Carol was sitting by herself in the lunch room, slowly sipping her apple juice, her eyes staring directly down at the table and nowhere else. If anyone were to look at her for even more than half a second, they'd find it very easy to notice she was lost in deep thought about something, but what? So she sat and drank and thought. Boris sat down with her, his lunch tray filled with food. He sighed and picked up his fork, slowly poking at the food in front of him.
"At least they feed us well," Boris said, "I've heard horror stories about other nursing homes. It's awful, some of the shit those poor people are forced to eat." "I remember the slop they tried to feed us in elementary school," Carol said, half smiling, "My parents could afford to send me to school everyday with a lunch, we were better off than other families, but some of my friends, the crap the school provided to them, oh, it was vile, Boris. Absolutely vile." "I can't believe, now that I'm as old as I am, that I cared so much about where to eat as a young person. That it had to be hip, have atmosphere, all that bullshit. It's food. It's something that's going to end up in my toilet. Why the fuck should I care as long as it tastes halfway decent? It's not like I'm there to make friends or some shit! I'm there to stuff my face." "That's the spirit!" Carol said, laughing, touching his arm. As Boris started eating, Carol sighed and looked around at everyone in the lunchroom, and then back at Boris, realizing she was very lucky to have him as a friend. Sure, he was grumpy and kind of a snob, but he was honest, he was kind to her, he respected her. Carol finished her juice and looked back down at the table. "...did you read the paper?" she asked. "Nah, haven't gotten to it yet. Had to do some physical fitness stuff this morning, keep me limber, all that crap," Boris said, "Anything interesting?" "Just the usual. You know, government screwing its own citizens for the sake of its own survival, big CGI blockbusters outdoing one another at the box office dumbing down the masses while well made thought provoking film is left to rot, same ol' same ol'." "Sounds riveting," Boris said, shoving salad into his mouth. "...there was this story of this high school girl, a sophomore; great student, straight a's, extracurricular activities out the wazoo, all that jazz. She got hooked on pain medication because of a lacrosse injury she got playing for the school team, and she overdosed on them." "Jesus," Boris said, swallowing and picking up his drink. "...I knew her," Carol said softly. "Yeah? Relative? Kid of a friend?" "No, she just came here a few times, doing after school stuff for college applications," Carol said, "She'd come in, read to me a little, we'd talk about school, that sort of stuff." "That stinks Carol, I'm sorry," Boris said, patting her back, "It hurts losing people you know especially this late in the game when it gets so much harder to make new friends." "I killed her," Carol said coldly, and Boris looked at her as Carol lifted her gaze from the table and their eyes locked. "W...what?" he asked. "They were my pills. I sold them to her," Carol said, "I killed her." *** "God, I don't know how you do it," Carol said, leafing through Lexa's essays as the two sat at Carols desk in her room, "I never did this well in school, I didn't have the energy, and I tried pretty damn hard. You're so determined. It's nice to see." "Well," Lexa said, pushing hair behind her ear and blushing, "I get so little sleep, I stay up just trying to make sure my schoolwork is just perfect. They push us so hard, you know? It's not enough to get up at 6 in the morning, but then they give you so much work you have to stay up until about 3, so you get 3 hours, and that's if you don't have insomnia, which thankfully I don't, but still. I know some girls who drink coffee nonstop and stay up all night every week and sleep all through the weekend." "That's disgusting," Carol said, shaking her head, "Something about the school system has to change." "It'll all be worth it when I get into college," Lexa said, "I'm so excited." "I used to be like that," Carol said, laughing, "God. I was so excited for every single upcoming thing in my life, always looking forward to the next adventure. Could never enjoy what was in the moment because I was so preoccupied with what came after." The girls laughed, and Lexa started packing up. As she stood up, she stumbled a bit and hissed in pain, grabbing at her ankle as she sat on the bed. Carol looked at her, confused. "Are you alright, dear?" she asked. "I hurt my ankle during my last lacrosse game," Lexa said, "It's still stinging, and I don't have the time to take off school to go to the doctors and get it really looked at, and plus I need the physical credit to maintain my GPA." "You don't have anything to deal with the pain?" Carol asked, and Lexa shook her head, so Carol opened her desk drawer and pulled out a pill calendar and opened it, pulling three light blue pills out and putting them in Lexas hand, shutting it around them and smiling. "What...what is this?" Lexa asked. "It'll help with the pain," Carol said. "I can't just take something, let me at least pay you," Lexa said. "Oh, you don't have to-" "No, I...I'd feel guilty otherwise," Lexa said, opening her purse. "Well, if you insist," Carol said, the two of them laughing. *** "Come again?" Boris asked as Carol buried her face in her hands, weaving her fingers through her dyed brown hair. "I killed her," she whispered, "They came from me. The pills she died on came from me. I'm responsible." "Jesus christ," Boris said, setting his fork down, wiping his mouth and turning to face her, lowering his voice now, "What...what are you going to do? I mean, are you going to tell anyone, or-" "Are you CRAZY!?" Carol hissed, "That is not an option, Boris. I could get in major trouble if I came forward. There's no paper trail, no evidence linking me to her, so nobody will ever know anything. For all a coroner could know, she could've gotten those pills from a friends grandparents or a medicine cabinet somewhere or who knows." "Carol, you killed a kid," Boris whispered, "You have to take responsibility for that!" "I didn't mean to!" Carol said, "God knows, I never...she was so talented, she had such a bright future...she-" "You don't know that," Boris said. "...wh...what?" "You don't know she had a bright future. Nobody is guaranteed a bright future, good student or not. Look at all the talented people who wind up in obscurity. No, you have the idea she had a bright future, but for all you know, she might've wound up somewhere else, somewhere worse. She might've ended up an alcoholic, or hooked on some other drug, or pregnant and abandoned." "Boris, I knew the girl, she was smart, she was dedicated, she-" "Because she was young, but let's look at her in 15 years, when she's out of college...look at the state the world is in for young people, alright? No jobs for anyone even with high end college degrees, they're all renting, if they can afford that, or living at home still, so many don't even drive. You don't know where she would've ended up once the school life was over, okay?" Boris had a point, Carol realized; so many "smart and bright" students were left to rot once they burned out or were found not to be financially dependable to their parents. Nowadays to get a retail job as a cashier you needed 15 years experience even if you were only 23. Maybe Carol had saved this girl in some twisted way from having learned life is unjust and cruel. Maybe Lexa had lived the best part of her life already, and things were about to get very, very bad. Perhaps this was a blessing in disguise. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. *** Carol was fast asleep, it was almost 3 in the morning. She slowly woke, tasting something awful in her mouth, realizing she needed some water. Carol got up and headed to the bathroom in her room and turned on the faucet, grabbed a paper cup and filled it, drinking it when she heard a tapping coming from somewhere. As she turned to find it, she noticed Lexa was standing outside her bedroom window. Carol threw the cup away and walked to the window, unlatching it. "Lexa?" she asked groggily, "What're you doing here?" "I'm in so much pain," Lexa said, "I could barely drive here, the pressure on my ankle on the gas pedal, it was so painful. I need more medicine." "I don't have any," Carol said, "I'm waiting to get it refilled. I only have two and those are for my own hip pain." "Carol, please, please, I hurt so much," Lexa said, near tears, "You don't...I am under so much pressure to play in this weekends upcoming game and I need to make sure I can do it. After that I will deal with it and go to a doctor and actually get something done about this, but I hurt so much." "....Lexa, I'm sorry, I-" "I'll give you 1500 dollars for the two of them." "...what?" "1500." "Where did you even-" "I have two part time jobs, okay," Lexa said, "I've been saving for months, please. Carol, I'm so sorry to have to put you in this position, but I am in so much pain, you should know what that's like to live with. Seriously. I can't even sleep anymore because it hurts all night long. I just want to not hurt for like, another two days, and then it's spring break and I'll have time off to see a doctor and-" "....alright, okay, sure," Carol said, walking to her desk and getting the last two pain pills she had. She walked back to the window and looked at Lexa, "Promise me you will see someone about your ankle after this, okay?" "I do, I promise, I don't want to be doing this, especially to you." Carol smiled and handed her the two pills, "You're a good kid, Lexa. I hope this helps." And as Lexa turned and headed back to her car in the darkness, Carol had a feeling that would be the last time she'd ever see her. *** "Wait wait wait," Boris said, "Two pills?" "....yeah, so?" "You can't overdose on two pills, I'm sorry, I don't care how strong they are." "But....but why-" "From the way you've described this girl, it seems like she was overworked and hyperfocused, not a good combination, so maybe she killed herself." "It said she overdosed," Carol said. "That could've been on anything," Boris said, "But I'm telling you, two pills ain't gonna do shit, Carol, trust me, as a former drug addict." Just then Burt came by holding a stack of papers. "Mail's here," he said, handing Boris a few magazines and a newspaper, and then Carol a single envelope before heading on his way. "Goddammit, how did I get on the fucking pottery barn mailing list?!" Boris shouted, standing up, "Who did this!? Alice?! Was this you?!" "Bite me, windbag!" Alice shouted from across the room. "If you had any teeth left, you old hag, I'd kick them in!" Boris shouted, as Alice laughed. "Boris..." Carol said, touching his arm as he sat back down, "Boris...it's from her." "Hmmm?" Boris glanced at the envelope Carol was holding, and it was indeed from a Lexa Platter. Carol and Boris exchanged nervous glances, and Carol took Boris's plastic knife, opening the envelope and pulling out a letter, which she slowly unfolded and started to read aloud. "Dear Carol, I know letter writing is so out of date, but I wasn't sure you had an email, so. I wanted to thank you for caring about me. You cared about how well I did in school because you liked me, not because it made you look good, unlike my parents, and you helped me deal with my injury without asking a lot of questions. I want you to know how much I valued knowing you, and I wish I could've made it to be your age, but things are so tough right now, life is only going to get harder, busier, and I know I won't be able to handle it. I knew you would read about me in the paper, and I didn't want you to think you'd be responsible, so I figured I'd tell you it's not your fault. I actually never even took the last pills you gave me, because when I got home, my father found out about my boyfriend. He'd been in my room while I was gone, looking for me, and it turned into an enormous fight. He called me a slut, called me a disappointment, after everything I've done for them. I realize now that you simply can't live to make other people happy, but you also can't live if those are the only people you care about making happy. Carol...you've lived such a full life, I wanted that, but it isn't for me. Thank you for caring when nobody else would. I love you. Lexa." "See," Boris said, smiling, "I told you it wasn't your fault." "God...the way we treat our young people needs to change, Boris, this is sick," Carol said, near tears as Boris rubbed her back. "Hey, you did something good for her, you cared. That's a start," he said, the two of them smiling at one another as Boris continued to flip through his mail, suddenly standing up again and shouting, "God dammit, Alice! Stop signing me up for junk magazines! I don't even OWN a horse!" Carol looked back at the letter and smiled widely, still nearly crying, wishing she could've done more, but proud of what little she had been able to do. *** *knock knock!* Carol opened the door to her room to find a young brunette woman standing there. "Yes?" Carol asked. "Hi, my name's Lexa, I'm with Martins High School, I'm here to read to you," she said, smiling. "Sweetheart, I know how to read." "Well, congratulations, we're all proud of you, but I'm still going to do it," Lexa said, the two of them starting to laugh. "God," Carol said, "You look so much like myself when I was young...you want to come in?" "So I'm going to look this good when I'm your age?" Lexa asked as she entered and Carol started to shut the door. "Girl, you know we're a catch!" she replied.
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"I remember being in the girlscouts," Whittle said as she walked Chrissy down the hall.
"Did you have to do this sort of thing?" Chrissy asked, and Whittle smiled, nodding. "Oh yeah, helping the elderly was a big time effort. Granted, we didn't have to go to nursing homes, they considered that 'too dark' for kids our age, but anytime we saw an elderly person in need of any sort of help, we were supposed to help them," Whittle said. "What is this guy like?" Chrissy asked, sounding nervous. "Sweetheart, don't worry, I know him, he's an old man, you'll be just fine." As Whittle opened the door to Boris's room, they saw him sitting on the bed, holding a lighter, casually setting his tie on fire. Nobody said a word, and finally Whittle just sighed, pushed the girlscout inside and shut the door as she left. The girlscout looked at Boris, who put the lighter down and groaned as he stood up. "Are you here to sell me cookies? Because I can't eat them, and if you're selling magazines, I probably won't live long enough to make use of a subscription service," Boris said as he walked across the room and grabbed a chair, dragging it back to the bed. "I'm not...I'm just...I'm here to help you so I can earn a badge," she said, "I'm Chrissy." "Chrissy, I'd tell you it's nice to meet you, but it's not really nice to meet anyone anymore," Boris said as he walked away from the chair and into his closet, where he rooted around for something, "You say you need to help me with anything I ask?" "Yes sir." "Then help me hang myself," Boris said, as he pulled out a rope. *** Down the hall, in Carols room, she was being treated to the same thing. Carol had gotten her own girlscout, a young black girl named Missy. Carol was just sitting in the rocking chair by the window smoking while Missy sat on the end of the bed and asked her questions from a paper she had attached to a clipboard. "Are you happy with your life?" she asked. "At this age?" Carol asked, laughing, "It's not a bad life, but it's not where I wanted to end up. I always thought I'd be living on my own at this point, rich enough to take care of myself." "Wasn't your generation the most wealthy?" Missy asked, "I mean, you guys were able to buy homes in your 20s. My sister is in her 20s and lives at home because she can't pay for that, and can barely afford her college courses, and she works 3 jobs." "Yeah, we were the most financially successful," Carol said, grabbing a teapot from the dresser by the chair and pouring herself a cup, "But that doesn't mean we did the right things with it. For instance, instead of stocking money away for retirement or anything, I blew it all on frivolous things, put some into charity, and I'm not saying that's a lost cause, but it didn't help me stay out of this place." "Charity's a good thing!" Missy said, smiling. "Well sure it is," Carol said, laughing, "But when you reach this age, you start to wonder if you should've saved some of that money to take care of yourself. You think about all the mistakes you've made in your whole life, and what they cost you now." "What did you used to do?" Missy asked. "...you want to see something beautiful?" Carol asked, and Missy nodded. Carol lifted herself from her chair and headed to the closet, where she reached inside and pulled out a large cardboard box. She motioned for Missy to join her, and she did, kneeling beside Carol at the closet. Carol opened the box and started pulling things out. "These are clothes," Missy said. "Clothes I designed," Carol said, coughing, "I used to be a seamstress, but in my spare time, I made my own clothes for fun. I went to school to major in fashion." "This is beautiful!" Missy said, grabbing a blouse and holding it up. "Yeah, I like that one too," Carol said, smiling, "Do you want it?" "Really?" "Sure, why not, I've got a few and they're not doing anyone any good being in here," Carol said, "Take it, enjoy it." Missy stood up and pulled her jacket off and pulled the blouse on over her girlscout shirt, and walked to the mirror, admiring it. She squealed and raced back to Carol, hugged her and helped her continuing to search through these clothes Carol had made. This was the first time in years Carol had talked about her work, and it was nice to have someone to share it with who would appreciate it. *** "Why would you want to die?" Chrissy asked, as Boris climbed onto the bed and started tying the rope around a banister. "A whole lot of reasons, but today in particular? Just feels right." "I...I don't think this is what I..." "Look, you're supposed to help me, right?" Boris asked, finishing and climbing back down, "So then help me! You have no idea what it's like to be here, to be in this situation, to have wasted your entire goddamned life and know you have no time left to fix anything." "There's always time to fix things," Chrissy said. "Yeah, if you're 12." "I don't want to-" Boris sat down on the chair and buried his face in his hands, starting to breath heavily, trying not to cry. Chrissy sat on the edge of the bed and looked at him. "I used to have a little girl like you," Boris said, not looking at her, "You look a lot like her. You're right, this is wrong. I can't force you to help me. I couldn't force her to do anything either. Trying to force her to participate in an extracurricular activity is why it happened. So no, I won't ask you to do something. Just go ahead and leave." "Where is she now?" "Not here, obviously," Boris said, wiping his eyes, "Every year I do this. Every year on this day, the day it happened, I pull this rope and this chair out and try and end everything, and it's only made harder today because you're here and you look like her. But it's wrong of me to put you in this situation, so just leave now and go get your badge and live the best life you can." Chrissy touched the ends of her skirt and sighed. "I don't even really want the badge, I don't really want to be doing this." "...then why are you?" "Because my parents are making me. I don't like doing group stuff, but they say I'm too 'antisocial' and that I need to have more friends my age." Boris scoffed, "Who would want a friend? Honestly. More trouble than they're worth." "I agree. Everyone is so mean," Chrissy said, "I wish I could be here, alone, not doing anything." "Hah," Boris said, sitting on the bed beside her now, "Trust me, you don't want this." A moment passed as Chrissy pulled at her braids. "What was your daughter like?" she asked. "A lot like you," Boris said, smiling, "She really didn't want to do group things. She was fine being alone. She was smart, probably too smart for her own age to be honest, and she didn't get along with a lot of kids because of it, but it didn't bother her. She was fine staying by herself and reading or playing alone, or doing things with her mother and I." "She sounds cool." Boris couldn't help it anymore, and started sobbing. *** "And here comes Missy Blake, down the runway in a beautiful sequined gown, complete with tiara and high heels, look at that stride, that poise!" Carol said, talking into an unplugged microphone she was holding as Missy walked from one end of the room to the other, laughing the whole time. "Why didn't you ever try and sell these?" Missy asked. "I did try a few times," Carol said, "But ultimately I did it for myself. It was something I wanted to prove to myself I could do, and besides, how unique are clothes if everyone can have them? People often asked me where I got my outfits, and I told them I made them and they were so crestfallen that they couldn't go to a superstore and buy them." "How did you learn to sew?" Missy asked, "Because my grandma tried teaching me but I can't do it." "Why not?" Carol asked, sitting back down on the bed as Missy stepped out of the high heels. "Because I have bad hand eye coordination," she said, laughing, "It's okay though, I still like to draw and design stuff." "Sometimes that's all it takes. You don't have to do it all, you can only do a part of it and get someone else to stitch the damn thing for you," Carol said, "Is that what you think you might want to go to school for eventually?" "That would be great," Missy said, "Can I show you some of my designs? I have them in my backpack!" "Of course you can!" Carol said, the two of them sitting on the bed as Missy dug through her backpack to drag out her designs to show. *** "Why do people kill themselves?" Chrissy asked, the two of them laying on his bed, looking up at the ceiling. Boris sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Because often they feel the alternative is more painful," he said, "I've lost everything. I deserve to be here. I deserve to die. Some people realize after an attempt that they didn't really want to die, and they can get the help they need to get better, but there's always those people for whom life really is not worth living. Once you've reached my age, been through what I've been through...it makes it kind of hard to want to keep going." "My grandpa died a year ago," Chrissy said, making Boris sit up on his elbows, looking at her. "...yeah? Were you two close?" "Yeah. We were really close. I really miss him. After he died, my grandma moved in with us, and they sold their house, and now I can't go back there. I miss their house." "It's incredible how attached to buildings we get. Your grandparents house is just as memorable as they themselves often are, because you spend so much good time there. I remember when my parents sold their house, and thinking how it's not my place anymore. How somebody else is going to make memories in it now, and I felt so angry. No! This is my place! I felt like they were invading my space." "Yeah, exactly," Chrissy said. "But...memories are all we really are guaranteed in this life. Memories are all that keep a lot of the people here warm at night. Even if their children never come visit, even if their spouse is gone, they still can wrap themselves in those memories, and the world doesn't seem so bleak. You can do that too. You can celebrate your grandfathers life by keeping his memories alive, that way he isn't really dead." Chrissy smiled and sat up, "Please don't kill yourself." "How about this, how about I promise not to kill myself if you promise to remember your grandpa every day. Does that sound fair to you?" Boris asked, and she nodded, when Boris added, "Now come on, I have something you actually can help me with." *** There was a knock at Leah's door, and she got up to answer it, setting her book down on the table by the chair. When she opened the door, she found Chrissy standing there, holding a bunch of flowers she and Boris had picked. "...do I know you?" Leah asked. "No, but these are for you," Chrissy said, "They're from a friend." Chrissy handed Leah the flowers and turned and left, meeting Boris back outside. When Leah took the flowers, she turned the little card attached to it over and read what he'd written: "Remember, you have friends." "This is stupid," Boris said as he tried to search through a small, plastic blue box containing dozens upon dozens of beads of different sizes, shapes and colors, "Where's all the goddamned brown?"
"I think Alice took them," Carol said, sniffling as she blew her nose into her kerchief before turning back to the task at hand." "God, that's disgusting," Boris said, shying away from the snot rag. "Oh, I'm sorry, does my bodily function bother you?" Carol asked. "How're we doing over here?" a tall, lanky man with blonde facial hair, wearing a tucked in long sleeved blue shirt with a pin on it that read 'Alex' asked as he stopped at their table, "Everything going okay? Some of these are tricky to get right, so if anyone needs any help-" "Yeah, could you ask Alice to stop taking all the goddamned brown? Or, if she won't, maybe kill her?" Boris asked, making Carol snicker. "Just pick a different color, asshole," Alice said from the end of the table, forcing Boris to groan and look down the table towards her. "Don't make me come down there!" he shouted. "Like you could, Walker Texas Ranger," Alice shouted back, and Boris grimaced, looking at his sad crafts project in front of him, muttering. "It's a cane," he said under his breath. "What is the point of this activity?" Larry asked, "Nobody is ever going to come get it, trust me, and I certainly don't need some goddamned beads on colored string to make me feel better. Is there a point to this other than wasting an afternoon?" "They make us do this shit because it 'keeps us vital', keeps our minds active," Carol said, and Alex grinned, touching her shoulder. "That's exactly right," he said, "We wouldn't want you guys to slow down, we want to help keep you sharp and active. That's why we have these activity days." "So we're not forced labor making cheap knock off wallets?" Boris asked. "No, that's the elementary school down the street," Carol replied, the two of them laughing. Alex eventually went back to his rounds, checking in on other tables and for a bit nobody said a thing. Boris was having a lot of trouble getting his beads threaded, and kept gritting his teeth due to the frustration. After a few seconds, he looked over at Carol and tried to follow her technique, which was to lick the end of the string and then thread it, but that just tasted awful, and finally he heard Whittle standing beside him. "Need some help?" she asked happily, kneeling down beside him, "I used to do these sorts of things in girl scouts. I'm an expert threader." "This is so mind numbingly boring, so if their intention is to keep our minds active, I think it's backfiring," Boris said, and Whittle chuckled as he continued, "So you were in the girl scouts?" "Yeah, for a few years. I was only in it because my parents made me pick an extracurricular activity to do and it was that or something like soccer, and I sure as hell wasn't going to play a sport. I mean, I like playing sports by myself, tennis or something, but not team stuff." "God dammit!" Alice shouted from down the table, "The whole string just snapped, goddamned beads just went everywhere!" "That's what you get, thief!" Boris called down to her. "Just die already!" Alice called back. "You wish, Wrinkled In Time," Boris replied, before turning back to Whittle who had successfully threaded a few beads and was now halfway done; he sighed, and rested his cheek on his fist, posted up on his elbow, "So...I never did any sorts of crafts or anything." "You weren't a creative kid?" she asked. "I...I wrote, a little, I guess, but nothing else," Boris said, "I wrote poetry every now and then." "You wrote poetry?" Carol asked. "Was I talking to you?" "You're talking by me," Carol said, shrugging, "What's the difference, really?" "Proximity doesn't dictate participation," Boris said annoyed, turning back to Whittle, "But yeah, I did some poetry when I was younger and-" "This is bullshit!" a voice finally shouted as a man, Thomas Lederman from the 4th floor, slammed his cane end on the table, "This is bullshit and we all know it! Fucking crafts?! Are you kidding me?! Fucking arts and crafts?! All the things I've accomplished, all the things I've achieved, and my last years are spent doing goddamned scrapbooking?! You've gotta be kidding me! I've won war medals for fucks sake! This is an insult!" Nobody said a word, but a nurse and Alex finally started to approach Thomas. "Would you like to go back to your room and lay down?" the nurse asked. "I don't want to lay down! I want to do something that isn't a waste of time! It's bad enough I served my country, gave my family the best years of my life and in the end I get stuck here, forgotten, ignored! But no, you gotta give me some stupid fucking beads and string and..." Thomas put his hand to his chest and started to sit down, his breathing getting labored. Alex motioned to get a doctor, but before the nurse was even down the hall, Thomas looked down at the box containing beads in front of him and fell face first in it. When they finally got him out of the room, it was revealed he'd suffered a mild stroke from raising his blood pressure, and they let the crafts activity get out early. Boris and Whittle headed out of the room and down the hall together. "I mean, the guy's got a point," Boris said under his breath. "I'm scared of getting old," Whittle said, "I've read up on my entire family history, and all the things everyone has suffered from, and I'm trying so fucking hard to make sure none of that happens to me, and you know it's all for nothing. Exercise? Dieting? You die either way." "Life is a terrifying series of consequences you have little to no control over," Boris said, hands in his coat pockets, "But in the end, there's something to be said for having lived a full life, despite winding up in a place like this." "You think?" Whittle asked. "Sure," Boris said, "...all the trash has to go someplace, right?" and she smirked at him. *** When Boris wound up back in his room, he sat down on the bed and sighed. He put his hands on his knees and hummed to himself as he glanced around at his room and finally went to the closet, opened it up and got on his knees and pulled out a box. He opened it up and it was full of clothes. He did the same to another, this one filled with photos and such. Finally he opened a third box and it was nothing but books, all the same book. He took one out and looked at the cover. "I Hope This Reaches You & Other Poems by Boris Carlyle" He opened the book and a photo slid out, landing at his feet. He picked it up and looked at it, his eyes tearing up, and then he stuck it under his mattress before getting up and heading back out into the hall. Boris searched for a bit, trying to find Whittle, but unable to do so, he finally gave up and sat down in the Quiet Room where people went to read. As he sat in a rocking chair, Carol came in, stirring a cup of tea, she motioned at the book with her spoon. "What's that?" she asked. "Mmm? Oh, just something I wanted to show Nurse Whittle," he said, "Nothing important." "Lemme see it," Carol said, taking the book from him, "...you were a published author?" "Author's a bit generous," Boris said, "But yes I did write that book." "That's...really cool, Boris," Carol said, sitting on the arm of his chair and reading a passage, "You are the phone call that never comes, the package that is never delivered, the pair of shoes that is never sold; you are here, but unable to be attained, and you like it better that way. That way you always have someone to blame, but I feel the shame, believe me I do, and I would do anything for you, I hope this reaches you." Carol put the book down and looked at Boris, their eyes meeting. "That was beautiful," Carol said, "...would you mind if i held onto this and read more of it?" "No, go...go ahead," Boris said, smiling, trying not to cry, and she thanked him and got up, but as she turned to leave, he said, "Carol?" "Hmm?" "...please don't go," he said softly, and she nodded, sitting back down in a chair beside him. Boris was starting to realize that the things he'd done, the people he'd lost? None of that really mattered now. What mattered now was this, here, the people he did have, the things he was doing. That's what really mattered, and sometimes it took a lot to remember that. |
About
Golden Years follows the exploits of a bunch of old people in a retirement home as they try to have fun, relax or come to terms with the soon to be end of their lives. Archives
April 2024
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