Here and Gone

Here and Gone 

By Bel

The sun was bright and overhead.  A woman walking along a path towards him was slowly coming into focus.  

The old man closed his eyes for a moment and rubbed them slowly.  As he opened them, he looked around, adjusting a blanket on his lap.  Benches, trees, stones and paths: this was a park.  Looking closer at the stone in front of him he recognized the markings on its smooth face.  Carved into the centre of the stone’s surface was a large oak tree with a wolf sleeping contently at its base.  The roots of the tree continued down, beneath the imagined ground, forming two boxes, one on the left and one on the right.  The left box had a name and two dates, the right, a name and one.  The left name was his wife’s; the right, his.  He realized where he was.  It was the afternoon and he was in a graveyard.  He was visiting his wife.

The woman who was walking towards him smiled as she sat down next to him.

“I’m sorry we can’t stay much longer Dad,” she said, giving him a hug.  “If Kim isn’t here in ten minutes I’ll have to take you home early.”

“Karen?”

“Yes Dad, its Karen.  You have a little time left so why don’t you talk to mom for a bit and then we’ll get you home.” She patted his knee as she rose, walked back to the car.  

The old man pulled himself up a little and straightened his shirt, trying to organize his thoughts.  “I’m sorry dear.  I must have dozed off there,” he said to the stone across the path.  “There was something I wanted to tell you.”

A concerned look crossed his face as he thought for a moment.  It lightened as he scratched his chin. “Have I told you about my moving yet?”

The gravestone didn’t answer.

“They’re shutting down my home. They’re taking me from my room and moving me to a hospital.  I’ve always been on time with my rent, but they still sold it, sold the whole building.  What am I going to do in a hospital?  Some big city contractor bought the building.  They’re going to tear it down and put up a…a…oh, one of those monster nickelodeon things, the kind with the huge lights that light up the whole horizon and have miles and miles of parking.  My new nurse, Karen, she’s just out of school you know, she says that they charge thirteen dollars a film at these things.  Guess they’ll be calling it the Thirteen-Dollar-Odeon.  I can’t see the use in one of those things myself.  I can always sit at my window and watch things for free.  The movies have changed since we used to go.  There are no more stories to tell it seems.  My old friend Barney Derry said that all they make now are remakes and sequels.

Barney died a few weeks ago.  I miss him coming around for cookies in the morning and to sit by the window and talk or watch outside, or both.  He was my best friend since we came over from England.  I was there in the church when he was baptized and again when he was buried.  He had a lovely funeral.  His granddaughter sang and her boyfriend played the piano.  There were white flowers all over the place.  The minister gave a long speech on what a great man Barney was.  I smiled through his whole speech at how many little sins can be forgiven when they’re laying you six feet under.  It was a nice funeral.  I’ve been to a lot lately.  There aren’t as many of us around as there were when you were still here.  I look outside in the morning and I hardly see anyone that I know anymore.  Where did all these kids come from?”

The gravestone’s silence was broken by the noise of the highway.  The old man turned to watch as a large truck carrying a crane growled its way towards wherever it was going.  Satisfied that he had seen enough, he turned back to his wife’s quiet marker.

“They’re moving me out of my room.  Karen, she’s one of the nurses, says that I’ll be moving very soon.  They sold the building and they’re moving me out.  They promised me that I’d still have a window in my new room.  I don’t know what I’d do in the morning if I didn’t.

I missed sitting at my window the other morning.  Karen took me to see old Doc Kennedy’s successor for a check-up.  That Dr. Rogers turned out to be a real quack.  He only talked with me for twenty minutes, didn’t even do a physical and then started writing on a pad.  He called me demented! Said my mind was sick!  What does he know?  Who does he think he is judging me like that?  He doesn’t even know me!”

The old man pulled a handkerchief from his breast pocket and held it over his mouth as he coughed from the excitement.  He wiped his mouth, refolded the handkerchief and put it back into his pocket.

“They’ve started tearing down the front of Mr. Lon’s grocery store.  Every morning at about nine they start up the heavy equipment and you can look down and see the ugly old store being slowly scraped away.  I helped lay the bricks for that very building fifteen, maybe twenty years ago.  It was good, solid work but I know you always hated the colour.  I agree that the grey bricks were a bad idea; they made the building look sick.  I’m glad to see them go.

Mrs. Lon is pregnant again; Barney told me that the doctor told her she’d only ever have the first two.  Another wrong doctor. What do they go to school for?  I can see the three of them every morning, like a mother duck leading her young, down the front steps, around all the construction, and out to the bus stop.  Eight o’clock sharp. Like clockwork, she is.  If it were anyone else, I’d worry about the youngest. He’s a little too curious, always trying to slip into the construction area to watch the men work after school.  He stands around with his eyes and mouth wide open but he also has enough of his mother’s good sense to stay out of the workers’ way.

No, that’s not it either.  Oh, damn that doctor.  He’s put the idea of me being out of my mind in my head and now I can’t remember what I wanted to tell you,” he said, resting his thumb on his chin and drawing a knuckle along the cleft under his nose.

“I didn’t see Barney this morning for cookies.  I hope he isn’t upset with me,” he said, once again furrowing his brow.

“No!” he yelled, slamming his fist as hard as he could against the arm of his seat.  “Barney is dead!  That stupid doctor; I hate him. I hate him for telling me I’ll lose control.  I hate him for telling me I’ll lose my mind.  I hate him for making me take all these stupid pills.  I hate him for making me move.  I hate him!”

The old man was looking down and breathing heavily.  His eyes were red and they stung.  His right hand was balled into a fist, massaging a pain in the centre of his chest.  His left hand was stretched across his brow.  He wiped his eyes and looked at the gravestone.

“There was something I wanted to tell you, something I wanted to say,” he whispered, closing his eyes, trying to think hard about what it was.  He knew it was there.  He just had to find it.  It was in there, somewhere.  It was past the memories imposing themselves on the present, past the confusion, past the worries and fear.  He took a deep breath and clenched his jaw.

“I wanted to tell you that I still love you.  While I still know.  While I still can, in case that bloody doctor and his bloody pills are right.  I wanted to tell you before I’m still here but gone.” 

Karen sat in her car, crying.  A knock on the window made her look up.  Outside the door was her father’s nurse, Kim.  She rolled down the widow and tried to smile.

“It’s getting worse,” Karen said, sighing and looking up at Kim, “He can’t remember who I am for more than a few minutes anymore.  I don’t know what to do.”

“There’s not much left to do.  I try to keep him happy, but it’s hard for him to keep his mind active.  He doesn’t have the attention span to watch TV or read anymore.”

“I know.  Look, I won’t be by next week.  I just can’t.  Keep him warm for me, please.”

Kim nodded and backed away from the car door so that Karen could pull out.

Kim’s hand on his shoulder startled him awake.

“Karen?” he said, looking up at her.

“No Mr. O. Karen is your daughter.  I’m Kim, your nurse.  It’s time to go home now.”

“They’re tearing down my home.”

“Mr. O, they tore down your old building last year.  You live over at the hospital now, remember?”

“They did?”

“Yes, we moved all of your things to the hospital.”

“What about my window?”

“You have a window in your new room.”

“It’s not my window.  It’s not a proper window.”

“Sure it is.  It lets in plenty of light.”

“It’s not a proper window.  A proper window doesn’t just let in light and not look over anything.  What good is a window that looks out over nothing?”

“I don’t know Mr. O,” she allowed, not wanting to start another argument.  Trying to be helpful she added, “It does let the fresh air in, though.”

The old man sighed.  It was a lovely day.  What was there, really, to be upset about?

“I guess it doesn’t matter.  Sorry I was short with you.  You seem like a nice girl,” he said, closing his eyes and patting her hand.  “Take me home then.  We can have cookies and I can introduce you to my wife.”