"Well this is lovely, isn't it?" Leanne asked, cutting off another piece of steak, "A nice candlelit dinner, relaxing music, intimate small talk. This is the kind of stuff reserved for women much classier than I."
"Hey, don't talk that way about other women," Boris said, making her laugh as he raised his wine glass, "To us. To taking new chances. Braving new horizons, and all that other romantic crap." And together they clinked their glasses, the sound of it echoing throughout the restaurant, until Boris woke in his bed, remembering it was all just a dream. He sighed and rolled over, silently cursing himself for having this dream once again. Hell, he hadn't even seen Leanne since she'd left the home, so why was he suddenly dreaming about her? Shit, his alarm went off, and he remembered he was going to be late to take Whittle to an appointment. Boris quickly, quickly as an old man could anyway, got up, got dressed and rushed out the door. *** "God, can't you women ever be ready before you're supposed to leave?" Boris asked, as Whittle flipped him off and stuffed some more things in her purse; he leaned on the doorframe to her apartment, crossed his arms and sighed, "Why am I taking you anyway? You drive." "My car's got a flat tire, remember? I told you that." "Oh, right. Well maybe we should focus on getting that fixed instead." "Hey, you wanna get your toolbox out and change it? I got a spare," Whittle said, grabbing her coat off the rack, "Be my guest if that's how you'd rather spend your afternoon." "Beats standing here being verbally berated," Boris muttered, making her laugh. That's when his eye caught the glimpse of the shimmer down the hall. A green shimmer, like an emerald, and as he protected his sight from it, he also realized where it was coming from. A woman, an old woman, wearing an emerald broach, being helped to the door of an apartment by a young man. It was Leanne. Holy hell, she lived in the building, right down the hall. What were the odds? Did he dare go speak to her? Did he really want to make that move? Would she even remember him? Her memory was beginning to fail her, so would she even remember him, and if not, wouldn't that only make him feel more embarrassed than he already did for not seeking her out sooner? "Hey, you do know where we're going, right? I don't need to..." Whittle started, coming out the door to her apartment, locking it behind her, "...Boris?" "Wh-what? Uh, yeah, I know where it is, you don't need to give me directions." "Everything okay out here?" "Yeah, I'm just admiring your hall," Boris said, "You know, you get so tired of seeing the ones at the home that any new hall is just something to behold and bask in." "You're so weird, dude," Whittle said, laughing as she passed him, and he followed quickly after her. He only glanced back once, but he wished he'd gone and knocked on the door. The not knowing was worse than any rejection he would've faced, he felt. Boris drove Whittle to her appointment, which was just her applying for a secondary nursing job to make extra money since she was now living alone. Boris sat in the waiting room, since he was her ride. He puttered around the waiting room a bit before finally picking up a magazine off a nearby table and sitting down with it. Boris read a few articles, and then turned the page to see a full two page spread ad about life insurance, featuring a happy, smiling older couple. A couple he would never be a part of, he knew. *** "I'm back from the store!" Leanne called out as she entered the small, cozy apartment. "Did they have what we needed?" Boris asked from the kitchen, "I need that pasta, pronto." The apartment was littered with indoor plants, some hanging from the ceiling, others sitting in windowsills, and dozens upon dozens of books, considering the two were avid readers. They often found themselves sitting up late into the night, reading passages they found amusing or interesting or simply well versed to one another. It was a humble life, but a life worth living, at least. They finished cooking the dinner together, and then ate, each discussing their day so the it was as if the other didn't miss out on a single thing. Afterwards, they ate ice cream and watched game shows, then laid in bed and read to one another until they each fell asleep. This was the life Boris had always wanted, and now with Leanne, he had it. Now he had this life, and he couldn't be happier. He loved getting up every morning, putting on the coffee and making them breakfast. They could read the daily comics together and start their day with a laugh. But, like all other dreams, Boris realized, this too didn't come true, and he woke up the following morning sick to his stomach, wondering if he should've spoken to her in the hallway. *** "You know what your problem is?" Carol asked as they sat eating lunch, "You got no moxie!" "I'll have you know that I have moxie falling out of my butt, alright," Boris replied. "You should get that looked at," Burt said, not even looking up from his tray, making Carol smirk. "You need to stop imagining what you could've had, stop asking yourself 'what if I'd just talked to her' and actually go talk to her and see where it could lead! You never know, she might remember you!" Carol said, scooping up a handful of chips and eating them one at a time, "Heck, you might be the only thing she remembers!" "Well I don't know if I wanna be the only thing someone remembers. That's a lot of pressure on me," Boris said, "I wanna leave a last impression, not be a lasting impression." "Well, be that as it may, I still think you should talk to her," Carol said, "You felt really awful when you found out she was suddenly gone, and now you have the chance to make things right and you don't wanna take it?" "Because the last time I tried to do that, my daughter wound up in a coma," Boris said flatly, making Carol immediately regret what she'd said. She went quiet, and Boris went sullen. They finished eating in peace and then all went their separate ways for the day. But Carol was right, and Boris knew it. Here he was, being given yet another second chance to fix a relationship, and he was willing to throw it away all because of a medical accident that befall Ellen? Ridiculous. That, unlike the accident that had crippled her in the first place, wasn't even his fault! Boris wandered the garden outside for a bit, where and Leanne had first met, and he couldn't help but feel like the real reason he didn't want to approach her was because he was embarrassed. Embarrassed for how attached he'd gotten so quickly, only to have her presence ripped away from him, like so many other people had been throughout his life... He barely knew her, after all, so why had he become so fond of her so fast? If Boris had to guess, it was likely because she had been nothing but nice to him. Carol and Burt were fine, but they were snarky and snippy, and they gave him shit (which he gladly gave right back to them), and Polly was...well, Polly was Polly. Better to leave it at that than even begin to attempt to examine that relationship. But Leanne...she'd just been approachable and friendly and interested right off the bat, and that was something Boris hadn't gotten from another person his own age in god knows how long. Whittle was that way, but Whittle was not his age. And suddenly he found himself walking by a small stone monument with a plaque on it. He slid his hands into his pants pocket and staggered up to it, reading the words off the shimmering gold plate that looked up at him. "To love is to throw caution to the wind, to hate is to be overly cautious of what we don't understand." He nodded, then wondered why he'd given physical recognition to a goddamned plaque with a random quote on it. He really was losing his mind, he thought. He made a decision right then and there, though, that the next time he was at Whittle's complex, he would go and try to speak to Leanne, if given the opportunity. Guess this random plaque really was useful. Boris headed back inside and went to his room, where he sat down at his desk and opened a notebook. He picked up a ballpoint pen and started writing. If he was going to do this, he was going to do it the right way. The only way he knew how. With a poem. *** "I'm not saying the kids are wrong," Leanne said, "I'm not saying that at all. The kids have plenty to be angry at and for. They've been handed a shit on planet with a myriad of issues they had no hand in creating but are now inheriting and expected to fix, all the while not being given any chance to make even a meager enough of a living to simply survive with the basics. If anything, I'm surprised the kids aren't angrier." "You make a good point," Boris replied, "And we know for a fact that plenty of them grew up with people who ruined them so deeply that they can barely function as a relatively capable human being. They're forced to recover from a thing they should've been able to take for granted, childhood, and that's sick too." Boris and Leanne were sitting at a small table in a cafe, both sipping hot chocolates and sharing a box of doughnuts. For a moment, while they sat chewing and sipping, they just smiled at one another from across the table, each happy that they had someone to talk to, to care for, to be cared for by. "I think I'd do terribly in the world today," Boris said, "If I were just starting out, you know? Certainly there's a lot more options, but that almost makes it worse, makes it too overwhelming to know which road to go down and constantly be afraid you've gone down the wrong one. I just don't think I could make it work, and I'm always in awe of the young people who do because it seems so vastly difficult." "I know what you mean," Leanne said, leaning back in her chair, wiping her mouth on a napkin, "My children have so many possibilities at their fingertips that I'm really in shock that they can navigate each and every one as well as they can, not because I doubt them but because it just, as you said, seems so very overwhelming." Boris reached across the table and took her hand, and as he felt her thumb rub the back of his hand, he woke up again. He was getting tired of these dreams. He'd much prefer nightmares over these. But, then again, weren't they nightmares in their own unique way? *** Standing in Whittle's doorway, leaning against the doorframe with his arms folded while Whittle stuffed some dirty clothes she was preparing to take down to the laundry room into a hamper, Boris couldn't take his eyes of the door that he'd seen Leanne go through. He wondered if he should approach, but what would he say? He pulled the poem he'd written out of his coat pocket, unfolded it and glanced at it, quickly reading it over. Boris then gathered his strength and walked over to the door, before knocking on it after hesitating for a split second. But nobody answered. Just his luck, he figured, the one day he had the courage to do it, nobody was even there. So, Boris simply slid the poem under the door and then walked back to Whittle's, where he helped her carry her stuff down to the laundry room. Sitting on the machine while it ran, sharing a can of soda back and forth between them, Boris leaning against the wall, Whittle sighed and lit up a cigarette. "I don't know, man," she said, shrugging, "I've never seen her, so maybe you hallucinated it." "Gee, thanks," Boris replied, "That sure makes me feel less old." "Did you leave the poem?" "Yes, I left the poem. I figured, best case scenario, she reads it, and she remembers me and she wants to get together. Worst case scenario, she doesn't remember me and I never hear from her again," Boris said. "Well it sounds like you have this all thought out then," Whittle said. "It's hard to meet people you like romantically when you get to be my age, not because it becomes hard to approach them, it's not that it's any easier or harder in that respect than it was when you were younger...it's more because you become afraid of making a comitment to a person who could drop dead at any second." "Yeah, but isn't the happiness you'd get out of the short term worth the pain in the long term?" Whittle asked, "I mean, don't you deserve to be happy, no matter what age you are?" Boris didn't have a response for this. *** Boris laid in bed that night, staring at the ceiling, chewing his lip. He couldn't help but feel like a fool, someone who had put himself out there and would now regret it once again. What had made him think for even a split second that he deserved some sort of happiness? He almost wished he hadn't done it now, just because he felt so embarrassed by his actions. And then the phone rang, and he sat up. Boris got out of bed and slowly approached the phone, then answered it. "H-hello?" he asked. "Boris?" Leanne asked, and he smiled. "Yeah, it's me." "I got your poem, it was absolutely lovely!" "I'm glad you think-" "But you're an idiot, Boris. You're an idiot thinking anyone would want to spend their last few years alive with someone like you. Have you seen how awful you are these days? You're sick and mean and nobody should be forced to be around someone like that." Boris stood there, stunned, until he realized her voice had become distorted, the phone melting in his hands. And then he woke up. He stared at the ceiling, catching his breath, realizing it was just another dream, but this time the worst kind. She'd remembered him, but she hadn't wanted him despite that. He sighed and rolled onto his back, and then the phone rang. He stood up, and slowly walked across the room to answer it. He picked it up, his hand shaking the entire time, and lifted the receiver to his face. "He...hello?" he asked softly. "Hello, is this Boris?" Leanne asked, and his spirits lifted. "Yeah, yeah it is, I guess you got my poem!" Boris said, sounding happy now. "I did, it was very beautiful!" Leanne said, "I...I don't know you at all, but I thank you for brightening up my day nonetheless!" Boris stood there, silent. "Hello?" Leanne asked. "Uh...yeah, you're...you're welcome," he said. Boris didn't have any dreams about Leanne after that.
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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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