When was the last time Polly had sat down at the nickel slots?
God, it must've been the first week after losing Jean. She drove to a nearby casino and spent hours sitting in front of the nickel slots and drinking herself into a stupor, pushing coin after coin after coin into the little machine, trying not to cry and thinking about how utterly alone she felt. Eventually she realized that throwing money away wasn't the best way to cope with her grief, which lead her down the path to living in the nursing home. But now, sitting here again, the sound of the machines ringing in her ears while vodka slipped down her throat, Polly couldn't imagine a better place to be... ...or a better person to be there with. She grinned as she turned and glanced at Boris, who was also pulling his lever for another spin and finished his drink, setting it down nimbly on the tray between them. "This is my idea of a good time," Polly said, "You know what pain is. You know what loss is. You of all people know how much it hurts to lose something you so desperately want-" "It's all my life has ever been," Boris said, interrupting her. "Exactly! So you're the one I'm glad to be doing this with," Polly said, "Those other guys, Carol and Burt and Larry, don't get me wrong they're great company, but they don't know the feeling the same way we do. When you lose someone you love so much that it feels as though a part of yourself has just been torn from you, how do you move on? You spend the remainder of your life feeling like half a person. It's a gut wrenching feeling." "Can I have another Valium?" Boris asked, holding out his hand as he waited for Polly to fish her pill case from her coat pocket and plop one into his palm. He swallowed it instantly and refocused back on the machine as she took one herself. "There's no aspect of life that cannot be improved by throwing money away," Polly said, "People are far too financially cautious these days. Stock options, investments, bull pucky. Take a chance, have some fun, just throw some cash away at a machine for a few hours. You only live once, you may as well enjoy the money you have instead of the money you'll likely never receive!" "Hear hear!" Boris said, raising another glass with drink in it, taking a long sip. Afterwards he belched and adjusted the cap on his head before adding, "What good is life if you can't even enjoy it? Continuing to lose the ones you care about, and then being told to just make new connections, new friends. Why? You're just gonna lose them too! It's all garbage. Eventually we all rot and none of it matters, so you may as well, as you said, make the most of it while you have the chance to do so." Polly nodded, popped another quarter in the machine and pulled again. The lights around her machine lit up and it started blaring music at her. Her eyes widened and she almost hopped off her stool, much as a woman her age could hop, throwing her arms up in the air. "I won! I hit a jackpot!" she screeched, "I mean, only a few hundred dollars, but hell yes!" Boris stood up and throw his arms around her, the two of them laughing and dancing in front of their machines, as other casino goes surrounding them cheered them on. Yes. It had been a very good day for boris and Polly, which was great, because by the following morning, it would be the worst day of their lives. *** "Do you want to tell me what happened?" Father Krickett asked, standing in Boris's room as he watched the old man sink into his rocking chair, his face stained with tears. Boris didn't respond. Krickett approached, knelt and placed his hand on Boris's knee. Boris finally looked at him somewhat. "You know what happened," he said weakly, his voice hoarse. "I want to hear it from you," Father Krickett replied, "Coming from you makes it real. You need to say it, for closure." "...it wasn't my fault," Boris whimpered, his eyes swelling up with more tears as he chewed on his lip. "Nothing that's happened has been your fault, Boris," Father Krickett said, "Hey, buddy, nobody is going to blame you, okay? We all just want a clear picture of the situation and what lead you two to that moment, alright? We need information. I trust you, Boris, you're my friend, and I want to help you. Those officers out there? They aren't your friend. They aren't anybody's friend but their own. But even they recognize what happened isn't your fault, and they just want the truth. Tell me the truth. I'm your friend." A long pause entered the conversation, as Boris inhaled through his gritted teeth and he blinked a few times. "...Carol had caught her months ago, taking medication from the nurses station," Boris said, "I didn't think twice about taking it. We didn't even stop to consider whether or not we should be taking it with alcohol. We were just so...so fucking angry at everything." "I understand that," Krickett said, "Anger can make people do terrible things. Many things done in the name of God have been under the sentiment of anger. You don't have to tell me twice about what being angry can make a man do." "She was the angry one. I just wanted to be numb," Boris said, "...when can I see her?" "She's just down the hall, man. Just in another room, we'll go see her after this, okay?" Krickett asked, and Boris nodded. "I need to apologize," he said, "I need her to hear that I'm sorry." "I'm sure she'll appreciate that," Krickett remarked, smiling sweetly at the old man. *** Sitting in an upscale restaurant, having a fancy dinner with her winnings, Polly couldn't help but feel out of place. This was never the sort of place she and Jean frequented, and she certainly fit in even less now being the age she was. Boris, seated across from her, was cleaning his teeth with a toothpick as they waited for their main courses to arrive. Polly looked up from her menu across to his face, and she shook her head slightly. "Can I tell you a secret?" she whispered, and he nodded. "Please, do," he replied. "I fucking hate places like this," she said, smirking, "These fancy high class restaurants where everyone acts so high and mighty, like they're the cream of the crop when really they're the bottom of the barrel. The absolute lowest scum of the earth. All their personality is wrapped up in money and fancy belongings and cocktail parties where they compare their childrens academic achievements the same way one compares a sports teams stats. It's sickening. Give me a dank old bar any day." "Well then what are we doing here if you hate this environment so much?" Boris asked, and Polly chuckled. "I guess every now and then you need to insert a bit of class into your life, even if it isn't entirely who you are. Plus, they're supposed to make an excellent steak. One of the bartenders at the casino recommended it for their grilling," Polly replied as she stirred the tiny plastic sword in her drink round in circles, making the ice clink against the glass; she rested her cheek on her other fist, elbow posted up on the table, and sighed, continuing, "I used to think the best thing in life was sharing it with other people. I don't know that I think that anymore. Now I think the best thing in life is sharing it with the right people. Not just anyone, but someone in particular. Someone who really understands you and gets what you're all about. Not just someone who happens to be in the same vicinity as you. That's why so many marriages of our generation failed, because people married for the sake of not being lonely." "Amen," Boris said, "I'm not saying I hate Lorraine, but I do think we got married primarily because it was what was expected of us. I can only say I'm so happy for Chrissy's generation, that that expectation has been not just shattered but laughed out of the room even. I'm not saying I don't believe in marriage, but I don't believe in it for the sake of marriage because it's what society thinks you're supposed to do at a certain age. You don't have to get married to prove your love, but if you want to, then by all means, go ahead. I think it can be a beautiful thing when done properly." He stuffed a small garlic stick in his mouth and then heard sniffling. He looked up, still mid chew, to see Polly trying not to cry. "I never got to get married. We called one another 'wife' but it was never official. I'm so simultaneously angry and overjoyed for queer kids these days who get to grow up in a world where their love is more recognized than it is shunned. Certainly wasn't that way for me. I'm proud to be part of the generation that broke the barrier, but I'm also so mad that I don't have what they get. My whole life, all because I was born at just the wrong moment in time, has been nothing more than a blueprint for everyone who comes after, and that feels unjust," she said, wiping her eyes on her sleeve and then setting her hand on the table as Boris leaned across and held it gently; she smiled and said, "After all, what good even is a life if you didn't actually live it?" Boris nodded, understanding. He sighed and looked at the ring on her hand, a ring he'd seen time and time again but had never put together before that it might've meant something more than just a ring. It must've been a band between her and Jean. "You know," Boris said, his voice somewhat slurred from the combination of alcohol and pills, "...I'm sorry I was so mean to you all these years at the home. I never really even took the time to learn about you, and I'm glad I got that chance now. Everyone has a story to tell." "Some people's aren't worth hearing," Polly mumbled, pulling her hand away and taking the ring off her finger before reaching back, opening his palm up and placing it in there, shutting his fingers around it as she added, "Pawn this for me. Keep the money for yourself, I just want it gone. I can't continue to live with a daily reminder of my grief, even if it's disguised as love." Boris put his hand in his coat pocket and nodded solemnly. Thankfully, the waiter showed up with their meals seconds later, and the two didn't have to speak much throughout eating. *** "You never stopped her though," Krickett said, "You never told her that maybe doing what you guys were doing, what she was doing in particular with pills, might be a bad idea." "No, I didn't, you're right," Boris said as the two strolled down the long white hallway, his hands dug deep in his pants pockets, "But even if I had, I doubt she would've listened." "She listens to you," Krickett said, "You're probably the closest she's ever come to listening to anyone in her time at the home." "She was going to do what she was going to do," Boris said, "I just...got dragged along with her, encouraging it, much to my future embarrassment. I just hope she'll forgive me. I need her to forgive me. It's the only thing that will allow me to move past what we did." "I'm sure she will," Krickett said, smiling as they approached the room. The two men stopped and turned to look at one another. Boris exhaled and looked at the door, then back at the young priest. "I need to do this alone," he said, "You understand." "I get it. Do what you need to. I'll be here when you're done," he said, "I'm sure she'll be glad to see you after this whole ordeal." With that, Boris opened the door, entered, and shut the door behind him. *** The hotel room was fancy. Spacious, well decorated and, because of these reasons, it felt like the very sort of place both would hate for differing reasons. As Boris raided the minibar, Polly stood in front of the bathroom mirror, brushing her hair and taking stock of how their bender had thusfar affected her. She was feeling dizzy and lightheaded, but she was at least enjoying herself, even if she now felt somewhat sick. She reached into her purse, pulled out her pill case and removed three more serious painkillers, setting them on the bathroom counter in front of her. She knew she'd have to split them with Boris, but she didn't want to watch him damage himself any more than he already had. After all, he had Whittle, he had Chrissy, he had Father Krickett, and now his daughter - even with her memory problems - was awake once again. What did she have? She had a fucking hot tub. Polly took one of the plastic wrapped cups from off the top of the stack on the counter, released it from its prison and filled it with water from the sink before swallowing all three pills herself, and then shaking her head, looking at herself in the mirror once again. She looked down at the bathroom counter, at her chipped nail polish, and she shut her eyes, exhaling deeply. When she looked back up at the mirror, she spotted Boris standing in the doorframe behind her, and she yelped. "Don't do that, it's extremely creepy!" she said loudly, almost laughing, a hand to her chest as he chuckled and shook a bottle at her. "Want some?" he asked, "It's Peach flavored." "I hate peaches," Polly said. "Pffft, what kind of lesbian are you?" Boris asked, the both of them laughing as Polly sat on the side of the bathtub and held her plastic cup in her hand, twirling it momentarily before extending it out, asking to be filled. Boris gladly filled her cup, and then seated himself beside her as she lifted the cup to her lips and drank. "What's the plan for tomorrow?" Boris asked after taking a swig himself straight from the bottle, "Any idea?" "I never plan for tomorrow," Polly said, "I'm always surprised I make it through today. Why plan for something that isn't a sure thing." "How very zen of you," Boris said as she drank more from the cup, and then slipped back into the dry bathtub, laughing hysterically. He scooted himself into the tub and put his arm around her shoulder, pulling her head to his shoulder. "...you don't know how lucky you are," she whispered, "To have something to go back to. I know it isn't perfect, but you have things that could improve your life. What do I got? I got a big ol' bucket of hot water. Really something worth sticking around for." "You got me," Boris said. "I guess," Polly said, "But you can't base your entire life around a friend. Not when you have so much fuller things to base your life around. I think that's what I've discovered about myself throughout my life. I'm just...a passerby. I'm not meant to stick around too long in peoples lives." "That's not-" Boris started, before burping and covering his mouth with his arm, "-that's not true at all! Why would you think that?" "Everyone leaves sooner or later. That's the thing being at that home has taught me more than anything else. Nothing is eternal except the ending," Polly said, "...when I was young, I could never foresee myself being old, and once I got older, I couldn't believe how quickly it happened, almost overnight in an instant. It made no sense. Yet, here we are, at the end of our lives, a moment we all must face, a moment that really - no matter how vastly different we may be in life - brings us all together and makes us all the same in death." Boris sighed and leaned his head back, exhaling loudly. "Damn," he said quietly, "What a bummer." Polly rested her head on his shoulder again and shut her eyes. "Boris?" she asked. "Yeah?" "Don't let them make fun of me," she whispered, and he nodded. "It won't be for a long time, but sure, I won't let them make fun of you." "Only you get to do that." Boris smirked and drifted off to sleep. When he awoke hours later, his back was killing him, the room was somewhat spinning, and he had a pounding headache. He groaned as he shifted in the bathtub and tried to climb out, only to steady himself on Polly's shoulder to do so, and once he'd gotten out of the tub he reached back in and grabbed her hand. "Hey," he said, "Wake up. Wake up, it's really..." She was cold. "...late." A darkness washed over the room. Boris squeezed her hand, and knelt on the bathroom floormat, leaning over the side of the tub and putting his fingers to her neck. There was no pulse. He quickly stood up, best as he could, and rushed to call an ambulance. Sitting there in the ambulance with her, as they raced her to a nearby hospital, Boris couldn't help but kiss her hands and cry, begging her to stay with him. It wasn't until he called Father Krickett at the hospital that the cops showed up as well, and Boris had to relay the whole tale to Father Krickett, who was the only one he knew wouldn't judge him. God bless that man, he thought. *** Boris shut the door behind him and looked around the room, sighing. He started to walk across the room, towards where Polly was laying, and he smiled. "Hey," he said, "It's good to see you. Um, I just wanted to say that I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I encouraged us to do what we did, and that...and that I didn't stop it sooner. I just felt like we both needed to let loose a bit. Didn't know how loose we'd gotten until that morning. You were right, you know. I mean, about having things to live for. But...you were one of those things too. I think the friendship we had was maybe the most real friendship I've ever had, and I...I'll never be able to thank you enough for putting me through it." He felt himself choking up as his fingertips played around with something in his coat pocket. He pulled it out and looked at it. "I still have your ring, you know," he said, trying to smile, though the pain was making it difficult, "I uh...I don't think I'll pawn it. I think I'll hold onto it. That way I...I'll always have you around." He looked at Polly's lifeless body on the metal slab, still fully clothed, and he sighed heavily, his chest shaking. He slipped the ring on his own finger, and then he picked up her cold hand and put it to his cheek, shutting his eyes, tears rolling down his cheeks. "I'm so sorry," he whispered, "I'm so...so sorry, Polly. You were the best of us all. I just....I'm glad you got to go with me and not alone." It was then, in that very small, cold lifeless room, that he finally knew, from that moment on, nothing would ever go back to how it had been. *** "You know what's awful about this pudding?" Boris asked as he sat at the cafeteria table with Carol and Burt the first week he was there, "other than it's just plain terrible? It doesn't have that skin. Pudding that doesn't have skin is the worst pudding." "You like your pudding to be as aged as you, huh?" Polly shouted, a few tables down, getting his attention. "Shut up, Polly!" he replied, the both of them quietly laughing to themselves. The best kind of friendship, after all, is the one where you never have to acknowledge you were friends to begin with.
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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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