Getting married

   When the aides park Mom in the hallway, they point her toward the side door, through which she can see a bird feeder I hung up last summer and keep forgetting to refill, a tool shed, a parking lot, distant playground equipment. 
   Large rabbits live under the shed. They nibble around out there, and scratch their ears with their feet.
   She stares at the door and mutters.
   Her tone is endearing, as though she's explaining something to a child. There's a "smile" in her voice. I can make out the words as I approach her from behind. 
   "Julia Loyall and Sunny Darden are getting married.
   "We love each other very much.
   "Father Tom has given his blessing to our union."
   
   Something to know here is that Sunny is Mom's roommate. She was born with a seizure disorder. She uses a wheelchair, and her elderly parents can no longer help her into and out of it. They visit her every day and take her home on Sundays. 

    "Julia Loyall and Sunny Darden are married," Mom says, as though reading, while looking past my head.
   I turn to follow her gaze and see the name card on the wall outside her door. Below the room number, it reads: "Julia Loyall/Sunny Darden."
   Whenever they park her in the hall where she can see that card, she becomes the new and/or prospective Mrs. Darden.
   
   "What is Sunny like?" I ask her one day.
   "Tall. He is very nice. He likes flowers a lot," she says.
   "Really."
   "Julia Loyall and Sunny Darden are getting married and Father Tom has given his blessing, so all we have to do is climb into the big black car. And now, we are married."
   I don't say anything for many seconds. I can feel myself trying to think, but then a clear voice in my head says, "Oh, why not?"
   "OK," I say to her. "Julia Loyall and Sunny Darden are married. Do they have children?"
   "One day, I guess," she says, as though she hasn't considered it before.
   Just then, Sunny propels her chair from the Bistro hallway. 
   "Julia!" she says. "We are not married. I am a girl and so are you. I am your roommate."
   Mom smiles her inane smile and looks past us to the card on the wall.
   "Julia Loyall and Sunny Darden ..." she reads.
   "Yes!" Sunny says. "We are roommates."
   "... are married."
   "No, Julia, no. I love you and I am your friend, but I am not married to you. We are roommates."
   "Have you met Sunny?" Mom asks her, sweetly. "We love each other very much, and one day we will have children."
   Sunny looks at me. I shrug.