"Am I in trouble?" Carol asked, shifting nervously in her seat.
"We're not in middle school," Boris said, snickering in his seat beside her, "I'm sure nothing is wrong. Just try and stay calm and collected and we'll get through this together." "I've always been nervous when people in power have wanted to talk to me directly," Carol said, "Always made me certain I had done something awful and was now being chastised for it." "What kind of trouble could you possible get into at a nursing home?" Boris asked. "Oh how quickly we forget the Yogurt Debacle of last year," Burt said, leaning against the wall and Boris nodded. "Alright, fair argument." The door finally opened, and the man in charge of the facility, a Dr. Marvin Handler, entered and sat down behind the desk. He rubbed his forehead for a moment before shifting the papers on his desk, clearing them out of the way so he could pull a file from a drawer on his desk and plop it down in between them all. He finally adjusted his glasses and looked up across at Carol. "You didn't need to bring anyone with you," Dr. Handler said. "I was nervous, the company helps," Carol said. "Well, there's absolutely nothing to be nervous about," Dr. Handler said, "If anything, I'm the one who should retain the right to be nervous, because I'm not exactly quite sure how to go about this. Nothing like this. As you all know by now, a few weeks ago James Gardener died in his sleep. He'd been a resident here for many years, and he was a very beloved person in our community. I know that, Carol, you personally had a report with him, did you not?" "I did, yeah," Carol said, "I mean, we'd kind of fallen out of touch in the last few years, but-" "How do you fall out of touch with someone you live in the same facility with?" Burt asked. "Shut. Up." Carol said, glaring over her shoulder, making Boris and Burt chuckle. "Well, either way, you must've made quite an impression on him, because he's left you everything he had," Dr. Handler said, "These include what's in his room, all his personal belongings, but also what was left of his finances." Carol was, understandably, surprised. She and James had been close, but not recently, so the fact that he still liked her enough to leave all his things, even his finances meager as they likely were, to her was a shock to say the least. Carol exhaled and released the tension in her as she felt Boris rub her back for support. "I'm glad, well, not GLAD, because these are sad circumstances, but I should say I'm relieved I guess that it isn't something worse," Carol said, "Can I trust the home to dole out his wardrobe and such to the men of the facility? Clearly I have no use for mens clothing." "That will be taken care of, of course, if you want us to help," Dr. Handler said, "But, uh, we're going to need your banking information in order to deal with moving his finances over to your own." "Of course, however I can help cooperate I will," Carol said, "How much could he have had anyway, seventy five dollars?" "Actually," Dr. Handler said, opening the envelope and flipping a few pages into the stack, adjusting his glasses again, "he left you the sum of his lifes savings, which amounted to a whopping seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars, in cash and stocks." The air in the room was sucked out instantly, as everyone stared at Dr. Handler. "Ex...excuse me?" Carol asked, completely blown away by this number. "Hey Carol," Burt said, "Can I borrow some money?" *** "How do you propose I deal with this?" Boris asked, seated on one side of Ellen's hospital bed as Father Kricket stood on the other side of the bed, glancing out the window now and then. Kricket sighed and shrugged. "I think you're doing the right thing, but often times the right thing is frowned upon," Kricket said, "This girl sounds like she's in need of help, and she clearly trusts you to help her because you're who she came to, but at the same time she is a runaway minor, and that could spell trouble for everyone involved. You want my absolute honest to god advice, Boris?" Kricket sat down as Boris nodded. Kricket was in his street clothes, a tan windbreaker, jeans and a black turtleneck. He clasped his hands together between his legs and shook his head. "I think you should contact someone who deals with these sorts of things," Kricket said, "But therein lies the problem that if you do this, and it goes poorly, you'll lose her trust, and when you're the only adult she trusts at the moment, that could further isolate her from adults than she already appears to be." "Jesus," Boris said, leaning back, before remembering he was in the presence of a priest and said, "Sorry." "It's okay," Kricket said, smirking, adding, "I really do think that's what needs to happen here. She isn't your daughter, Boris, much as you might want to protect her as such. She's someone elses child, and there could be serious legal ramifications if you don't address this properly and within a timely manner, but also doing it in such a delicate manner so as not to hurt her feelings." Boris wiped his face with his hand and exhaled, sounding extremely exasperated. He really didn't need the legal trouble, nor did Whittle, but he also didn't want to do wrong by Chrissy, as she had, after all, come to him because she trusted him. He didn't know how to deal with this, and now he was asking for help from a priest. The door opened and Lorraine entered, surprised to see Father Kricket there. "Oh! Hello father," she said as he rose to shake her hand. "Hello Lorraine," Kricket said, "I was just heading out." "I'll see you out," Boris said, standing and walking with Kricket out of the room as Lorraine settled in to tend to their comatose daughter. Heading down the hallway slowly, hands in his pockets, Kricket cleared his throat and looked at the floor as they walked. "Boris, I care about you, I don't want to see anything troubling come your way, that's why I said what I said," Kricket said, "But honestly, I think what you're doing is damned admirable, that's for sure. Most people wouldn't have the guts to do it, and I think you're an excellent example of why we should respect our elderly." "Wow, thanks," Boris said, surprised by Kricket's genuine kindness. "Just, do me a favor, alright?" Kricket asked, turning in the hall to look at Boris straight on now before adding, "Don't get in over your head. Just stay the course and do the right thing, even if it makes some people unhappy." "Which people?" Boris asked. "You'll figure it out as you go," Kricket said, chuckling, patting Boris's arm as he turned back and headed down the hall to the front of the hospital. Boris turned and headed back for Ellens room, where he found Lorraine sitting in what had previously been Krickets seat, reading a magazine. Boris took his chair back and sat down, exhaling loudly. "What was he doing here?" Lorraine asked. "...just giving advice," Boris replied. "About?" "God damn everything," Boris said. *** Carol was standing in the small rock garden where she and James had once had lunch together regularly, and she was looking at a small statue he'd had put in. It was a statue he'd had taken from the backyard of his house, and it featured a little old man holding a lantern, all made of very old stone. She'd always meant to ask what the statue represented, but she'd never gotten around to it, and now she'd never know. Carol hated that she'd kept putting things off especially when she knew there wasn't much time left to get around to them anymore. She heard the sound of rocks being walked on and turned to see Boris coming up behind her. "What're you doing out here?" Boris asked. "Thinking about the money," Carol said, "...I never knew he had money." "You'd think if he'd had that kind of money he would've lived somewhere nicer," Boris said, "Maybe his own place with a private nurse or something." "He liked being around others," Carol said, "He told me that once. He liked being in a home because he'd spent so much of his life feeling alone and disconnected from his peers that he wanted to feel like a part of a community at least once before his life ended." "Christ, what a downer," Boris said, making Carol laugh. Carol crossed her arms as she headed across the rock garden, Boris walking beside her, hands stuffed in his coat pockets. She shut her eyes occasionally and took a few deep breaths of the cool air surrounding them. After a few moments of walking and letting the breeze say a few things in between the silence, Carol finally smiled and looked at Boris. "What would you think if I bought the nursing home?" she asked. "What?" he asked, genuinely shocked. "We talk about it all the time, the state of this place," Carol said, "Things are breaking down, wearing out, and could use a lot of renovations. Hell, even just a mild bit of work could be accomplished by a mere chunk of that change. Why shouldn't I spend what's left of my life making things better for those still living here and those who will someday come in?" Boris nodded, feeling like Carol was a far better person than he could ever hope to be, even if they had the same goals for different people. She wanted to save the people their age, and he wanted to save the children, but both of these goals - despite the age differences - were of the same general concept, really. Protecting life. Improving life. No matter what, they wanted to make things better for others, no matter who they were. Boris looked at Carol and then looked up at the building in front of them. "The gazebo could use some tender loving care, I must admit," Boris said. "I think that's what I'm going to do," Carol said, "It's what feels right. It would be like a parting gift from James to the place he always appreciated, the place he decided was worthy enough for him to choose to spend his last years at. I think that's what James would want." Boris pulled out a small airplane bottle of liquor he'd bought at the drug store on the way back to the home, unscrewed it and took a sip before handing it to Carol. "To James, then," Boris said. "To James," Carol said, taking it and taking a swig herself. "...can we put in a go kart track?" Boris asked. "Boris," Carol said sternly, "Seriously." "Would get people to stop racing electric wheelchairs," Boris said. "Mmm, in that case..." *** Chrissy came into the apartment from school, pulling her bookbag over her head and dropping it to the floor before she noticed Whittle and Boris standing in the living room watching her. She stopped and looked at them, feeling as if she were in trouble for some reason she couldn't ascertain. She lowered her voice, quivering, as she pulled at her ponytail. "What did I do?" she asked softly. "Come with me," Boris said, heading down the hallway, Whittle in tow and Chrissy following them. "What did I do?" Chrissy repeated, and Boris smirked to himself. "You did what a lot of people refuse to do, even as adults," he said, "you made a stand to make your life better for yourself. We will deal with things as they come, but for the time being, you deserve to be praised for your bravery. You refused to be treated like less than who you are, and that's something worth rewarding." Boris stopped in the hallway in front of what had been his room and placed his hand on the doorknob, turning it and opening the door. Chrissy stepped in and looked at the room, which he and Whittle had clearly spent the entire day preparing for her. It was made up like a young girls room, with things they knew she liked in it, scientific posters and a bookshelf for anything she wanted to read and keep. They even bought her a cute little dresser and got her new bedding. It wasn't overly feminine, seeing as Boris could tell Chrissy wasn't that kind of girl, but thanks to Whittle it had a feminine charm to it. Chrissy stopped in the middle of the room and turned back to them. "You guys did this for me?" she asked. "We did, kiddo," Boris said, sitting on the end of the bed, "This is your space now. I'll be sleeping on the couch when I stay over. Sit down." He patted the bed and Chrissy sat beside him. "I know what it's like to feel like you're alone in the world, like you can't trust anyone, even yourself," he said, putting his hand on her shoulder, "but you clearly trust Whittle and I, so let us help you, okay? Together, the three of us will navigate this and see how to move forward with this situation. We're not your legal guardians, but we will do whatever we can in order to keep you safe and happy. Now do your homework." Boris patted the top of her head as Whittle handed the bookbag to him, so he could hand it to Chrissy. As they shut the door behind them, exiting back into the hall, Whittle looked at Boris. "First me, now her," Whittle said, "You're pretty good at guiding women for being such an old sack of crap." Boris laughed heartily and nodded, putting his hand on Whittle's back and leading her down the hall. "What can I say? You live this long, you're bound to pick up a few things along the way," he said, "Did anyone ever teach you how to play Cribbage?" "God you are SO old," Whittle said. *** Standing outside, watching the renovation work begin on the front of the home - putting in new large bay windows and a series of beautiful rose bushes out front - Carol, Burt and Boris stood together, each eating from a box of donuts Boris bought on his way to the home that morning and sipping tea and coffee respectively. "I gotta say," Burt said, "This is looking pretty good." "We're going to have nice faculties than the local high schools," Carol said. "Not that hard, considering most of them were built on shut down prisons," Boris said, opening the donut box again, "Hey, who ate my last goddamned bear claw?!" "Bite me, old timer," Burt said. "You're older than me!" Boris shouted. Carol smirked as she sipped her coffee and listened to her friends gripe. Turns out all the old people she'd always known when she was younger had been right. These really were the best years of her life.
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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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