We’re not engaged to be married.”
    He smiled back.
    “We are supposed to go to his graduation prom together.”
    He pursed his lips. “Kind of like temporarily married.”
    I shrugged my shoulders. “We’ll see.”
    We headed over to the door of the lockup unit and he keyed in the code. Right from the doorway, I heard someone crying. A man.
    “Who’s that?” Cole wondered out loud.
    “Let’s check.” We walked quickly, bypassing all the stone-faced wheelchair gnomes lining the walls. Past Susan rocking her baby, past Fred and Marlene shopping for bread or auto parts. A wide band of yellow tape stretched across the door from frame to frame, blocking off Johann Schwartz’s room as though it were a crime scene or something.
    “He’s by himself for his own protection,” Sheila, the cafeteria goth, told us as she pushed a cart with trays of covered dishes through the hall.
    “What do you mean? I’m supposed to feed him. He can’t do it by himself.”
    “He’s been yelling too much. He upset the others. He can’t eat in the dining room.”
    “I can still feed him though. I’ll do it in his room if he bothers the others.”
    Sheila shook her head. “It’s absolutely against the rules. We can’t be responsible for you all alone with him.”
    Blah, blah, blah. I could hear her talking, but Johann’s crying blocked me from really processing it. I stared at the yellow tape.
    “It’s