"Boris," Lorraine said weakly, standing in the hallway, her hands holding eachother in front of her, her eyes stuck to the floor, "...I don't...I don't know how to..."
"No. No you don't...you don't get to say it," Boris said, tears brimming in his eyes, "Don't say it." "Whether I say it or not it happened," Lorraine said, "It happened." "No," Boris said softly, clutching at his chest as she approached him. She put her hand on his shoulder and he glanced up at her, and then his head hit her knees, he hugged her legs and he started sobbing as she stood there and stroked his hair. "There there," she said quietly, "Get it out. It's okay. I'm here now." 1 WEEK PRIOR Boris was sitting on his bed. He didn't want to be sitting on his bed, but he was. He wanted to be sitting on a new bed, in a new room, the room he'd asked for what felt like months ago now. He wanted Hendersons old room, but a decision still had not come down about whether or not he'd be given it, and at this point, he was ready to accept a decision never would. So, Boris was sitting on his bed, picking at a loose string coming out of the quilt when someone knocked on his door. He looked up, surprised. "Uh...come in?" The door opened, and there stood Carol, looking at her watch. "This Bingo game is going to start soon, if you wanna..." she said, before looking up and around his room, "...god this is depressing. Why don't you do something to this place?" "Decorating would only create the reality that I'm never leaving," Boris said, "And I like to keep my options open. It's like finding a stray puppy, once you name it, you become attached to it." "Are you coming to Bingo?" "I don't know. I don't really feel like it," Boris said, "I think I may go watch the knitting club." "Alright," Carol said, sighing, "Well, the offer is open if you decide to change your mind." Carol turned and exited the room, leaving the door wide open. Boris continued to pick and pull at the errant string from the quilt, his brow furrowing at it. He heard a voice at his doorway. "Boris?" it asked. "Carol, I already-" he started, before he looked up and realized it was, in fact, Leanne. She was standing there, smiling at him, looking just as pretty as the last time he'd seen her. She started to come in, but stopped before entering. "May I join you in...whatever it is you're doing?" she asked. "Wallowing in my own despair." "Sounds lovely!" With that, she entered the room and sat down beside him, watching him pick at the string. "How've you been?" he asked. "I've been alright, I'm sorry we haven't seen more of eachother...I've been having a lot of family visits and doctors appointments lately. I guess it's just kept me busy. It wasn't that I didn't want to come over and talk to you." "It's okay. I didn't make much of an effort to come talk to you either," Boris said, "Not that that excuses anything. I should've. You've been having family come visit?" "Yes! It's been wonderful. I've been having my daughter come and visit me, and she's so sweet, I would love if you could meet her sometime," Leanne said, "She'll come over, we'll chat a bit, she'll take me to the doctors, you know, things like that. Sometimes we go out for lunch and..." A pause as she looked at his hand tugging at the string. "...is there a reason you're torturing this quilt?" "Huh? Oh...I don't...I mean...it's broken. It's coming apart. I could have it fixed, there's lots of women here who know how to knit and could easily fix it for me but...it's like me, it's damaged, and that's fine. We're fine. I like it this way. I'm only doing this because I'm bored," Boris said, sighing, "...that was so overly dramatic of me, I'm sorry. I used to write." "You were a writer?" "On and off. I did greeting cards, copy, freelance things like that," Boris said, "Then after the accident...I didn't really write much anymore. I liked writing happy things, and I didn't really have much happiness to inspire me, so, why bother writing anymore?" "How cliche, a damaged writer," Leanne said, smirking, "Oh, you're in SO much pain Boris, please, let me HEAL you. Goodness knows anything can inspire art of any kind. I guarantee you that pain isn't a necessity, and anyone who tells you it is hasn't made anything worthy of themselves. To believe pain is equal to great art is to say that pain is the only emotion worth feeling, which is such a load of shit. If that were true, love stories with happy endings wouldn't be as popular as they are." "...I guess you're right," Boris said, "But when you've reached this point in your life, what's there to be happy about? You have little to no family, and finding a reason to even get out of bed if you have no career or friends or goals is hard to do." "You're alive! That's what makes getting out of bed worth it! Because you can get out of bed! Think about it, there's billions of people already dead, but you're not one of them! Not yet, anyway! So get up, enjoy things!" "But...how?" Boris asked, tearing up, "How do you enjoy anything? I feel like I haven't enjoyed something in years." "Stuart, things like that hurt to hear," Leanne said, "I wish I knew what to say to make you feel better." "I appreciate that you even care enough to listen, so...Stuart?" Boris asked, realizing she'd just called him the wrong name. "Stuart, there are things in life that are worth pursuing even if you don't achieve them or even if you choose to give them up, because the fact of the matter is that simply pursuing them means you made a decision to do something, you acted upon impulse, you made a change. You. You. YOU did that. You are in control of your OWN life." "Sure, that's all fine and true, but-" "And," she continued, cutting him off, "the fact of the matter is that if you do NOTHING, then you're letting the pain win. Pain is a miserable, fickle creature, Stuart, it really is. You didn't try hard enough in college and you aren't trying hard enough today." "Whoa whoa, I mean, I agree, I'm a lazy sack of garbage, but come on," Boris said, "Also, my name isn't Stuart." Leanne stopped and looked at him, rubbing her arm with her other hand, seeming nervous and confused. "Where am I?" she quietly asked. "You're...you're in my room, I'm Boris, remember?" he asked, "You...you came in from the hallway, and we were talking about your daughter and your doctors appointments and stuff? Are you feeling okay?" "I have to go," she quickly said, trying to get up before stumbling and grabbing the wall to keep herself from falling. As Boris approached her to help, she put a hand up to stop him, "No! No...I don't need help, I can do this." She got back on her feet and continued down the hall as Boris watched her from his doorway. As he did, Polly stopped by and watched with him as she ate a pudding cup. "Leanne Wilkins huh?" Polly asked, "She probably won't be staying here much longer, if she keeps getting worse." "Worse?" "She's on my floor. Sometimes she goes into peoples rooms, thinking they're her rooms from her old house, or her childhood home. Sometimes she thinks the younger nurses are her daughter. They're going to have to take her home soon, because she's becoming too much of a liability here," Polly said, "She's come up on the pool a few times and managed not to kick it so far though, so kudos to her." "Why...why would she be a liability?" "...jesus Boris, you really don't know anything about anyone here, do you? Leanne has Alzheimers you dipshit," Polly said, handing him the empty pudding cup and spoon, "God, listen to people for once in your life. It's like conversing with a wall." Boris watched her walk away as this information sunk in. That's why she repeated the story about her leg when they first met. That's why she'd called him by the wrong name. She was sick. Just then he noticed the trash in his hands. "Hey! I don't want your goddamned garbage!" he shouted after Polly. *** Sitting here, staring at the phone, wondering if he should pick up and call. Would she even answer? Would he even want her to? He finally swallowed his pride, picked it up and dialed the number. "Hello?" she asked. "Lorraine," Boris said, "It's...it's me." "Boris, hello," she said, sounding actually somewhat happy to hear from him, "How are you doing?" "I'm doing okay. Um...have you talked to Ellen lately?" he asked, twirling the phone cord around his fingers. "Right, like she'd ever reach out to me," Lorraine said, almost laughing, "You know how she is. She sees me as the villain, and...maybe I am, sure, but...all parents are villains in one way or another, intentionally or not. We all fuck up and most of us don't admit it." "A simple yes or no would've sufficed," Boris said, "She told me she was going into surgery and she hasn't called me or anything since. I just wanted to make sure you hadn't heard from her either." "Surgery?" "It's nothing major," he said, quickly covering himself, "I just wanted to know if you'd heard from her, that's all. Anyway, thanks for answering." "Boris, wait!" Lorraine said shrilly, keeping him on the line, "Boris...would it be alright if I come see you soon?" "...yeah, that would be fine," Boris said, actually wanting to see her in person again, "Yeah, come on by whenever you have the time. I'd like to see you. I have some things I need to talk about with you, actually." After he hung up, he sat and thought about Ellen, and Leanne, and wondered why everyone he cared about was hurt or sick. Was he just destined to care for damaged people? Leanne's situation wasn't his fault, but Ellen's certainly was, and he blamed himself for it daily. He stood up, headed out of the common area and started to head back to his bedroom when he heard someone crying, and he stopped, listened for a moment and then followed the sound to a corridor at the end of the hall, near the stairs, where he found Nurse Whittle sitting alone, sobbing into her hands. "Hey," he said, surprising her as she quickly looked up and wiped her tears away. "Boris, shit, you scared me," she said, catching her breath. "Are you okay?" he asked. "I'm not...I'm not okay, no," she said, "But don't worry about me, I'll be-" "No, no, don't...don't be like me. Don't not talk about yourself until it's too late. Let someone in to help you. You're here always helping others, let someone help you for a change. Tell me, what's wrong?" he asked, sitting down next to her under the stairs. "I'm just really unhappy, Boris," she said softly, "I...I tried to talk to my parents yesterday and my father, he's just...such an asshole. He won't let it go that I gave up becoming a doctor to instead become a nurse, and he keeps making references to it and my mother never fucking defends me, and it just...it's not fair, like, I recognized I didn't personally have it in me, at that time, to become a doctor, and that this is more what I was able to do, but now I'm unhappy doing this too." "Parents are broken sacks of crap, Whittle," Boris said, pulling out some mints from his coat pocket and giving her one as he popped one in his mouth, "They're so angry at themselves for not doing the things they wanted to do before they had you, so now they pin all those hopes on you, and when you don't achieve them, they feel betrayed. But it's bullshit. You are your own person and are in no way responsible for their failings." "...thank you," Whittle said softly, almost whispering, "God...all I wanted my entire life was ONE fucking adult telling me that they sucked, that they recognized they sucked, and that they all hurt their children." "I wasn't a great dad, but I tried, and I'm still trying," Boris said, "I'm sorry your father is shit. Most fathers are. So, hey, at least you aren't alone. Welcome to the universal brotherhood of shitty dads." Whittle sighed, took the mint and put it in her mouth before laying her head on Boris's shoulder and shutting her eyes. Sitting here, in his terrible present, Boris wondered if secretly people like Leanne had it better; being trapped in the past, in the memories of happiness and joy, instead of the terrible present where everything is gone and feels wrong. He knew that was probably terrible to think, but he thought it just the same. "Boris?" Whittle asked, her voice soft as the wind. "Yeah?" "Thanks for the mint," she said. "It's the small things, kiddo;" he said, putting his arm around her, the two of them sitting there well into the evening.
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"Haaaappy birthdaaaay to youuuuu...." everyone sang, trailing off towards the end, showing their clear disinterest. Boris was seated at the table, a party hat on his head, while all the seniors were surrounding him, along with a few nurses.
"Alright, well, do you have any words to say about your birthday, Boris?" a male nurse asked, as Boris groaned and shrugged before the male nurse continued, "Alright, well how about everyone has a slice of cake, and we all-" "Actually," Boris said, sitting upright now, "I do have something to say about my birthday. I want to say that for most of my life, birthdays were a joyous thing. An opportunity for your family and friends to gather with you in warm spirits and tell you they were happy to be there, and that they loved you, but when you turn our age, what the fuck does it even mean? Carol," he stopped, looking at her, "Your last birthday, what happened?" "You know goddamn well what happened," she said, annoyed, "You were there. It was a disaster. Wrong kind of cake, crappy presents, and the freakin' banner spelt my name with a goddamned K! Who spells Carol with a K?!" "And Burt, what about you?" "They didn't even remember my birthday. I spent it alone, in my room, eating a sugar free cupcake from the cafeteria," Burt said, "Actually, it was one of the nicer birthdays, cause all of you weren't there, but still, I get your point." "What IS your point?" Polly asked. "My point," Boris said, standing up now, "Is that the older you get, the less meaningful birthdays become. Honestly, they're a positive way to count down how many years you have left on this miserable, rotting ball of dirt, and we just disguise them in glitter and cards and sweets, all because we like to think that as we age, we get wiser or some bullshit, but guess what, I'm not any goddamned wiser today than I was 15 years ago!" "Tell me about it!" a voice shouted from behind everyone. "Shut up Alice!" Boris shouted back, "All I'm saying is that, at a certain point, you have to wonder what's the goddamned point, right? What're we celebrating? The fact we're still alive? Nobody here wants to BE alive anymore! In constant pain, needing dozens of medications to get through a single day feeling moderately alright, no family comes to visit us. Nobody wants to celebrate, 'yay! another 5 possible years of emptiness!' because let's admit it, this is miserable." Boris sighed and looked down at the table, wincing, trying not to cry. "When I was younger, I had the best birthdays...I'd come home and my daughter would be so thrilled to see me, and she'd give me this gift she'd hand made, and my wife would've made dinner and gotten a cake from a bakery and we all were together, just...just happy to BE together, you know? Just being together is no longer enough. Now you have to be DOING something together. Nobody just sits with one another anymore. That was the happiest part of my year, was my birthday. Now it's just a yearly reminder that I'm alone, hated and not much longer for this world." Boris sat down and poured himself a glass of caffeine free soda, drinking it in one go before wiping his arm on his sleeve and looking back at everyone else. "...Boris?" Carol asked as he took the party hat off his head and looked at it in his hands. "Yeah Carol?" "...can we have some cake now?" she asked. "Sure." And with that, the male nurse started cutting into the cake as Boris got up and walked down the hall and out to the garden area, where he found Whittle sitting alone, smoking a cigarette. She quickly waved her hand in the air as he sat down by her, and held his hand out. She put the cigarette between his fingers and he took it, taking a drag. "...happy birthday?" she asked cautiously, and he exhaled, shaking his head. "Nobody gets it." "I think everyone gets it, it's just...shitty to focus on. Nobody here wants to think about the fact that they're alone, forgotten and going to die soon. You need a hobby, Boris. Maybe take up writing again?" "I have nothing interesting left to say." "You have plenty interesting things left to say!" Whittle said, "Boris...I'm your friend, and I know how you feel. Goddamn dude, I'm in my late 20s and I feel the way you do. I want to die. I've wanted to die for a long time now." "...you have?" Boris asked, eyeing her. "Yeah. I've been seeing a therapist about it for a while, trying to keep myself level and busy, but those things don't make it go away, they just distract me long enough for me to forget for just a little while that I want to cut my wrists. I know how you feel, Boris. I really do." "I just don't know how anyone can take aging seriously. Time itself is such a stupid concept, and the concept of aging is even worse shit piled on top of it! Experience does not equal intelligence, trust me. I've known plenty of full grown adults who're stupider than 12 year olds, alright? Wisdom, experience, all that shit is just what greeting card companies want you to believe are important, but you know what's important, Whittle? What's really, utterly, irrefutably important?" "What?" "NOTHING," Boris said, throwing his arms in the air, almost laughing, "And that makes existence hilarious! Because think about all the things you take seriously, right? Your health, politics, love, none of it means SHIT, because none of it's going to LAST. This means that you should instead just focus on having fun, being with people you like being with, and take everything for granted. People say you shouldn't take things for granted, but you SHOULD, because by NOT taking things for granted, that means you don't appreciate them enough! I'm not saying you should use people, but you should take advantage of the fact that they like you, that they wanna be around you, that they're HERE AT ALL! Think about it! You exist at the same time as people you love! That's crazy!" "It is pretty wild." "Atoms collided and built two people who manage to get along, and enjoy one anothers company, and yet people say 'don't take them for granted!'. No! Take EVERYTHING for granted! It's here! It exists! Love it with all the strength you can muster! Because one day, it, and you, won't exist, especially not at the same time. And sometimes, you WILL exist at the same time, and they won't want to know you anymore, or they won't be here anymore, and then what? Then you'll hate yourself for not taking them for granted. For not taking all the time with them you could've taken, and you'll want to die. But here's the thing...even what I'm saying is bullshit. Don't believe it. Don't let me tell you what to believe. This is just what works for ME." "Does it work for you though?" Whittle asked, putting her cigarette out, "Because you seem pretty fucking unhappy all the time. Wouldn't it be better to have something, anything at all, to believe in?" "Possibly, but it hasn't thus far in my life. I find far more comfort in the reality of the inevitable nothingness than I ever did from the supposed comfort of a 'god' or whatever. But again, that's just ME. Do what makes you happy." Whittle sighed as she stared out at the senior community garden and she pulled a small package out from her jacket pocket, handing it to him. "Happy birthday, Boris," she said, hugging him gently before getting up and walking inside. Boris looked at the present and then back at the doors she'd just disappeared through before looking back at the present. He looked at the community garden, and shut his eyes, letting the sunset glow onto his face and warm his old skin. For a moment, he swore he could hear Ellens voice when she was a child. The past...it was so close and yet he couldn't reach it. It was just out of his grasp forever now, because he'd already lived it. He looked down at the present in his hands and started to unwrap it, careful not to rip the carefully wrapped clown wrapping paper Whittle had put on it. Inside was a box, and as he lifted off the lid to this small, cardboard box, inside he found was a watch. He looked at it, and pulled it out, and sighed before slipping it on his wrist. He then looked back in the box, and found a small note that had been folded and hidden under the watch. He pulled it out, unfolded it and read it to himself: "Dear Boris, happy birthday. I know a watch is a sorta cliche gift, but I figured it'd make the most sense to give you one, so you can make up for lost time. Love, Whittle." Boris smiled and looked at the watch again. Just then, the door opened and Carol joined him, eating cake off a paper plate and handing him a plate with a slice on it, along with a plastic fork. "I brought you some cake," she said, before reaching into her coat pocket and pulled out a flask, "And some Whiskey." "You beautiful woman, you," Boris said, making her laugh, "...thanks Carol. Thanks for the cake, and...thank you for taking the time to know me. I appreciate it." "You're kind of a douchebag, but you're a good douchebag who knows he's a douchebag. I can appreciate that level of self recognition, because being that aware often means you are trying to change those bad parts of yourself. So you're welcome, Boris," Carol replied. Carol smiled warmly, and patted his back as they sat and ate cake. As the sun set, she simply whispered, "Happy birthday, douchebag." It had been a nice day, and now it was time for a nice evening. Since getting back to the home, Carol, Boris, Burt, Larry and Polly had played a few hands of poker and a few other card games, watched a movie and had dinner, and now it was time for a long sleep. As Boris buttoned up his pajama shirt, he felt like he'd really made a difference today. Just then, someone knocked on his door.
"Come in," Boris said as Whittle entered. "Hey," she said, "Um...you have a visitor." "A visitor? It's almost 8 at night," Boris said, "Who is it?" "It's a girl," Whittle said, and Boris smiled. "It's Chrissy, she probably came to talk about today. Alright, I'll be right out," Boris said. He and Whittle exited the room and walked down the hall. When they reached the main visiting room, Boris saw it wasn't Chrissy, it was another girl. A woman, actually, in an advanced wheelchair. Every cell in Boris' body went cold, and he was frozen where he stood. After Whittle nudged him, he nodded and approached the table, seating himself across from her. "Uh...hi," Boris said, clearing his throat, "It's uh...it's funny seeing you here." "Hi dad," she replied. Boris rubbed the back of his neck, clearly nervous, as he avoided eye contact with her. "So..." he said, "...how have you been Ellen?" "I'm okay," she said, "Work's been tiring, but you know..." "I know," he said, "I mean...I...I don't know, I don't know because I don't work your job, but I assume...I mean, I'm not saying you're not good at it, I know you're good at it, I just-" "Dad, stop it," Ellen said, slightly blushing, "Please, you're embarrassing yourself." "What...uh...what brings you here?" Boris asked, and she coughed and bit her bottom lip before finally speaking. "Um...I'm going in for surgery," Ellen said, "In a few weeks, and I just...I wanted to talk to you first about it. These specialists I've been working with, they're really great, and they think they can give me new legs, and I can get out of this chair finally." "You don't have to get out of the chair to be worth-" "I know, jesus, everyone says that. I know I don't. I've accomplished everything I've set out to do despite being in this chair, but this isn't about whether I can or not. It's about what I want. I want to get out of it. It's just time to move onto a new part of my life. I'm just here because...I don't know, I'm scared, I guess." "Why didn't you go to your mom?" Boris asked, and Ellen scoffed. "God, yeah, that would've gone over well," she replied, "You know how she is. She turned my disability into her cause to champion. Suddenly she was the distraught but proud and strong woman who loved her daughter even though she had become 'damaged'. No. I'm not...no." "Yeah, I guess that was kind of a dumb question," Boris asked. "I'm scared," Ellen said, "It's simultaneously what I want and not want, like, does that make sense?" "It does, sure." "I want this, I do, and I'm only scared I think because it's going to be different than what I've grown accustomed to, you know? Change. Change is terrifying," Ellen said, "I just...I guess I wanted to talk to you about it, see how you feel." "It's not up to me to feel anything about it. You know I'll agree with anything you decide to do. I support whatever decision you make, Ellen," Boris said, "I just wish it wasn't my fault you were in this situation in the first place. I wish I'd never put you in that thing." "Dad-" "Don't tell me I didn't," Boris said, sniffling, wiping his nose on his sleeve, "I...I try and find ways to forgive myself every single day, but I can't. I mangled my child. I was not a good person and it's my fault you were hurt. But...but it doesn't make me any less proud of everything you've achieved. I hope you know that. I love you, I love you so much." Ellen smiled, trying not to cry as she cleared her throat and tossed her hair. "I know dad, I love you too," she said softly, "Just tell me I'm going to be okay. I know I'm going to be okay, I just need to hear that I'm going to be okay from a parent for some bullshit validation thing. I just need to hear you say it." "Ellen, you are going to be okay. It's going to go great and you're going to be happy and everything will be wonderful," Boris said, "Trust me." A pause enveloped them, and after a few moments, Boris looked down at the table, his hands cupped in front of him. "So...have you spoken to Lorraine lately?" he asked, and Ellen shrugged. "Kind of. Not so much 'spoken' as much as 'was spoken TO'. You know how it is with her. She makes everything about her. I told her about an award I received for my work and she instantly made it about her, about how she raised me so well disciplined, so hard working, bragging to her friends. I'm nothing but a 'my child is better than your child' chip between her and her snooty friends." "She didn't use to be that way..." "Even growing up, mom was weird about my achievements, you know that. She turned every fundraising thing into something about her. Look at what SHE brought, look at all the work SHE did. Always offered to host things because she could show off how good she was at it, and just...I don't want to be cruel because you obviously saw something in her that made you love her, but she-" "She was different when we were young," Boris said, "She really was..." "So what happened?" Ellen asked, and Boris shrugged. "A lot of things," he said, "Anyway, tell me about your new legs." "Well, they're 3D printed and combined with robotics, it's complicated, but they're cool. I'm...I'm really excited, honestly..." Ellen said, and then trailed off, looking out the window at the yard where she saw an orderly helping an old man get off a bench, "Dad, if you want to-" "No." "You don't have to stay here," Ellen said. "Yes, I do." "Dad-" "Ellen, just don't. Don't. I'm happy for you. I'm happy you're happy. I'm proud of you, I want you to know that. I've always been proud of you. You're always going to be a better human than I ever was. Considering what you've gone through, you deserve to be, and-" "Dad?...does it ever stop?" "...what?" "Hurting, on the inside?" "...it hasn't yet." "I don't want to be this sad for the rest of my life. There's little peaks and valleys, moments of grand joy and bliss, mostly overshadowed by recurring terribleness, no matter how tough I try to see the positivity, but all around me is pain in one way or another. Sometimes I get sad and I don't even know why, and I didn't even do anything to be sad!" "You inherited this sadness, that's what depression is. It's as dangerous as anything else. Passed down from one person to another. Between your mother and I, you got it doubly bad. It's not fair, I agree with you, but it's what you were given. Other children inherit talent. You inherited sadness." "I don't want to be sad my whole life." "Neither do I." "...I guess it's getting late," Ellen said, checking her watch, "...dad, just...please stop blaming yourself for me. I'm here. I'm okay. Or, at least, I'm trying to be okay. I'll keep you updated before my surgery, okay?" Boris stood up and walked to her chair, kneeling down and touching her face. "You're just as beautiful today as you were when we brought you home," he said, smiling, making her blush, before he kissed her forehead, "I love you Ellen." "I love you, dad," she said, hugging him. After the hug broke, she turned and started to wheel herself out. As Boris watched her leave, Whittle approached him again. "Are you okay?" she asked quietly. "I need to make a phone call," Boris said. Whittle walked him to the phone and left him there while he dialed a number. After about three rings, someone finally answered. "Hello?" a woman asked, sounding groggy. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" Boris asked. "Boris? Jesus, is that how you greet everyone you call?" Lorraine asked, "I was about to fall asleep you know." "What the fuck is wrong with you?" Boris asked again, sounding angrier this time, "Ellen just came to see me, and she still sounds so tired of your shit. What did you do this time?" "I don't know, Boris, I haven't spoken to her in weeks," Lorraine said, "But you know, not everything can be blamed on me, you know that right?" "Everything can be blamed on you when you're responsible for it!" Boris said, growing angrier with each second he was on the line with her, "You try to say you're so much better than the rest of us, playing the victim! 'Oh, my daughter doesn't call me...' but there's no context to WHY. If people knew WHY, perhaps they wouldn't feel so fucking bad for you. You're such a goddamned liar, Lorraine." "I don't have to take this," Lorraine said, "I..." A pause, as Boris heard some shuffling on the other end of the line, and he finally spoke again. "Lorraine?" "I'm so tired of this, Boris," she said, actually sounding sincere, "I'm so tired of being angry all the time. It's exhausting. I'm tired of this facade...I'm just...I'm so fucking tired." "...yeah," Boris said, scratching the back of his head as he actually felt bad for her, "...yeah, me too." "Do you remember what it's like being in school?" Burt asked Polly as they were getting on the bus for their trip. Polly shrugged as Carol and Boris followed them on.
"I have memories of parts of school, but nothing I like remembering, mostly embarrassing things," Polly said, "It's kind of unfair. You live a full life, you have great accomplishments, child rearing, marriage, whatever, and then the only things you remember are the bad things. The embarrassments and failings are what stick with you." "You know what sucks even worse?" Boris asked, "Not being able to sit down. Move it, Polly." Polly took her seat with Burt as Boris and Carol continued by them and headed to the back of the bus, Larry right behind them, to sit down for the trip to the local elementary school. Boris sighed as he laid his head on Carols' shoulder and shut his eyes. "I don't see why I gotta go, just because everyone else is," Boris said, "It's not like I've got anyone to see there." "You don't have grandkids?" Larry asked, and Boris furrowed his brow and ignored him. "I'm excited," Carol said, shrugging, "It's nice to get out of the home once in a while. I just hope this isn't a cover for driving us to the middle of nowhere and leaving us there. They do that you know." "They do not," Burt said, looking over his seat at them. "Sure they do," Boris replied, eyes still shut, "If you're too much of a hassle, they drive you to the middle of nowhere and leave you there. You think they get paid enough to take care of people? Come on. This a conspiracy of massive proportions that goes all the way to the top, Burt." "It's true, it happened to Delores," Carol said. The bus started moving as everyone settled in for the ride. Carol looked at Boris as he sat upright and stretched best he could, yawning. He straightened his cap and blinked a few times before looking out the back window. "I've got a granddaughter I can't wait to see there," Larry said, "Family comes to visit once a week anyway, but it's always nice having extra time to see her." "I'm going to see my granddaughter too," Burt said, "She's the cutest thing. Smart as a whip too." Carol and Boris didn't say a thing as the bus drove. They just sat, each looking out a separate window. When the bus finally rolled up to the front of the school about 25 minutes later, Boris had dozed off yet again. The sharp stop when the brakes hit jarred him awake, and he groggily opened his eyes to see an elementary school out his window, with tons of kids walking inside. He then noticed one girl struggling with locking her bike up. "Chrissy?" he mumbled, but before he could be sure, she had finished and had gone running off into the school, not wanting to be late. As the seniors started to pile off the bus, Boris passed Whittle by the doors on the way out and touched her arm. "Hey," he said, "Uh, what do you do if you don't have anyone to visit?" he asked. "You have nobody?" "I have no grandchildren, no," Boris said softly, "My daughter....was never able to have children." "Well, just take it easy I guess. I won't be around to chat, I'm going to have to helping everyone else, helping other nurses, so, just try and stay out of trouble," Whittle said. "Yeah, like that'll happen," Boris said, making her smirk as she left him to go assist someone with a wheelchair. Boris sighed, dug his hands into his pants pockets and started walking off towards the front of the school when he heard Carol coming up from behind him. "So," she asked, pulling her purse up on her shoulder, "Want to harass some kids by insisting we're their grandparents and crying, asking why they never come to visit?" Boris smirked, "Fun as that may be, I think I'll spend the day sitting on a bench and reading a book." "You brought a book to a school?" Carol asked, scoffing, "You nerd." "I know, books have no place in school, but I needed something to do," Boris said, "Don't you have someone to visit?" "None of my family lives close by," Carol said as they entered the main school hall, kids running by them each way to get to their classroom, "They moved away a few years ago, so they never come see me now. They call every now and then, usually just my sister, but that's neither here nor there." "That's screwed up," Boris said as they sat on a bench in the school hall and he pulled his book out from his coat pocket, "You give everything to a family and they just leave you somewhere, as if you never did anything for them." "Well, the point of having a family isn't hoping they'll take care of you later on. You don't have children in hopes to gain something in return, Boris. You do it because you want to, because you want to raise a child and teach them right and wrong and give them a good life, possibly a better life than you were ever given." "I know why people have children," Boris said grimly, looking into his book, now trying to ignore her. "...sorry," Carol said quietly, standing up, "I'll just...I'm just going to go to the cafeteria. Maybe they have snack machines." With Carol gone, Boris could finally enjoy his solitude. The students were in classrooms and everything was fine now. He relaxed, leaned back against the wall and crossed his legs, happily lost in his book. Until a door down the hall opened and he saw a teacher take a student out of the classroom and stand with them in the hall, talking to them quietly. Scolding them, perhaps? The student was crying. Actually, the student was... "Chrissy?" Boris asked, noticing her now. It was in fact Chrissy, and it had been her in the front having trouble with her bike lock. He waited until the teacher was done, and left Chrissy in the hall by herself until he saw Chrissy standing there, sniffling and wiping her nose. Boris whistled, and got her attention. She spun around, spotting him and cautiously approaching him. "Boris?" she asked. "Hey," he replied, "What's going on?" "Oh..." Chrissy said as Boris patted the spot next to him on the bench and she sat down there, "I...there's this girl in class and she sits behind me, and she put gum in my hair. I got in trouble for yelling at her and 'causing a scene'." "What?" Boris asked, "That's ridiculous. You stand up for yourself and you're labeled as the problem?" "Hey," Carol said, "I come bearing frozen yogurt." "The cafeteria had frozen yogurt?" Boris asked, "Jeez, school has changed a lot since I was there." "No, idiot, I went down the street," she said and handed him a cup, which he took and then after a second gave to Chrissy, who happily took it. Carol took her seat on the other side of Chrissy and started eating, asking, "So what's going on here?" "This is Chrissy, she got in trouble for yelling at a girl for putting gum in her hair," Boris said. "She does this sort of stuff to me all the time!" Chrissy said, clearly and understandably annoyed, "And she never gets in trouble because her parents are like, the ones who host all the bake sales and donate money to the school and stuff. It's so unfair. She's untouchable." "She's like a tiny mob boss," Carol said, "But there has to be something you can do to counteract this. I mean, she should be being punished for this behavior. She's doing wrong. That has to count for something, right?" "Power means you can't get held accountable," Boris said, "Look at government." "Why are people so mean to one another? It's not that hard to be nice. I do it. It isn't tough," Chrissy asked, spooning more frozen yogurt into her mouth. "Because...people..." Boris started. "Suck," Carol finished for him, surprising him, "I don't want to be that negative, but sweetheart, people are so unreliable, and they're cruel and they're selfish but that doesn't mean you should give up on them completely. Sometimes certain people can surprise you, like our friend Boris here," she said, putting her hand on his knee and smiling, "On the outside, he's a curmudgeon, a crank, an absolute bummer-" "Okay, this might be helping her, but it's hurting me," Boris interjected, making Chrissy laugh. "But," Carol continued, "He's really decent if you get to know him and he likes you. Sadly, you're not at the age where you no longer have to rely on relationships and friendships to get you through life. When you're this old, being lonely can be a virtue. You can want it, and it won't be weird because it's almost what's expected of you. 'Oh, they're old, they want to be alone'. But a kid wanting to be alone? Somehow that's strange and unheard of. So this girl's a problem, but it doesn't mean everyone will be. Sure a good majority of them will be, but not all of them, and those are the ones you want to work on being friends with." "Wow," Boris said, "That was lovely." "But how do you know which ones are worth it?" Chrissy asked. "Well, that's the problem, you won't," Boris said, "But it doesn't mean it's not worth trying to figure out anyway. And this is coming from a cranky bummer curmudgeon, so you know it's gotta be true. Now if I were you, I'd keep making a big deal out of things that bother you, because being quiet is only being complicit in their behavior. If nobody ever calls them out, then their behavior becomes acceptable, because they feel they'll never be told it isn't. Even if she's never punished for it, at least there's one person telling them that hey, this isn't the right way to be a person, knock it off." "Never stop defending yourself," Carol said, and Chrissy nodded, finishing the frozen yogurt and sucking on the spoon, "You have to defend yourself, sweetheart, because more often than not, you're the only one who will." "But you just said that some people-" "I realize it sounds contradictory, but while those people will care and want to help, in the end, you really do need to defend yourself," Boris said, "Trust me, the people you really do love may not be able to stay forever." Carol glanced at him, noting the hint of sadness in his voice, and she felt so bad. Just then, the teacher came out and looked for Chrissy. When she spotted her, she waved her hand and Chrissy stood up and looked at Boris and Carol. "Thanks guys," Chrissy said, "...you guys are my friends, right?" "Of course we are," Carol said. "For sure," Boris added, the both of them smiling. Chrissy hugged them both, then headed on back to her classroom. Carol looked at Boris who returned to reading his book while she ate the rest of her frozen yogurt and looked around the hall they were seated in. "God, look at all the art these kids put up," Carol said, "Kids are so full of emotions and creativity, and we just crush it out of them more and more as they get older until they're nothing but jaded, cynical copies of adults...Boris?" "Hmmm?" "...if you ever want to talk about your family, I'm here." "I know." Carol looked at her shoes and didn't know what else to say, until he put his arm around her and pulled her close, making her smile. It was good to have friends, especially at their age. By the time afternoon rolled around, and everyone was making their way back towards the bus, Boris was ready to go home and take a long nap. As they stood in front of the bus, waiting to get on, all the school kids passing them by, Boris couldn't help but feel like he'd done something good today. "You want to play a game when we get back?" Carol asked, "We could play cards." "Poker?" "I got some money I could afford to lose," Carol said. Just then, a girl ran past them, sobbing and got into a car parked near the bus. Boris and Carol glanced at one another before shrugging, and then they heard the sound of a bike being taken off the rack behind them. They turned to find Chrissy getting her bike chain off and climbing on. "What was that all about?" Boris asked. "I told her she could make my hair ugly, but her personality is even uglier," Chrissy said, smiling as she started to peddle. "Our little girl's all grown up," Boris said, hugging Carol and she looked at him. "The kid's gonna be alright," she added. *** It had been a nice day, and now it was time for a nice evening. Since getting back to the home, Carol, Boris, Burt, Larry and Polly had played a few hands of poker and a few other card games, watched a movie and had dinner, and now it was time for a long sleep. As Boris buttoned up his pajama shirt, he felt like he'd really made a difference today. Just then, someone knocked on his door. "Come in," Boris said as Whittle entered. "Hey," she said, "Um...you have a visitor." "A visitor? It's almost 8 at night," Boris said, "Who is it?" "It's a girl," Whittle said, and Boris smiled. "It's Chrissy, she probably came to talk about today. Alright, I'll be right out," Boris said. He and Whittle exited the room and walked down the hall. When they reached the main visiting room, Boris saw it wasn't Chrissy, it was another girl. A woman, actually, in an advanced wheelchair. Every cell in Boris' body went cold, and he was frozen where he stood. After Whittle nudged him, he nodded and approached the table, seating himself across from her. "Uh...hi," Boris said, clearing his throat, "It's uh...it's funny seeing you here." "Hi dad," she replied. |
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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