“Stop! George! Stop!” A woman runs down the hallway, panic in her voice. I step out of my cousin Jane’s room at the Autumn View Health Care Facility to watch the scenario unfold. The woman, a personal aid worker, gasps as she continues to pursue a man, an older man, slight build, his lips clenched together in determined concentration. Shoulders hunched, he pushes slippered feet along the carpet as fast as he can propel the wheelchair he occupies.
Close behind, he’s followed by a woman, also in a wheelchair. A brown fedora tilted to one side of her head lends her a certain saucy look. Sparkly green New Balance runners are firmly planted on the foot rest of the wheelchair. Wizened, scarecrow arms turn the large, rubber wheels with all the might she can muster.
Both wheelchairs are headed with their resolute occupants directly to the emergency exit of the appropriately named facility, the last residence for those ravaged by age or infirmity. George, the leader of the intended escape picks up speed as he sees his goal within reach. The care-giver left behind in the wheelchair’s dust, leans against the wall, her pleas barely a whisper.