It had been a nice day, and now it was time for a nice evening. Since getting back to the home, Carol, Boris, Burt, Larry and Polly had played a few hands of poker and a few other card games, watched a movie and had dinner, and now it was time for a long sleep. As Boris buttoned up his pajama shirt, he felt like he'd really made a difference today. Just then, someone knocked on his door.
"Come in," Boris said as Whittle entered. "Hey," she said, "Um...you have a visitor." "A visitor? It's almost 8 at night," Boris said, "Who is it?" "It's a girl," Whittle said, and Boris smiled. "It's Chrissy, she probably came to talk about today. Alright, I'll be right out," Boris said. He and Whittle exited the room and walked down the hall. When they reached the main visiting room, Boris saw it wasn't Chrissy, it was another girl. A woman, actually, in an advanced wheelchair. Every cell in Boris' body went cold, and he was frozen where he stood. After Whittle nudged him, he nodded and approached the table, seating himself across from her. "Uh...hi," Boris said, clearing his throat, "It's uh...it's funny seeing you here." "Hi dad," she replied. Boris rubbed the back of his neck, clearly nervous, as he avoided eye contact with her. "So..." he said, "...how have you been Ellen?" "I'm okay," she said, "Work's been tiring, but you know..." "I know," he said, "I mean...I...I don't know, I don't know because I don't work your job, but I assume...I mean, I'm not saying you're not good at it, I know you're good at it, I just-" "Dad, stop it," Ellen said, slightly blushing, "Please, you're embarrassing yourself." "What...uh...what brings you here?" Boris asked, and she coughed and bit her bottom lip before finally speaking. "Um...I'm going in for surgery," Ellen said, "In a few weeks, and I just...I wanted to talk to you first about it. These specialists I've been working with, they're really great, and they think they can give me new legs, and I can get out of this chair finally." "You don't have to get out of the chair to be worth-" "I know, jesus, everyone says that. I know I don't. I've accomplished everything I've set out to do despite being in this chair, but this isn't about whether I can or not. It's about what I want. I want to get out of it. It's just time to move onto a new part of my life. I'm just here because...I don't know, I'm scared, I guess." "Why didn't you go to your mom?" Boris asked, and Ellen scoffed. "God, yeah, that would've gone over well," she replied, "You know how she is. She turned my disability into her cause to champion. Suddenly she was the distraught but proud and strong woman who loved her daughter even though she had become 'damaged'. No. I'm not...no." "Yeah, I guess that was kind of a dumb question," Boris asked. "I'm scared," Ellen said, "It's simultaneously what I want and not want, like, does that make sense?" "It does, sure." "I want this, I do, and I'm only scared I think because it's going to be different than what I've grown accustomed to, you know? Change. Change is terrifying," Ellen said, "I just...I guess I wanted to talk to you about it, see how you feel." "It's not up to me to feel anything about it. You know I'll agree with anything you decide to do. I support whatever decision you make, Ellen," Boris said, "I just wish it wasn't my fault you were in this situation in the first place. I wish I'd never put you in that thing." "Dad-" "Don't tell me I didn't," Boris said, sniffling, wiping his nose on his sleeve, "I...I try and find ways to forgive myself every single day, but I can't. I mangled my child. I was not a good person and it's my fault you were hurt. But...but it doesn't make me any less proud of everything you've achieved. I hope you know that. I love you, I love you so much." Ellen smiled, trying not to cry as she cleared her throat and tossed her hair. "I know dad, I love you too," she said softly, "Just tell me I'm going to be okay. I know I'm going to be okay, I just need to hear that I'm going to be okay from a parent for some bullshit validation thing. I just need to hear you say it." "Ellen, you are going to be okay. It's going to go great and you're going to be happy and everything will be wonderful," Boris said, "Trust me." A pause enveloped them, and after a few moments, Boris looked down at the table, his hands cupped in front of him. "So...have you spoken to Lorraine lately?" he asked, and Ellen shrugged. "Kind of. Not so much 'spoken' as much as 'was spoken TO'. You know how it is with her. She makes everything about her. I told her about an award I received for my work and she instantly made it about her, about how she raised me so well disciplined, so hard working, bragging to her friends. I'm nothing but a 'my child is better than your child' chip between her and her snooty friends." "She didn't use to be that way..." "Even growing up, mom was weird about my achievements, you know that. She turned every fundraising thing into something about her. Look at what SHE brought, look at all the work SHE did. Always offered to host things because she could show off how good she was at it, and just...I don't want to be cruel because you obviously saw something in her that made you love her, but she-" "She was different when we were young," Boris said, "She really was..." "So what happened?" Ellen asked, and Boris shrugged. "A lot of things," he said, "Anyway, tell me about your new legs." "Well, they're 3D printed and combined with robotics, it's complicated, but they're cool. I'm...I'm really excited, honestly..." Ellen said, and then trailed off, looking out the window at the yard where she saw an orderly helping an old man get off a bench, "Dad, if you want to-" "No." "You don't have to stay here," Ellen said. "Yes, I do." "Dad-" "Ellen, just don't. Don't. I'm happy for you. I'm happy you're happy. I'm proud of you, I want you to know that. I've always been proud of you. You're always going to be a better human than I ever was. Considering what you've gone through, you deserve to be, and-" "Dad?...does it ever stop?" "...what?" "Hurting, on the inside?" "...it hasn't yet." "I don't want to be this sad for the rest of my life. There's little peaks and valleys, moments of grand joy and bliss, mostly overshadowed by recurring terribleness, no matter how tough I try to see the positivity, but all around me is pain in one way or another. Sometimes I get sad and I don't even know why, and I didn't even do anything to be sad!" "You inherited this sadness, that's what depression is. It's as dangerous as anything else. Passed down from one person to another. Between your mother and I, you got it doubly bad. It's not fair, I agree with you, but it's what you were given. Other children inherit talent. You inherited sadness." "I don't want to be sad my whole life." "Neither do I." "...I guess it's getting late," Ellen said, checking her watch, "...dad, just...please stop blaming yourself for me. I'm here. I'm okay. Or, at least, I'm trying to be okay. I'll keep you updated before my surgery, okay?" Boris stood up and walked to her chair, kneeling down and touching her face. "You're just as beautiful today as you were when we brought you home," he said, smiling, making her blush, before he kissed her forehead, "I love you Ellen." "I love you, dad," she said, hugging him. After the hug broke, she turned and started to wheel herself out. As Boris watched her leave, Whittle approached him again. "Are you okay?" she asked quietly. "I need to make a phone call," Boris said. Whittle walked him to the phone and left him there while he dialed a number. After about three rings, someone finally answered. "Hello?" a woman asked, sounding groggy. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" Boris asked. "Boris? Jesus, is that how you greet everyone you call?" Lorraine asked, "I was about to fall asleep you know." "What the fuck is wrong with you?" Boris asked again, sounding angrier this time, "Ellen just came to see me, and she still sounds so tired of your shit. What did you do this time?" "I don't know, Boris, I haven't spoken to her in weeks," Lorraine said, "But you know, not everything can be blamed on me, you know that right?" "Everything can be blamed on you when you're responsible for it!" Boris said, growing angrier with each second he was on the line with her, "You try to say you're so much better than the rest of us, playing the victim! 'Oh, my daughter doesn't call me...' but there's no context to WHY. If people knew WHY, perhaps they wouldn't feel so fucking bad for you. You're such a goddamned liar, Lorraine." "I don't have to take this," Lorraine said, "I..." A pause, as Boris heard some shuffling on the other end of the line, and he finally spoke again. "Lorraine?" "I'm so tired of this, Boris," she said, actually sounding sincere, "I'm so tired of being angry all the time. It's exhausting. I'm tired of this facade...I'm just...I'm so fucking tired." "...yeah," Boris said, scratching the back of his head as he actually felt bad for her, "...yeah, me too."
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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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