"My Roommate Never Talks To Me"

            Nellie has a new roommate in her double-occupancy nursing-home room. The old one, Ruth, irritated her to no end (though not through any fault of Ruth's except for old age and senility), so when Nellie decided to move two doors down the hall I hoped the new neighbor would be a good change. And as far as I can see, Mrs. Hooper is a perfectly pleasant lady--elderly and slow-moving, but that's to be expected. Granted, she doesn't speak Russian, but Nellie gets along just fine with most of the attendants in spite of language limitations, so there's no reason the two couldn't be at least amiable acquaintances. It took me rather by surprise, then, when one afternoon after Mrs. Hooper had just returned to the room Nellie began railing to me in much more than a stage whisper. Sometimes I'm inexpressibly grateful that no one has a clue what she's saying.

            "She never says anything to me! She never greets me or anything! She just goes right on by! Why?"

            I tried to soothe her. "Probably because she only speaks English and you only speak Russian. She probably doesn't know what she could say that you would understand."
            Nellie was not to be mollified. "But she never says anything! Just scoots her chair right past me--nothing."

            This, by the way, was not strictly true. I've been there myself on a few occasions when she's told Nellie she'll be out of the bathroom soon (Nellie went into fits about how her "soon" is always an awfully long time) or made some small comment  like "Oh, you're having tea." But I wasn't going to argue that point.

            "Well," I began hesitantly, "do you ever say something to her? Hello, perhaps?"

            A look of blank astonishment covered Nellie's face. "Me?" The idea, apparently, had never occured to her. "No..." she said, bewildered.

            "Maybe...just maybe, if you started it, she might realize that you could understand each other a little and then she might begin talking to you." For a second, Nellie sat silent, digesting the idea. Then the thoughtful furrow in her forehead smoothed itself out and she waved her hand dismissively.

            "Oh, I don't want to. It's too much bother!"

            I shook my head in disbelief and laughed at her. "Well then," I scolded, shaking my finger at her, "you shouldn't be offended!" Sheepishly, like a child caught in some small fault, she grinned and hugged me with her one good arm.