"I remember being in the girlscouts," Whittle said as she walked Chrissy down the hall.
"Did you have to do this sort of thing?" Chrissy asked, and Whittle smiled, nodding. "Oh yeah, helping the elderly was a big time effort. Granted, we didn't have to go to nursing homes, they considered that 'too dark' for kids our age, but anytime we saw an elderly person in need of any sort of help, we were supposed to help them," Whittle said. "What is this guy like?" Chrissy asked, sounding nervous. "Sweetheart, don't worry, I know him, he's an old man, you'll be just fine." As Whittle opened the door to Boris's room, they saw him sitting on the bed, holding a lighter, casually setting his tie on fire. Nobody said a word, and finally Whittle just sighed, pushed the girlscout inside and shut the door as she left. The girlscout looked at Boris, who put the lighter down and groaned as he stood up. "Are you here to sell me cookies? Because I can't eat them, and if you're selling magazines, I probably won't live long enough to make use of a subscription service," Boris said as he walked across the room and grabbed a chair, dragging it back to the bed. "I'm not...I'm just...I'm here to help you so I can earn a badge," she said, "I'm Chrissy." "Chrissy, I'd tell you it's nice to meet you, but it's not really nice to meet anyone anymore," Boris said as he walked away from the chair and into his closet, where he rooted around for something, "You say you need to help me with anything I ask?" "Yes sir." "Then help me hang myself," Boris said, as he pulled out a rope. *** Down the hall, in Carols room, she was being treated to the same thing. Carol had gotten her own girlscout, a young black girl named Missy. Carol was just sitting in the rocking chair by the window smoking while Missy sat on the end of the bed and asked her questions from a paper she had attached to a clipboard. "Are you happy with your life?" she asked. "At this age?" Carol asked, laughing, "It's not a bad life, but it's not where I wanted to end up. I always thought I'd be living on my own at this point, rich enough to take care of myself." "Wasn't your generation the most wealthy?" Missy asked, "I mean, you guys were able to buy homes in your 20s. My sister is in her 20s and lives at home because she can't pay for that, and can barely afford her college courses, and she works 3 jobs." "Yeah, we were the most financially successful," Carol said, grabbing a teapot from the dresser by the chair and pouring herself a cup, "But that doesn't mean we did the right things with it. For instance, instead of stocking money away for retirement or anything, I blew it all on frivolous things, put some into charity, and I'm not saying that's a lost cause, but it didn't help me stay out of this place." "Charity's a good thing!" Missy said, smiling. "Well sure it is," Carol said, laughing, "But when you reach this age, you start to wonder if you should've saved some of that money to take care of yourself. You think about all the mistakes you've made in your whole life, and what they cost you now." "What did you used to do?" Missy asked. "...you want to see something beautiful?" Carol asked, and Missy nodded. Carol lifted herself from her chair and headed to the closet, where she reached inside and pulled out a large cardboard box. She motioned for Missy to join her, and she did, kneeling beside Carol at the closet. Carol opened the box and started pulling things out. "These are clothes," Missy said. "Clothes I designed," Carol said, coughing, "I used to be a seamstress, but in my spare time, I made my own clothes for fun. I went to school to major in fashion." "This is beautiful!" Missy said, grabbing a blouse and holding it up. "Yeah, I like that one too," Carol said, smiling, "Do you want it?" "Really?" "Sure, why not, I've got a few and they're not doing anyone any good being in here," Carol said, "Take it, enjoy it." Missy stood up and pulled her jacket off and pulled the blouse on over her girlscout shirt, and walked to the mirror, admiring it. She squealed and raced back to Carol, hugged her and helped her continuing to search through these clothes Carol had made. This was the first time in years Carol had talked about her work, and it was nice to have someone to share it with who would appreciate it. *** "Why would you want to die?" Chrissy asked, as Boris climbed onto the bed and started tying the rope around a banister. "A whole lot of reasons, but today in particular? Just feels right." "I...I don't think this is what I..." "Look, you're supposed to help me, right?" Boris asked, finishing and climbing back down, "So then help me! You have no idea what it's like to be here, to be in this situation, to have wasted your entire goddamned life and know you have no time left to fix anything." "There's always time to fix things," Chrissy said. "Yeah, if you're 12." "I don't want to-" Boris sat down on the chair and buried his face in his hands, starting to breath heavily, trying not to cry. Chrissy sat on the edge of the bed and looked at him. "I used to have a little girl like you," Boris said, not looking at her, "You look a lot like her. You're right, this is wrong. I can't force you to help me. I couldn't force her to do anything either. Trying to force her to participate in an extracurricular activity is why it happened. So no, I won't ask you to do something. Just go ahead and leave." "Where is she now?" "Not here, obviously," Boris said, wiping his eyes, "Every year I do this. Every year on this day, the day it happened, I pull this rope and this chair out and try and end everything, and it's only made harder today because you're here and you look like her. But it's wrong of me to put you in this situation, so just leave now and go get your badge and live the best life you can." Chrissy touched the ends of her skirt and sighed. "I don't even really want the badge, I don't really want to be doing this." "...then why are you?" "Because my parents are making me. I don't like doing group stuff, but they say I'm too 'antisocial' and that I need to have more friends my age." Boris scoffed, "Who would want a friend? Honestly. More trouble than they're worth." "I agree. Everyone is so mean," Chrissy said, "I wish I could be here, alone, not doing anything." "Hah," Boris said, sitting on the bed beside her now, "Trust me, you don't want this." A moment passed as Chrissy pulled at her braids. "What was your daughter like?" she asked. "A lot like you," Boris said, smiling, "She really didn't want to do group things. She was fine being alone. She was smart, probably too smart for her own age to be honest, and she didn't get along with a lot of kids because of it, but it didn't bother her. She was fine staying by herself and reading or playing alone, or doing things with her mother and I." "She sounds cool." Boris couldn't help it anymore, and started sobbing. *** "And here comes Missy Blake, down the runway in a beautiful sequined gown, complete with tiara and high heels, look at that stride, that poise!" Carol said, talking into an unplugged microphone she was holding as Missy walked from one end of the room to the other, laughing the whole time. "Why didn't you ever try and sell these?" Missy asked. "I did try a few times," Carol said, "But ultimately I did it for myself. It was something I wanted to prove to myself I could do, and besides, how unique are clothes if everyone can have them? People often asked me where I got my outfits, and I told them I made them and they were so crestfallen that they couldn't go to a superstore and buy them." "How did you learn to sew?" Missy asked, "Because my grandma tried teaching me but I can't do it." "Why not?" Carol asked, sitting back down on the bed as Missy stepped out of the high heels. "Because I have bad hand eye coordination," she said, laughing, "It's okay though, I still like to draw and design stuff." "Sometimes that's all it takes. You don't have to do it all, you can only do a part of it and get someone else to stitch the damn thing for you," Carol said, "Is that what you think you might want to go to school for eventually?" "That would be great," Missy said, "Can I show you some of my designs? I have them in my backpack!" "Of course you can!" Carol said, the two of them sitting on the bed as Missy dug through her backpack to drag out her designs to show. *** "Why do people kill themselves?" Chrissy asked, the two of them laying on his bed, looking up at the ceiling. Boris sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Because often they feel the alternative is more painful," he said, "I've lost everything. I deserve to be here. I deserve to die. Some people realize after an attempt that they didn't really want to die, and they can get the help they need to get better, but there's always those people for whom life really is not worth living. Once you've reached my age, been through what I've been through...it makes it kind of hard to want to keep going." "My grandpa died a year ago," Chrissy said, making Boris sit up on his elbows, looking at her. "...yeah? Were you two close?" "Yeah. We were really close. I really miss him. After he died, my grandma moved in with us, and they sold their house, and now I can't go back there. I miss their house." "It's incredible how attached to buildings we get. Your grandparents house is just as memorable as they themselves often are, because you spend so much good time there. I remember when my parents sold their house, and thinking how it's not my place anymore. How somebody else is going to make memories in it now, and I felt so angry. No! This is my place! I felt like they were invading my space." "Yeah, exactly," Chrissy said. "But...memories are all we really are guaranteed in this life. Memories are all that keep a lot of the people here warm at night. Even if their children never come visit, even if their spouse is gone, they still can wrap themselves in those memories, and the world doesn't seem so bleak. You can do that too. You can celebrate your grandfathers life by keeping his memories alive, that way he isn't really dead." Chrissy smiled and sat up, "Please don't kill yourself." "How about this, how about I promise not to kill myself if you promise to remember your grandpa every day. Does that sound fair to you?" Boris asked, and she nodded, when Boris added, "Now come on, I have something you actually can help me with." *** There was a knock at Leah's door, and she got up to answer it, setting her book down on the table by the chair. When she opened the door, she found Chrissy standing there, holding a bunch of flowers she and Boris had picked. "...do I know you?" Leah asked. "No, but these are for you," Chrissy said, "They're from a friend." Chrissy handed Leah the flowers and turned and left, meeting Boris back outside. When Leah took the flowers, she turned the little card attached to it over and read what he'd written: "Remember, you have friends."
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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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