*beep*
*beep* *beep* The noise had become somewhat soothing, over time, like a white noise used to help one drift off comfortably to sleep. This made Boris uncomfortable. Did it mean he was alright with what had happened? That, because the noise didn't bother him, that it meant he wasn't hurt by it? No, that couldn't be right. He was definitely hurt. He put down his magazine and looked at the bed, where his daughter lay, unconscious. He sighed and reached out, touching her hand, gripping it ever so gently. He shut his eyes for just a moment, when he heard the flatline, which jolted him awake. Boris opened his eyes in worry, only to discover that it wasn't Ellen's machine, and instead was sounding from a machine down the hall. He stood up and swiftly marched to the door to her room and glanced out. He saw two nurses and a doctor rush by and head into the room two doors down. Boris came out into the hallway and headed to the room, peering inside where he saw a man who was probably his age laying flat on a gurney, while the doctor prepared paddles. One of the nurses turned and noticed Boris, then swiftly shut the door to the room. He backed up, and stood in the hallway while every manner of person seemed to move around him, quicker than he ever could. He felt trapped in time, stuck in existential molasses. He buried his hands in his coat pockets and realized that this place was where it all ended, and that was if you were lucky enough to not die alone. Yes, this place, a hospital, is where most roads lead. He sighed and turned, heading back into Ellen's hospital room, shutting the door behind him. He only hoped it wouldn't end for him here as well. *** "I always wanted to be a pilot," Burt said, "Never happened, but it was nice to imagine. Even tried out for my pilots license every few years. Just...couldn't quite grasp it. Add it to the list of shit I'll never finish I suppose." "I know what that's like," Carol said, "I never quite got the hang of a lot of things I was interested in, that I swore up and down that I'd learn to do. You have anything like that, Boris?" Boris looked up and shrugged, his chin resting on his fist, his elbow posted up on his armchair. He sighed and sat up more, yawning. "I don't know why we think we don't have time NOW," he said, "I mean, what's stopping us? Who says that at a certain age you can't learn to do something, right?" "I appreciate your attempt at positivity, but that isn't how things work. As you age, your brain stops soaking in new information and it becomes harder to learn things," Carol said, "Like, if you try and teach a small child a language, they learn it easier when they're young than if you try when they're older. It's just how the mind works." "But you can still learn things. Sure, it may not be as easy, but you CAN do it," Boris said, "I don't...I don't want to die and be remembered for the two things I did in life. I want to be remembered for all sorts of stuff I knew how to do. I want them to say that I spoke multiple languages and could play multiple instruments and that I could build things with my hands-" "But you can't do any of those," Burt interjected. "Thank you, I was getting to that," Boris said, annoyed, "But that doesn't mean that I can't learn it right now. Who knows how much time we have left? Why're we spending it sitting around, taking medication and remembering the things we have done instead of finding new things to do?" "Because I'm old and cranky," Carol said, "And I prefer to complain, because that's a right you get when you live to be this age." "Carol has a point," Larry said, approaching them with a drink in hand, "Everyone tells you not to complain your entire life, but dammit, if you live to be our age, that's a right that you EARN." "I think I'm going to make the best of my time and learn something new," Boris said, "I'm tired of feeling useless, I want to feel like I still have things I can offer the world, even if the world doesn't necessarily want or need them." With that, Boris stood up and headed down the hallway towards his room. As he walked past a door, Father Kricket came out, and the two stopped to look at one another for a moment. "What're you doing here? Is someone else dying?" Boris asked, and Father Kricket laughed and touched Boris's shoulder. "Of course not, I'm just visiting someone who can no longer come into church. Walk with me a ways," he said, and Boris obliged, walking alongside Father Kricket as they headed down the hallway; Father Kricket cleared his throat and said, "So, how've you been? How are you dealing with things?" "Not very well," Boris said, "Honestly, I feel like I'm the one who should be dying and my daughter should be out there leading a full life." "It's never easy for a parent to see their child in a manner that could lead to death," Father Kricket said, "I've dealt with many grieving families who've lost children at a young age, even some at a not so young age, and man let me tell you, it's hard. They're not even my children and it's hard." "They're not your children? But you call everyone 'my child'," Boris said, smirking, making Father Kricket laugh again. "Well, biological children then. I know from experience what it's like to lose a child," Father Kricket said. "I thought priests couldn't-" "No no, no, I watched my parents lose my brother at a young age," Father Kricket said, "I watched them go through all the stages of grief, watched their marriage fall apart. You know that it's a rather high statistic that a marriage that sees the death of a child doesn't last, right? Most marriages usually end within a year of said death." "My marriage didn't end because of what happened to Ellen," Boris said, "Not just for that, anyway. I want to become a better person, but I'm finding it difficult to know where to start." "Don't let the rough start discourage you. It's good that you're wanting to better yourself. Just because you reach a certain age doesn't mean you can't continue to evolve into a better human. There's no age limit on morality." "That's what I was thinking," Boris said, "But where should I start?" "Frankly," Father Kricket said, stopping, turning to him and placing a hand on his shoulder, "I think we both know where you should start." *** Boris and Carol entered the hospital room, Carol lightly clasping his hand as he stopped right in the doorway and stared at Ellen laying in the bed. Carol looked at him and patted his shoulder, letting him know that he wasn't alone. He cleared his throat and approached her bedside, taking a seat and gently stroking her arm. Carol came in and stopped beside him, again, resting her hands on his shoulders. Boris sighed and looked down at the floor, at his shoes, and opened his mouth. "I wasn't the best father, nor was I really a father of any sort, so I guess take how I feel with a grain of salt, but...I really could've, and should've, tried harder. But here we are, you're unconscious and I'm talking to a semi lifeless body and I don't really know what to say or how to feel and all I know is that I should say something and feel something and now I'm not sure where to go. I wish I could actually speak to you. I wish I had spoken to you more before this happened. I just...I wanna know what you think. About everything." Carol tightened her grip on his shoulder and he reached up and held her hand, his eyes brimming with tears. He wiped his nose on the sleeve of his other arm and exhaled, waiting a second before speaking again. "I didn't really know how to be a dad. I just sort of assumed you'd know what to do when it happened to you, that somehow, this magical button would get pushed in my head and I'd know exactly what to do. I think it's safe to assume that most parents think that's what'll happen when they have a kid. Like...like having a kid is what somehow flicks this light switch and you now know how to do everything for them, but that is SO not the case. I thought playing Soccer is what you wanted. I'm sorry, I'm an idiot. I tried to push you into extracuriculars and it ended so poorly. If I could go back in time and change one thing, just one, it'd be that. Fuck Soccer. I fucking hate Soccer now." "Eh, most americans do, so you're not alone," Carol said, making him chuckle a little. "I wanna be a better adult to people, but nobody needs me now," Boris said. "There's always someone who needs you," Carol said, and this made Boris think. *** The school bell rang and Chrissy came out, heading to the bike rack. She put her bookbag down and started undoing her bike lock when she heard a horn honk and she looked around, concerned. After a minute of scanning the parking lot, she spotted a car sitting nearby, and noticed a priest sitting in the drivers seat, and an old man standing by the passenger seat. "Hey, get in the car, kid, we're gettin' ice cream," Boris said as she started to wheel her bike towards them, glancing at Father Kricket. "Usually when you're told to get in the car with a priest, it's not a good sign," Chrissy said, and Boris laughed as Kricket rolled down his window. "That is true, and I am aiming to change those connotations, so if you're humor me, please get in the vehicle so we can acquire rum raisin," Father Kricket said. "Rum Raisin? I'm not 21," Chrissy said. "Nobody said it was for you," Boris replied, popping open the car trunk, "Now get that bike in here and let's ride." Chrissy smiled, nodded and did exactly as she was told. She might not be his kid, but for this afternoon, she would be.
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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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