The push handles of the old wheelchair fit perfectly into the grasp of Geneva’s hands. Slowly, she proceeded through the dreary hallways of the retirement home, scanning each door for number 301. She looked down for a moment at Florence, expecting her to give an indicator as to how close they were. Instead, Florence sent her a grin, before rocking gently in her chair. Finally, Geneva caught a glimpse of a small plaque fixed to a door, the number 301 engraved in clear text on the front.

            “Here’s my room!” Florence exclaimed, pulling her keys from the purse hanging from her chair.

            Geneva reached out to grab the keys from her, receiving a mumble of refusal.

            “I can do it myself. Besides, you’d have trouble with the door. It gets stuck quite often.”

            Being respectful of her choice, Geneva took a small step back while Florence fumbled with her keys. She heard a soft ‘click, as the key finally entered the lock. Just as Florence predicted, a struggle with the door ensued, and the older woman found herself tugging and pushing on the key with force. Geneva squirmed uncomfortably, tempted to grab the keys despite Florence’s protest. She found any attempt futile, however, and received a dismissive wave each time she reached out. Finally, she heard a sigh of relief and watched Florence push the door open, forgetting to wait for Geneva as she hastily wheeled herself into the room.  

            Geneva wasn’t entirely sure how to describe the sensation the room gave her. The bleak, sleepy atmosphere gave her a hint of sadness, as she realized there were few touches of frequent company. She could sense that Florence was here on her own most days, though pictures and postcards proved the existence of an extensive family. What truly struck Geneva, however, was a growing stack of unopened envelopes sitting on a table by the wall. A part of her hoped that they remained untouched out of pure disinterest, but according to Florence it was not so; Florence never opened them not because she didn’t want to, rather, because it was pointless for her to try.

            “Before we begin,” Florence interrupted her train of thought, “Do you mind if I listen to some voicemails?”

            Geneva shook her head silently, encouraging her to do as she pleased.

She couldn’t say she had experience with this sort of thing; though she had volunteered at the retirement village for months prior to meeting Florence, her interactions with those she helped were limited to a certain degree. Her routine followed the same pattern on a weekly basis. She’d sit in the lobby, wait patiently for her usual participants to grab their puzzle worksheets, work through each problem with them, and send them off to pass another week without her. Never before, however, had anybody extended her purposes as a volunteer as Florence did, but she couldn’t be more eager to help.

            A small noise interrupted the silence as Florence pressed a button on her phone. Geneva listened attentively, waiting for the voicemails to play.

            “You have one new voicemail from… Dina Hopkins.”

            The notification sounded over the phone. Florence leaned back in her chair slightly, her eyes gleaming with recognition of the name.

            “Hi mom, it’s Dina. Just wanted to let you know I can’t come to lunch today. So sorry to cancel again on you. Maybe next time!”

            With a soft beep, the message ended. Geneva glanced sympathetically at Florence, but was shocked to find her in an almost alarming state of peacefulness. At the realization that there were no more messages, Florence turned her attention to a folded letter sat beside a bible on the table. Slowly, she lifted the letter and held it out shakily.

            “You mind reading this? Afraid my eyes can’t make it out too well.”

            Geneva nodded, taking the letter and skimming its contents. Clearing her throat, she began to read aloud with a clear tone,

            “To all residents, please be aware that our laundry services have been further delayed. We also regret to inform you all that in light of recent building updates, all residents are expected back in their rooms earlier than usual. Have a good week, and please review tomorrow’s schedule printed below.”

            Before she could continue, Florence quietly raised a hand to silence her.

            “No need. I’m not interested in the schedule. Would you put it with the others?”

            Geneva reluctantly obliged, standing to put the letter in Florence’s stack. She balanced it gently on top, afraid the stack would come undone at the lightest touch. With another backwards glance at Florence, she observed her quick companion rocking with the same merriment she showed not long before that. It interested her deeply to see that Florence seemed untouched by any poor circumstances, smiling pleasantly as she set her heavy bible in her lap.

            Geneva took her seat across from her once again, receiving a face-wide grin from Florence. Without a word, she felt the weight of the bible being rested on her lap, while Florence proceeded to flip through pages. After a few minutes of hasty page flipping, Florence leaned back restfully in her chair.

            “If you could read from the Book of James, please.”

            With that, Geneva turned to find what she was asked for. Straightening her posture, she began to deliver each verse with a tone of confidence. To her, the reading was simplistic as it had been the other times she read, whether it was to herself or to others. However, to Florence, the distinct annunciation Geneva dedicated to each word was as musical as her favorite symphonies. That one striking instrument of the voice could overpower any orchestral composition in Florence’s mind, and she took in every sound as though they were a breath of life. What was really only a matter of a few minutes seemed like hours to the both of them, as they were enthralled by every moment of tranquility within the room.

            “You can stop now, dear. I have to write something down.”

            Geneva nodded, quietly closing the book and returning it to its place on the table. She was about to bid her farewells, before noticing Florence holding the schedule in her hands. Geneva watched with a curious confusion as Florence simultaneously scribbled in her notebook and skimmed the schedule. Finally, she muttered under her breath with another scribble in her notebook,

            “A movie at noon… crafts at 2:00 PM… dinner at 4:00 PM…”

            Geneva stood quietly, a realization crossing her mind.

            “You… you can read the schedule?”

            Florence looked up from her paper, a reflection of slight shock in her expression. Turning her back to Geneva, she placed the paper back on top of the stack and diverted her attention back to the notebook.

            “Yes,” she adjusted her glasses carefully, “I suppose I can.”

            Setting her pen down with one hand, Florence closed the journal quietly and faced her phone once more. She said nothing else and merely sat with her eyes fixated on the phone, as though she awaited something patiently. Geneva opened the door to the room, briefly turning back to face Florence before leaving.

            “If you’d like for me to read again, I’ll come back whenever you want.”

            Florence sent her a nod of acknowledgement, the trace of a smile briefly visible on her face. Without another word, Geneva walked back out into the hallway. As she closed the door, she caught a final glimpse of Florence still seated by her phone, patiently waiting for any sound as she had done many times before.