I struggle up the last flight of stairs, passing odd; some deformed, slightly unsettling scraps of humanity. They wander aimlessly, some seeming unaware, others seeking the ultimate treasure.
"Got a smoke?" They plead.

I look down the dim hall, it narrows and the roof comes down giving little space for the room at the end.

I am not afraid, I am fifteen and this is my first job, but I sometimes feel I belong more with these kind than my own.

I am decked out in my white nurse dress and apron.
The waddling butt of the nurse ahead of me squeezes into the room, beckoning me to follow.

I squeeze into the room, seeing two small beds, each barely big enough to hold the little men in them. The men are small their bodies twisted with age, heart wrenching withered old men. Both have brown skin with little tufts of hair on their heads, many age spots, their withered old hands clutching thin blankets. They are alert, they are called Rex and Tex.

The sight of them in this alien environment causes me to ask who they once were and how they lost Their identities.
The little information available tells me of ancient Indian chiefs. What their tribes are is unknown. They have difficulty speaking and talking to us. Their words come out whispered, They seem to feel as though they have been misplaced far from their homes.
Even stripped of all they were they still carry inner regal personas. How did such obviously honorable men come to be here?.

I am told to talk to them, Help them to eat and make them comfortable if possible.

The year is 1965, I escaped to St George, a city 50 miles from my home.
I wandered the streets asking for jobs, I found an old apartment to share with revolving girls, different ones each week, all having left home looking for work.

I found a job at "Miracle Manor".
This awful place is state owned. A place for homeless, deformed and old people, many have a shady past. These are unwanted people, some have been here since birth for others this is their last stop; a place to die.

The work at this place is shocking, I see misfits and portions of humanity people I did not know existed, there is no hope here.

My short time with Rex and Tex is a moment I will always treasure.
Sitting with them, I tried to understand their words, unable to gather much about their past lives as leaders and chief's of their people. I wonder how long they have been here?. Who did this to them.

I come in one morning to be told Tex died in the night.
I hold the tiny withered hand of heart broken Rex.
He shakes with little strength.
He calls me "Missy". He is dying also.

I can only reassure him I will not let go of his hand. I am privileged to sit with him until he dies.
I feel him leave, I let go of his hand; he is free.
Now I realize he decided when to die, he stayed so long for his companion Rex. With Rex gone he can finally leave the pain and this haunted room.

I have always wondered; Were there any loved ones on this side to mourn them?
I know for myself someone met them on the other side.
Nobel loved ones, a painted pony and feathered band for each.