Category: Drama ISBN-10: 1449536220
Type: Fiction
Pages: 71
Copyright: October 2008
ISBN-13: 9781449536220
A not-so-short, non-traditional romance taling the depth of love's potential, of what it means and what it takes to keep that love alive once you've found it.
Excerpt
I suppose I am not the first man to experience the sorrow of losing his best friend, his wife. Nor am I the first to have been married to the same woman for almost twenty years, although it seems to grow more uncommon with each passing year. Yet, I can not help but wonder how I shall survive the growing fall in its myriad colorings, the pristine blanketed death of a snowy winter, or even more the noisy and wet and often chaotic rebirth of the spring, alone.
I am only forty.
Now, too I suppose forty does not sound such a big deal to many, nor does it seem that great a deal to me either, save one thing: Perhaps I might someday want to remarry; my life is far from over; time heals all wounds. Everyone tells me these platitudes, but that’s precisely what scares me.
If I may explain:
My first job was working as a matinee usher at the Oakgrove Twin Cinema, where I tore tickets and swept up after the movie had unreeled and the customers had departed. I had dropped out of high school a year or two earlier, thinking better to start a band that could never quite commit to anything but a lack of direction and to chasing girls. I soon tired of the duplicitous high-living and hollering, the nights of music playing, fighting and drinking, and the morning after aches and pains and lethargy the previous twilight had incurred. Instead, I decided to fill my nights by enrolling in high school GED classes at the community college, with every intention to continue my education immediately thereafter. This gave me ample time to resume my studies, which beforehand had been less than exemplary. It also afforded me no opportunity to pursue additional work as my schedule invariably seemed to conflict with other job prospects, working weekdays from one to four every afternoon, Sunday through Friday.
However, every few days, one local nursing home, the Graceful Shaded Manor, brought a select group of its residents for the afternoon show. It was through this job that I met nurse Randall Kelly. He referred me to the convalescent center for my second job, a real job that although it lasted no more than seven months, some twenty years ago, now changes my life again in ways I never fully imported until this writing.
Nurse Kelly was an odd compassionate man, resembling a mismatched Incredible Hulk in transition, looking not very dissimilar to an inflated Lou Ferrigno from the waist upward, but very much more like Bill Bixby as David Banner in his unremarkable stance. Unbeknownst to me, he had watched how carefully I stepped around the scattered wheelchairs and walkers strewn about the otherwise deserted theater. To aid our customers with their salt-free popcorn and tea - bought and brewed solely for them, I never grumbled at the occasional accident that required attention from my limited arsenal of disinfectants and sanitizers. Why it might have bothered me, I never would have guessed, having always cherished my own grandparents as one of the greatest gifts of my life. At the time, I had looked upon these people pretty much as nothing less than a handful of somebody’s grandparents, deserving of respect. Apparently, my coworkers did not share my considerations.
“Come in and file an application,” he had urged again one drizzly afternoon, as I stood sleeveless in the rain helping the last visitor into their shuttle van. The concession girl smirked, running for her own vehicle. Noticing her tousled hair in frayed braids resembling more of grimy dread locks at the back of her neck, the welled chalky bags beneath her eyes and the gangly curve of her slumped gaunt shoulders, (for I had seen her many times previously from here at our band’s playings), I could not help pondering what she thought so disgustful – she would be fortunate to reach half these geriatric’s age if she pursued her lifestyle much longer, though she was probably in her mid-twenties, at most. Ignoring the concessionaire’s sneer, he really pushed his case. “We’ll work around your schedule. I can fully guarantee my own reference will get you hired.” He slid the door closed after tucking one stray hand behind an armrest. He handed me a business card. “Please consider this time.”
“Okay,” I said, wiping the rain from my eyes. “Tomorrow morning,” I added, and waved as I began to dart toward the doors of the theater lobby.
“Promise?” Randall Kelly interjected. He had often before inquired whether I would be interested in a position at Graceful Shaded Manor. I had, however, just as often, noncommittally conversed it might be worth pursuing, but never did.
“Promise,” I confirmed.
Randall Kelly smiled satisfactorily. He bounced into the pleather driver seat of the van, dropped the gear into drive, and gently idled from the curb into the charcoal afternoon.
Now, I cannot say for certain whether or not I actually would have kept my word about filling out an application at the nursing home the following morning had it not been for my girlfriend, Allison, showing up unexpectedly at my parents’ house that evening. As often, she would just call. We would converse over the phone while I perused my school work for the following day, the information vibrant upon my mind after returning from the college. That night, she strode cheerfully past my parents without troubling either herself to knock on the front door or them to rise from their episode of Wheel of Fortune or Cheers or Night Court or whatever else they may have been watching. She waved hello, before closing my bedroom door against them and the facade she wore well. She glared to me with a pregnancy test kit strip that she pulled from her purse and flourished as if I knew what the colored tip meant one way or another. I don’t remember much else about the scare of that night, but that as we sat huddled quietly upon my bed we hugged a lot. She cried a little. My mind reeled. Happy. Sad. Shocked. Frightened. I know I loved her, and I told her so.
With a bread twist-tie I descended to my knee and asked her to marry me. “Of course,” was her customary reply, as we had often inquired of each other whether or not we would, but added, “When we are really ready to make that commitment. Not just now, and not just because of this.”
The next morning, waking to the realization that not only would a GED do little to provide for a growing family, nor even a two-year associate’s degree on a yet undecided career goal – let alone working in a movie theater – do much to divert my impending financial destruction, I thought more considerately of the future. With the nursing home, I knew more than likely I could get more hours, and the thought of possibly advancing through school to become a nurse or some sort of technician did not seem too unappealing or unrealistic with the prospect of Randall Kelly’s possible tutelage.
In pressed dress shirt and a wide tie borrowed from my father, I drove determinedly to the manor, standing in the foyer before a militant receptionist hidden behind a stained glass window reeking ammonia. There may have been twelve glazed mahogany chairs in the waiting area, but not one seated any visitor. Beyond the remotely-locked security doors I saw an equal number of patients trudge past, some assisted, some not, some wheeled, some walking, but not a smile did I see. The thought of working at Graceful Shaded Manor began to depress me not just a little. It must have shown upon my countenance when Randall Kelly arrived.
“Relax,” he cautioned, waving toward the glass doors. “You know from your own experience that not all of our guests are like that.” He smiled and waved to a balding woman with her face pressed lightly to the face of the door, a confused grin lighting her gaze as if she knew Nurse Kelly from somewhere. “Hello, Sherry,” he sang to the woman. She nodded and smiled faintly, before glancing from the glass to meander further along the hallway as had her name been commanded by someone else.
“If you would fill out these forms,” he said, handing me a small packet of papers, retrieving the bottommost to set atop the others. “I’ll come back in about ten minutes to meet the staff director. You still have my card, right?”
“Yes, sir,” I said.
“Good,” he replied. “Just remember to list me in your references.” He turned toward the door, punched a code and the door snapped unlocked. “I’ll be right back.”
“Okay,” I said, and nodded. Hurriedly, I filled out the few pages of forms. I read and wrote fast, that for some while I waited, thumbing first through an AARP leaflet then a National Geographic article about Mongolian deer migration patterns, before Randall Kelly returned.
“Ready?” He asked. “Let’s go.”
The staff director was no one I would have imagined. A portly woman behind paperwork cluttered around one large withering house plant situated just from the center of her desk, she greedily smoked a cigarette from her balled fist as she rifled her drawers. The window hung open with a fan blowing outward perched in its framing. A dozen or so plaques and diplomas papered her office walls. In the quarter hour of our interview, she must have chain-smoked half a pack of cigarettes. After reading my application and being interrupted by one lengthy phone call, she asked only one question.
“Could you start this moment?”
“I suppose so,” I said, peeking hesitantly to nurse Kelly’s watch. I could find a clock nowhere within her office. “At least until noon. I do have another job.” I said, but added hurriedly to the growing look of disappointment on her face. “For the moment, until I have a chance to give notice.”
A few more forms I filled that she filed, then I found myself walking the halls with Randall Kelly, orientating myself to the seemingly labyrinthine passages between residential hallways and rooms, cafeteria and kitchen, recreation and lounge, lobby and waiting. The while I wondered what exactly my job was. Finally I asked.
“Well,” he said, and laughed. “That’s not too easy to say. I mean,” he said, waving to a handful of nurses’ aides as we passed their quiet station. “I have no real idea what your title would be, except perhaps, ‘general aide’. You will take out the trash, dust empty rooms and vac carpets occasionally. Help residents to meals and recreations, get trays and stuff for the kitchen staff. Maybe rake leaves. Whatever someone asks of you.” He paused, searching the stupor of my expression. “But,” he said as if in confidence, pulling me aside near the maintenance closet at the end of the hall. “None of those things is what you’re really here for. Just do as much as you can to, as they say,” he expounded with an undulating wave of his arm, “‘earn your keep’. Honestly, I would hope you might just be a friend to our residents.”
“That sounds easy enough, I guess,” I said.
“Often enough, yes,” Nurse Kelly agreed. “But not always. The director and I had noticed a common decline in our patients as their days here lengthen. Visitors tend become fewer and fewer, and morale suffers. We can’t force them to activities and arts and crafts. We’re not their captors. Sometimes, anyway they just want a friend, not another beaded necklace. Now with her own mother in need of possible services such as ours, she has opened her eyes a little more to the rampant despondency that seems to linger over some of our guests. We want that to change.”
I nodded.
“One point I want you to remember,” he said, stressing his words with an arrowed finger gently spearing my chest. “There’re many years and memories within these rooms. There’s a great deal of wisdom and folly, happiness and hostility. May your goal be nothing more or less than to share their final gifts of friendship and being that our residents may know that the memory of them shall abide. No one wants to feel or be forgotten. Don’t let them think that they will be. Be their friend, their confidant.” He laughed. “There’s your title, ‘resident confidant.’”
“I think I understand, then,” I said.
“Good,” he smiled. “Breakfast is over now,” he said, glancing to his watch. “Go to the cafeteria and see what stragglers are still there, and if they need help to their rooms with anything. They probably won’t. The aides always see to those obvious of need of assistance. But that’s the shortfall. Too many patients. Too few staff. Too much paperwork”
He jabbed me again. “So we hired a friend for them. Just get a feel for the place today. Talk to the residents you can in the dining room. Stack dishes or whatever for the cafeteria crew. Just linger. Be accessible to everyone.
“If you need anything, I should be there off and on.” He waved toward the nurse’s station we had previously passed. He began to walk away, when suddenly he stopped mid-stride, turning upon me. “By the way,” he said chidingly. “Take off that tie. Our residents will think you’re a doctor. They aren’t too fond of doctors. Too much bad news going around.”
I smiled, but obeyed.
Professional Reviews
From the founder of Askwish.com
"Excellent Read!"
If you have ever thought about what it takes to Love someone for a lifetime you will surely enjoy
this read. I don't know if Clinton even understands how deep his work goes. Very, very good. If you
want to verify whoI am, or have questions. Go to http://askwish.com
My name is Conor and I am the founder. Thank you
"Excellent Read!"
If you have ever thought about what it takes to Love someone for a lifetime you will surely enjoy
this read. I don't know if Clinton even understands how deep his work goes. Very, very good. If you
want to verify whoI am, or have questions. Go to http://askwish.com
My name is Conor and I am the founder. Thank you
A page-turning novel about a relationship between best friends that is interrupted because of betrayal , deceit, sexual promiscuity and pregnancy happens!
Spoken Word
This CD will touch the deepest inner part of your humanness and spirit, you will never be the same after listening to the depths of struggle, the reality of life, the touching voice of truth. It will shock you, move you to tears. It w
