Carol opened the door to the room, and Boris and Burt stepped inside, or as inside as they could, given that most of the rooms square footage was now filled with flowers as far as the eye could see. Boris's eyebrows raised in concern, while Burt immediately started sneezing from allergies.
"These are all for Larry?" Boris asked, "Is Larry in here?" "We'll need a machete to find him," Carol said. "I have accepted my floral fate," Larry said from somewhere in the room. "What's going on here?" Burt asked, "What's with all the flowers?" Carol pushed further into the room, Boris right behind her while Burt stayed at the door to help control his sneezing fits. "A few days ago, one bouquet came, and then they wouldn't stop coming," Carol said as Boris pushed some flowers out of his face as they moved further through the room. "Why?" Boris asked, "He's not a teen heartthrob." "That's what YOU think," Larry said, still not visible. Carol, meanwhile, pushed a small card into Boris's hands. He adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat, looking at the card. "Dear Larry Burkstein, we are so sorry to hear of your passing. Our condolences to your friends and remaining family in this trying time. May your afterlife welcome you with open arms," Boris read, before adding, "friends? He doesn't have friends." "He's also not dead!" Carol shouted. "Not yet, but leave him in this room for a few days and see what happens," Burt said from the door, making Boris smirk. Boris handed the card back to Carol, who slid it back into her pocket as they continued into the room, finally reaching the bed and finding Larry seated on the bed, with nothing surrounding him but flowers. "Why do people think you're dead?" Boris asked. "Like I would know," Larry said, shrugging, "maybe the computer sent out an incorrect e-mail about my demise. I don't know." "I'm surprised you even knew this many people," Carol said, glancing around at the flowers before turning her focus to the folder under her arm, tugging it out and opening it in her hands, adding, "seriously, this is a health hazard." "Only for Burt," Larry said, as Burt sneezed in the background. "Here," Carol said, writing something down and then handing the slip of paper to Larry, who took it and furrowed his brow. "You're giving me a ticket??" he asked, "Can you even DO that?" "I run this place, I can do whatever I want," Carol said, "you have 24 hours to remove these flowers from this room, or your shuffleboard privileges will be revoked." Carol turned, slapped Boris on the arm and he turned with her, and together - with Burt - they exited the room back out into the hall, as Larry shouted, "this is fascism!" behind them. Once the door was closed, Burt, nose still clogged and eyes still watery, excused himself to go in search of some allergy medicine, leaving Carol and Boris to stroll down the hall casually. "You'd think he enjoys being dead," Boris said, "given how he's reacted to the news." "He's taking the news of his death fairly well," Carol said, "better than I would, that's for sure." Boris chuckled and scratched the back of his head, adjusting his hat before asking, "...are you a religious person, Carol?" "Do I seem religious? I'm not saying I'm not spiritual in some sort of way that's as abstract and vague as religion itself, but I'm not whole hog, no. Why?" "A friend of mine is starting a church, and I thought that, you know, maybe you'd be interested in doing their bookkeeping considering you've running the home for a while now, so clearly you know how to manage a business of some kind. He's looking for someone to help with managing the finances of the organization, and frankly, I don't think anyone would question a sweet little old lady." "Sweet? Ew," Carol said, scoffing, before adding, "honestly, it could be good for me to spread my wings a little, and get some more experience under my belt. Then I can pass on whatever knowledge I accrue to whoever takes over the place once I'm gone, whenever the hell that might be." Boris and Carol stopped in the hall and looked at one another. Carol pulled her files and papers to her chest, clutching them like she was hugging a child, as Boris smiled at her. They each backed away, against the wall, as some other seniors walked past them. After they had passed, they reconvened in the center of the hall, still facing eachother. "Anyway," Carol said, "sure, have him call me or come see me. I'm definitely interested." "Well actually, we're having dinner with them tonight, if you want to come," Boris said. "For sure, that sounds like a plan. I don't think I've ever seen your place," Carol said, "I'll bring flowers. Larry's flowers." "Like hell you will," Larry muttered, passing by them, making them laugh. *** Sister Jenn, in her civilian clothes, was standing by the kitchen table, watching Father Krickett help Whittle prepare the table. That being said, what Jenny was really watching was Whittle herself. How gracefully she moved, how long her eyelashes were, how lifting her laugh was. Everytime she laughed, Jenny felt a surge of joy shoot through her heart, and this scared her. Whittle stopped and looked at the table, then looked at Jenny, who smiled at her politely, causing Whittle to smile back. "Does it look okay?" Whittle asked, "We rarely have company." "It looks wonderful," Jenny said, "what are you serving?" "Attitude," Krickett said, making the girls laugh as he blushed and stepped away from the table himself; John was wearing a beige turtleneck and green slacks, and he checked his watch as he sighed and said, "alright, well, I'm going to go pick up some kind of dessert, and then we can get dinner into the oven. We have a few hours." "That sounds like a plan," Whittle said, stepping across the kitchen to the sink and washing her hands down as Krickett headed out the door, leaving Jenny alone with Whittle. Jenny sat at the table and watched Whittle wash her hands. "Do you have OCD?" Jenny asked, and Whittle chuckled. "Yes, I do," Whittle replied, "nothing serious, but enough to be an annoyance at times. But, you know, you learn to live with these things. What gave it away, was it all the handwashing?" "I didn't wanna make assumptions, but, yes," Jenny said, "why are you guys having a fancy dinner?" "You're invited, you can stay, it's not just for us," Whittle said, wiping her hands on a dish towel and adding, "I mean, John is staying, so. Anyway, we just want to give Chrissy a taste of normalcy. She's scared because of an upcoming parent meeting with her school that we have to attend, and we want to make her feel safe and comfortable before then. Make her feel at home, cause this is her home." Jenny smiled, touched at how thoughtful Whittle was. She looked at her perfectly manicured nails and nodded. "I think it's wonderful that you give her a place to feel safe, and loved," Jenny said, "not many children get that, sadly. You're doing a beautiful and compassionate thing." "I guess when you either had shitty parents or, in Boris's case were a shitty parent, it kind of gives you a new perspective on things," Whittle said, laughing and turning back around to the counter, starting to chop potatoes and getting multiple dishes ready for dinner. Jenny stood up and approached the counter slowly, hands behind her back. "Is there anything I can do to help?" she asked. "You can please keep me company, and maybe help me cut these potatoes," Whittle said, sliding Jenny a knife, which she happily picked up and, pulling a handful of small red potatoes towards her, began to get to work on. Chopping through them, hearing the sound of the knives hit the cutting boards with a gentle thud, Jenny was happy to be here, dwelling in simple domesticity with a beautiful woman. Really, aside from praising the lord, that was all she'd ever wanted anyway. *** "She can ticket us??," Burt said, sitting in the lounge area with Larry; he looked concerned, then added, "jeez, I hope she never finds out about the things I do then, or I'm gonna get a lot of tickets." "Yeah, like what?" Larry asked. "Like putting my false teeth in the dishwasher in the kitchen," Burt replied, making Larry gag, just as Carol entered the lounge with Boris beside her. "Are we talking about punishable offenses?" Carol asked. "Maybe, maybe not," Burt said, shrugging, "guess you'll never know. Sucks to be you." "No, it sucks to be you, actually," Carol replied, handing Burt a ticket and then clenching her fingertips tightly into his shoulder, whispering, "I have cameras set up, Burt, I see eveeeerything. There's nothing in this facility you can get away with. I have eyes everywhere." And with that she let go of him and, with Boris, walked away. Larry and Burt exchanged a look, as Burt rubbed his shoulder, grimacing. "She's scary," Burt said, with Larry nodding in response. Boris and Carol headed down the hall, towards Carol's bedroom. Once inside, she shut the door and set her things down on her desk before pulling her closet open. Boris leaned against her desk and just watched as she pulled out a few different dresses and then, heading to her vanity mirror and using bobby pins, began putting up her hair. "So who's going to be at this dinner?" Carol asked. "Whittle, Father Krickett and his nun friend, myself, Chrissy," Boris said, shrugging, "the usual gang, you know? It's mostly to make Chrissy feel comfortable before we deal with a potentially frightening experience regarding a parent/teacher conference, but I figured since John spends so much time with us, then it would be good to invite you too so you two could hash out a deal of some kind." "You call your priest by his first name?" Carol asked, clipping on a pearl necklace an then admiring herself in the vanity, "...what's the deal with you two?" Boris thought about it, chewing his lip. He'd never exactly pursued a relationship with a man, but the thought had, on occasion, crossed his mind. Had he been born in a different time period, had things been different in any kind of way, perhaps he would've, but what he and John Krickett had definitely wasn't what one considered 'normal'. Boris certainly thought of him in a much deeper sense than just a 'friend', but he wasn't sure where he fell specifically in regards to terminology. "He's my priest, simple as that," Boris said. "Boris, people don't have their priests over for dinner on a regular basis," Carol said. "I bet the Pope does." "Well you're not the pope," Carol said, chuckling as she held up a dress against her and turned towards him, asking, "what do you think of this?" "It suits you. It sets off your eyes," Boris said, and Carol smiled. "You know you seem to know far too much about fashion for a heterosexual man of your age," Carol said, turning back to the mirror to admire her choice, and Boris nodded, smirking. If you only knew, he thought. *** "I went to a religious camp one summer," Whittle said, sitting on the counter, smoking a cigarette as Jenny continued to cut potatoes; she exhaled smoke out the window and added, "which is weird, because my folks weren't even remotely religious, but it was right after my grandma died and I think it set my mom off or something. Anyway it was weird, regardless. Not one of my most enjoyable summers." "It's not for everyone, and that's perfectly fine," Jenny said, "sometimes I think about the fact that I'm going to dedicate my life to the lord, and I wonder if it's truly what I should be doing. Would the lord be happier with me fulfilling my own desires instead, while still believing in them, or would they prefer me to solely focus my entirety on them? The second feels selfish. What kind of narcissistic God is that?" Whittle laughed, which made Jenny's heart skip, and she blushed as she continued, still chopping. "Overall, though, it's...it's something that brings me comfort. I won't go shoving it down anyone's throats, because I recognize it's not for everyone. But for me, personally, it brings me a small sense of comfort to believe that every day there is something watching out for me, wanting the best for me. In a world often fraught with people seeking to do harm unto you, it's nice to believe that there's something that only wants the opposite. I know that sounds stupid, maybe, or even childish, but-" "It doesn't, you're fine," Whittle said, "honestly, it makes a lot of sense, and it's not the first time I've heard such a thing. You can't imagine how often I dealt with patients on their deathbeds, and suddenly believing in the concept of an afterlife, simply because the concept of nonexistence was terrifying enough to warrant a conversion of belief. I personally don't find myself drawn to it, but I understand it. Especially in times of need." Jenny stopped cutting and looked down at the cutting board, exhaling. Whittle glanced over, putting her cigarette out in the ashtray on the other side of the sink, away from the food. "You okay?" she asked, scratching her nose. "...yes, I'm fine," Jenny said. Just then the doors opened, and Boris and Carol entered, along with John who they had run into in the hall. Whittle smiled at her little makeshift family, and hopped off the counter to help finish preparing dinner. Whether she was a nurse or not, she just liked taking care of people, she found. *** Later that evening, after dinner was over and a deal between Carol and the church had been struck, she was given a ride home by Boris. When she got to the home, everyone was in bed, and she herself, feeling particularly tired from having to endure social activities, also decided she could use some sleep. She headed to her room, pulling her earrings off as she entered and plopping them on her desk before turning her desk lamp and, in the vanity mirror, screaming at seeing Larry sitting in a recliner, legs crossed. "What are you, a super villain?!" she shouted, "what are you doing in here?!" "...I'm not paying this ticket," Larry said. "Seriously? That's what this is about right now? Larry, come see me tomorrow and-" "No, you don't get it, it's not because it's a ticket, I found that admittedly sort of funny," Larry said, "but I'm not the Larry they were meant for. This is a mistake. I just happen to share the same last name with another Larry who lived in this home. As a result, they were all sent to me by accident. I'm...I'm not gonna get flowers or anything when I'm gone. This is all I have. So I'm going to appreciate it, even as a mistake, and I won't let even a joke ticket take that away from me. Flowers were my wifes favorite things, and I guess getting them delivered to me kind of felt like she was still here, even if only momentarily, and even if only by accident." Carol stood there and listened, nodding. She realized that she'd put so much time and effort into the upkeep of the home, but never those who lived inside it, and she really needed to do better, especially for those she considered close friends, like Larry. Larry shrugged and headed for the door. "I just wanted you to know why I was protective of it," Larry said, "I'll get them out of my room though, and add them to her garden outside." "Larry," Carol said, snapping her fingers and holding out her hand. Larry smiled and plopped the ticket into her palm, which she promptly ripped up and smiled at him before saying, "good night." "Good night, Carol," Larry said. After Larry left, Carol undressed and got into her pajamas, then sat on the bed, where she noticed a tulip sitting on her pillow, and smiled. Maybe Larry was right, she thought. Maybe it was nice to get flowers.
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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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